Mrs. Shelby giggled. “She’s a lucky woman.”
Barker was examining her chart again. “I’d say you’re just about ready to go home.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’ll stop by to see you this afternoon.”
Lawrence Barker turned to the residents. “Move on.”
They obediently trailed behind the doctor to a semiprivate room where a young Guatemalan boy lay in bed, surrounded by his anxious family.
“Good morning,” Dr. Barker said warmly. He scanned the patient’s chart. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“I am feeling good, doctor.”
Dr. Barker turned to Philips. “Any change in the electrolytes?”
“No, doctor.”
“That’s good news.” He patted the boy’s arm. “You hang in there, Juan.”
The mother asked anxiously, “Is my son going to be all right?”
Dr. Barker smiled. “We’re going to do everything we can for him.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Dr. Barker stepped out into the corridor, the others trailing behind him. He stopped. “The patient has myocardiopathy, irregular fever tremors, headaches, and localized edema. Can any of you geniuses tell me what the most common cause of it is?”
There was a silence. Paige said hesitantly, “I believe it’s congenital…hereditary.”
Dr. Barker looked at her and nodded encouragingly.
Pleased, Paige went on. “It skips…wait…” She was struggling to remember. “It skips a generation and is passed along by the genes of the mother.” She stopped, flushed, proud of herself.
Dr. Barker stared at her a moment. “Horseshit! It’s Chagas’ disease. It affects people from Latin American countries.” He looked at Paige with disgust. “Jesus! Who told you you were a doctor?”
Paige’s face was flaming red.
The rest of the rounds was a blur to her. They saw twenty-four patients and it seemed to Paige that Dr. Barker spent the morning trying to humiliate her. She was always the one Barker addressed his questions to, testing, probing. When she was right, he never complimented her. When she was wrong, he yelled at her. At one point, when Paige made a mistake, Barker roared, “I wouldn’t let you operate on my dog!”
When the rounds were finally over, Dr. Philips, the senior resident, said, “Well start rounds again at two o’clock. Get your scut books, make notes on each patient, and don’t leave anything out.”
He looked at Paige pityingly, started to say something, then turned away to join Dr. Barker.
Paige thought, I never want to see that bastard again.
The following night, Paige was on call. She ran from one crisis to the next, frantically trying to stem the tide of disasters that flooded the emergency rooms.
At 1:00 A.M., she finally fell asleep. She did not hear the sound of a siren screaming out its warning as an ambulance roared to a stop in front of the emergency entrance of the hospital. Two paramedics swung open the ambulance door, transferred the unconscious patient from his stretcher to a gurney, and ran it through the entrance doors of ER One.
The staff had been alerted by radiophone. A nurse ran alongside the patient, while a second nurse waited at the top of the ramp. Sixty seconds later, the patient was transferred from the gurney to the examination table.
He was a young man, and he was covered with so much blood that it was difficult to tell what he looked like.
A nurse went to work, cutting his torn clothes off with large shears.
“It looks like everything’s broken.”
“He’s bleeding like a stuck pig.”
“I’m not getting a pulse.”
“Who’s on call?”
“Dr. Taylor.”
“Get her. If she hurries, he may still be alive.”
Paige was awakened by the ringing of the telephone.
“H’lo…”
“We have an emergency in ER One, doctor. I don’t think he’s going to make it.”
Paige sat up on the cot. “Right. I’m coming.”
She looked at her wristwatch. 1:30 A.M. She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the elevator.
A minute later, she was walking into ER One. In the middle of the room, on the examining table, was the blood-covered patient.
“What do we have here?” Paige asked.
“Motorcycle accident. He was hit by a bus. He wasn’t wearing a helmet.”
Paige moved toward the unconscious figure, and even before she saw his face, she somehow knew.