With the canvas bag over her shoulder and the charts in her arms, Cassi went down to the nurses’ station. Joel Hartman, who was on call that night, was sitting in the station, talking to the two nurses. Cassi deposited the charts in their respective slots and said good night. Joel told her to have a good weekend and to relax because he’d have her patients cured by Monday. He said he knew just how to handle Bentworth because he had been in ROTC in college.
As she walked down to the first floor, Cassi could feel herself beginning to relax. Her first week on psychiatry had been a trying and difficult period, one that she would not like to relive.
Cassi took the interior pedestrian crosswalk to the Professional Building. Thomas’s office was on the third floor. She paused outside the polished oak door, gazing at the shining brass letters: THOMAS KINGSLEY, M.D., CARDIAC AND THORACIC SURGERY, and felt a thrill of pride.
The waiting room was tastefully decorated with Chippendale reproductions and a large Tabriz rug. The walls were powder blue and hung with original art. The door leading to the inner office was guarded by a mahogany desk occupied by Doris Stratford, Thomas’s nurse receptionist. As Cassi entered, Doris looked up briefly, then went back to her typing when she recognized who it was.
Cassi approached the desk.
“How’s Thomas doing?”
“Just fine,” said Doris, her eyes on her paper.
Doris never looked Cassandra in the eye. But over the years Cassi had become accustomed to the fact that her illness made some people uncomfortable. Doris was obviously one of them.
“Would you let him know I’m here?” said Cassi.
Cassi got a fleeting glimpse of Doris’s brown eyes. There was an aura of petulance about her expression. Not enough for Cassi to complain about but enough to let her know that Doris did not appreciate the interruption. She didn’t answer Cassi but rather depressed the button on an intercom unit and announced that Dr. Cassidy had arrived. She went directly back to her typing.
Refusing to allow Doris to irritate her, Cassi settled herself on the rose-colored couch and pulled out the articles she wanted on borderline personality. She started to read but found herself looking over the top of the paper at Doris.
Cassi wondered why Thomas kept Doris. Granted she was efficient, but she seemed moody and irritable, hardly the qualities one would like in a physician’s office. She was presentable although not overly attractive. She had a broad face with large features and mousy brown hair pulled back in a bun. She did have a good figure; Cassi had to admit that.
Letting her eyes drop back to her paper, Cassi forced herself to concentrate.
Thomas looked across the polished surface of his desk at his last patient of the day, a fifty-two-year-old lawyer named Herbert Lowell. Thomas’s office was decorated like his waiting room, except the walls were a forest green. The other difference was that the furniture was authentic Chippendale, The desk alone was worth a small fortune.
Thomas had examined Mr. Lowell on several occasions and had reviewed the coronary arteriograms done by Mr. Lowell’s cardiologist, Dr. Whiting. To Thomas the situation was clear. Mr. Lowell had anginal chest pain, a history of a mild heart attack, and radiographic evidence of compromised arterial circulation. The man needed an operation, and Thomas had told Mr. Lowell as much. Now Thomas wanted to terminate the visit.
“It’s such an irreversible decision,” Mr. Lowell was saying nervously.
“But still a decision that must be made,” said Thomas, standing up and closing Mr. Lowell’s folder. “Unfortunately I’m on a tight schedule. If you have any further questions you can call.” Thomas started for the door like a clever salesman indicating the issue was beyond further negotiation.
“What about the advisability of a second opinion?” asked Mr. Lowell hesitantly.
“Mr. Lowell,” said Thomas, “you can get as many opinions as you’d like. I will be sending a full consult letter back to Dr. Whiting, and you can discuss the case with him.” Thomas opened the door leading to the waiting room. “In fact, Mr. Lowell, I would encourage you to see another surgeon because, frankly, I do not feel good about working with people with negative attitudes. Now if you’ll excuse me.”