“It’s essentially the same plan CMV has in effect at the CMV hospital in Rutland.”
“If it works there then it should work here,” Kelley said. “I have no trouble with it, provided it doesn’t cost CMV anything.”
“It will be totally funded by the hospital,” Beaton said.
“I’ll present it to my superiors,” Kelley said. “Is that it for this meeting?”
“That’s it,” Beaton said.
Kelley got to his feet.
“We’d appreciate all the speed you can muster,” Traynor said. “I’m afraid we’re looking at a lot of red ink on our balance sheet.”
“I’ll do it today,” Kelley promised. “I’ll try to have a definitive answer by tomorrow.” With that, he shook hands with everyone and left the room.
“I’d say that went as well as could be expected,” Beaton said once he was gone.
“I’m encouraged,” Caldwell said.
“I didn’t appreciate his impudent suggestion of incompetent management,” Traynor said. “I don’t like his cocky attitude. It’s unfortunate we have to deal with him.”
“What I didn’t like hearing was the threat to ferry patients to Rutland,” Beaton said. “That worries me. It means our bargaining position is even weaker than I thought.”
“Something just occurred to me,” Traynor said. “Here we’ve had this high-level meeting that could possibly determine the fate of the hospital and there were no doctors present.”
“It’s a sign of the times,” Beaton said. “The burden of dealing with the health-care crisis has fallen on us administrators.”
“I think it’s the medical world’s equivalent of the expression, ‘War is too important to leave up to the generals,’ ” Traynor said.
They all laughed. It was a good break from the tension of the meeting.
“What about Dr. Portland?” Caldwell asked. “Should I do anything?”
“I don’t think there’s anything to be done,” Beaton said. “I haven’t heard anything but good things about his surgical abilities. He certainly hasn’t violated any rules or regulations. I think we’ll have to wait and see what CMV does.”
“He didn’t look good to me,” Traynor reiterated. “I’m no psychiatrist and I don’t know what someone looks like when they’re about to have a nervous breakdown, but if I had to guess, I’d guess they’d look the way he does.”
The buzz of the intercom surprised them all, especially Beaton who’d left explicit instructions there were to be no interruptions.
“Some bad news,” she said once she hung up. “Tom Baringer has died.”
The three fell silent. Traynor was the first to speak: “Nothing like a death to remind us that for all the red and black ink, a hospital really is a very different kind of business.”
“It’s true,” Beaton said. “The burden of the work is that the whole town, even the whole region, becomes like an extended family. And as in any large family, someone is always dying.”
“What is our death rate here at Bartlet Community Hospital?” Traynor asked. “It’s never occurred to me to ask.”
“We’re just about in the middle of the road,” Beaton said. “Plus or minus a percentage point. In fact, our rate is better than most of the inner-city teaching hospitals.”
“That’s a relief,” Traynor said. “For a moment I was afraid there was something else I had to worry about.”
“Enough of this morbid talk,” Caldwell said. “I have some good news. The husband-and-wife team that we and CMV have been recruiting so actively has decided to come to Bartlet. So we’ll be getting a superbly trained pathologist.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Traynor said. “That brings pathology up to speed.”
“They’ve even purchased the old Hodges house,” Caldwell added.
“No kidding!” Traynor said. “I like that. There’s something wonderfully ironic about it.”
Charles Kelley slipped into his Ferrari coupe, started the engine, and gave it some gas. It responded like the engineering marvel it was, pressing him against the seat as he accelerated out of the hospital parking lot. He loved to drive the car, especially in the mountains. The way it hugged the road and cornered was a true delight.
After the meeting with the Bartlet Hospital people Kelley had phoned Duncan Mitchell directly, thinking it was a good opportunity to make his presence known to the man at the pinnacle of power. Duncan Mitchell was the CEO of CMV, as well as of several other HMOs and hospital management companies in the South. Conveniently the home office was in Vermont where Mr. Mitchell had a farm.