“Yeah, well, let me tell you what else happened,” Gertrude said. “One of the AmeriCare administrators came to see me, and he told me that AmeriCare wasn’t going to pay for my husband’s first day in the hospital. They said he was supposed to be admitted this morning on the day of surgery and not the day before. What do you say to that?”
“This is an ongoing problem I’m having with the administration,” Kim said. “When someone is as sick as your husband was before his surgery, I could not in good conscience allow him to be admitted the day of surgery.”
“Well, they said they weren’t going to pay,” Gertrude said. “And we can’t pay.”
“If AmeriCare persists, then I’ll pay,” Kim said.
Gertrude’s mouth dropped open. “You will?”
“It’s come up before and I’ve paid before,” Kim said. “Now, about your husband. Soon he’ll be in recovery. They’ll keep him there until he’s stable, and then he’ll go to the Cardiac floor. You’ll be able to see him then.”
Kim turned and walked from the room, pretending not to hear Mrs. Arnold calling his name.
Retreating back up the hall, Kim entered the surgical lounge. It was occupied by a handful of OR nurses on their breaks and a few of the staff anesthesiologists and anesthetists. Kim nodded to those people he recognized. Having been working at the University Medical Center only since the merger six months previously. Kim didn’t know all the staff, particularly the evening and night people.
Pushing through the door into the men’s surgical locker room, Kim pulled off his scrub top and threw it forcibly into the hamper. He then sat on the bench in front of the bank of lockers to unpin his watch from the waistband of the pants. Tom, who’d taken a shower, was busy putting on his shirt.
“It used to be when I finished a case I felt a certain euphoria,” Kim commented. “Now I feel a vague, unpleasant anxiety.”
“I know the feeling,” Tom said.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Kim said. “This all used to be a lot more fun.”
Tom turned from facing the mirror and chuckled. “Excuse me for laughing, but you say that as if it were a sudden revelation.”
“I’m not talking about the economics,” Kim said. “I’m talking about the little things, like getting respect from the staff and appreciation from patients. Nowadays you can’t take anything for granted.”
“Times are a-changing,” Tom agreed. “Especially with managed care and the government teamed up to make us specialists miserable. Sometimes I fantasize about one of the responsible bureaucrats coming to me for a bypass, and I make him get it from a general practitioner.”
Kim stood up and pulled off his scrub pants. “The sad irony is that all this is happening when we cardiac surgeons have the most to offer the public.”
Kim was about to toss his pants into the hamper by the door, when the door opened and one of the women anesthesiologists, Dr. Jane Flanagan, stuck her head in. Catching sight of Kim’s skivvy-clad body, she whistled.
“You came mighty close to having these sweat-soaked pants draped over your noggin,” Kim warned.
“For such a view it would have been worth it,” Jane joked. “Anyway, I’m here to inform you that your public awaits you out here in the lounge.”
The door closed and lane’s perky face disappeared.
Kim looked at Tom. “Public? What the hell is she talking about?”
“My guess is you have a visitor,” Tom said. “And the fact that no one has come in here leads me to believe it must be female.”
Kim stepped over to the cubbyholes filled with scrub tops and bottoms and took a clean set. “What now?” he questioned irritably.
At the door Kim paused. “If this is Mrs. Arnold, the wife of my last case, I’m going to scream.
Kim pushed out into the lounge. Instantly he saw it wasn’t Gertrude Arnold. Instead, Kelly Anderson was at the coffee urn, helping herself to a cup. A few steps behind her was her cameraman with a camcorder balanced on his right shoulder.
“Ah, Dr. Reggis,” Kelly exclaimed, catching sight of the surprised and none-too-pleased Kim. “How good of you to come to talk with us.”