They moved on to the bed of the next patient, a man in his forties.
“Good morning, Mr. Rawlings.”
“Good morning, doctor.”
“Are you feeling better this morning?”
“Not so good. I was up a lot last night. My stomach’s hurting.”
Dr. Radnor turned to the senior resident. “What did the proctoscopy sho ?”
“No sign of any jroblem.”
“Give him a barium enema and an upper GI, stat.”
The senior resident made a note.
The resident standing next to Paige whispered in her ear, “I guess you know what stat stands for. ‘Shake that ass, tootsie!’”
Dr. Radnor heard. “‘Stat’ comes from the Latin, statim. Immediately.”
In the years ahead, Paige was to hear it often.
The next patient was an elderly woman who had had a bypass operation.
“Good morning, Mrs. Turkel.”
“How long are you going to keep me in here?”
“Not very long. The procedure was a success. You’ll be going home soon.”
And they moved on to the next patient.
The routine was repeated over and over, and the morning went by swiftly. They saw thirty patients. After each patient, the residents frantically scribbled notes, praying that they would be able to decipher them later.
One patient was a puzzle to Paige. She seemed to be in perfect health.
When they had moved away from her, Paige asked, “What’s her problem, doctor?”
Dr. Radnor sighed. “She has no problem. She’s a gomer. And for those of you who forgot what you were taught in medical school, gomer is an acronym for ‘Get out of my emergency room!’ Gomers are people who enjoy poor health. That’s their hobby. I’ve admitted her six times in the last year.”
They moved on to the last patient, an old woman on a respirator, who was in a coma.
“She’s had a massive heart attack,” Dr. Radnor explained to the residents. “She’s been in a coma for six weeks. Her vital signs are failing. There’s nothing more we can do for her. We’ll pull the plug this afternoon.”
Paige looked at him in shock. “Pull the plug?”
Dr. Radnor said gently, “The hospital ethics committee made the decision this morning. She’s a vegetable. She’s eighty-seven years old, and she’s brain-dead. It’s cruel to keep her alive, and it’s breaking her family financially. I’ll see you all at rounds this afternoon.”
They watched him walk away. Paige turned to look at the patient again. She was alive. In a few hours she will be dead. We’ll pull the plug this afternoon.
That’s murder! Paige thought.
Chapter Three
That afternoon, when the rounds were finished, the new residents gathered in the small upstairs lounge. The room held eight tables, an ancient black-and-white television set, and two vending machines that dispensed stale sandwiches and bitter coffee.
The conversations at each table were almost identical.
One of the residents said, “Take a look at my throat, will you? Does it look raw to you?”
“I think I have a fever. I feel lousy.”
“My abdomen is swollen and tender. I know I have appendicitis.”
“I’ve got this crushing pain in my chest. I hope to God I’m not having a heart attack!”
Kat sat down at a table with Paige and Honey. “How did it go?” she asked.
Honey said, “I think it went all right.”
They both looked at Paige. “I was tense, but I was relaxed. I was nervous, but I stayed calm.” She sighed.
“It’s been a long day. I’ll be glad to get out of here and have some fun tonight.”
“Me, too,” Kat agreed. “Why don’t we have dinner and then go see a movie?”
“Sounds great.”
An orderly approached their table. “Dr. Taylor?”
Paige looked up. “I’m Dr. Taylor.”
“Dr. Wallace would like to see you in his office.”
The hospital administrator! What have I done? Paige wondered.
The orderly was waiting. “Dr. Taylor…”
“I’m coming.” She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “I’ll see you later.”
“This way, doctor.”
Paige followed the orderly into an elevator and rode up to the fifth floor, where Dr. Wallace’s office was located.
Benjamin Wallace was seated behind his desk. He glanced up as Paige walked in. “Good afternoon, Dr. Taylor.”