What We Find

by Robyn Carr

  “On the other hand,” he said, “your malpractice carrier has not offered or agreed to a settlement, so without saying a word we imply we’re in for a fight. And I want you to be prepared, the judge we drew is not known to be sympathetic toward doctors. His record shows he decides most of these suits in favor of the plaintiffs.”

  “Swell,” she muttered.

  He didn’t speak quite as eloquently as Cal had. Oh, how she wished he were here! Just the soothing sound of his voice brought her such a serene feeling even when talking about this debacle. But she’d been afraid. She hadn’t wanted him to see her fail.

  She listened to Steve Rubin talk, picking at her food. She was not on his witness list, he thought that ill-advised. They went from the restaurant to a small meeting room next to the courtroom. The courthouse seemed to be so busy, people everywhere. When they went into the courtroom via a side door, she saw that it was full.

  “Who are all these people?” she asked Steve.

  “There are always spectators. Or perhaps witnesses are—”

  “Oh my God,” she said, momentarily frozen in place. “I know some of them! I know a lot of them!”

  A woman separated herself from the crowd and came to the rail that divided the gallery from the attorney’s tables. “Jaycee!” Maggie exclaimed, reaching over the rail to hug her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t really do anything except show support. I just want you to know I’m here. I might not be able to get here more often—babies, you know. They’re relentlessly being born. But I wanted to make sure I was here for this evidentiary hearing. I’ve been in your shoes and it’s so difficult. Think positive, the outcome has to be good!”

  “Steve, this is my best friend, Dr. Jaycee Kent, ob-gyn.”

  “Pleasure,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  “Thank you,” Maggie murmured to Jaycee. Next to neurosurgeons, OBs were very vulnerable to civil suits. “You told me to take a week or two off and I haven’t been back yet.”

  “Then you needed the time to regroup. Maggie, you’re not unique. A lot of doctors who are under enormous pressure have to schedule downtime just to recover. Now think positive. We’re here for you.”

  Over Jaycee’s shoulder Maggie saw Terry Jordan, an RN from the operating room, a round and stern fifty-five-year-old woman who ran that OR with an iron fist and had saved Maggie’s ass more than once by knowing almost as much as Maggie did. And next to her Rob Hollis touched two fingers to his brow in a salute. She spied her old office manager, Susan, a smile on her usually tight and grim face. And there was Kevin from radiology, Kevin who could read those emergency CTs better and faster and more accurately than anyone she knew. There were three OR techs, a couple of nurses, a couple of paramedics she ran into in emergency quite a lot. An audience. They were here for her. She prayed she wouldn’t just draw their pity.

  She hadn’t even told her mother and Walter about this preliminary hearing! Now she remembered, she had told Jaycee and Terry in emails when they asked for updates on the lawsuit. Word must have spread like wildfire.

  Maggie turned around. She was faced with the plaintiffs for the first time in over a year and it was shattering to see them. They were young, not that much older than Maggie at right around forty, yet they looked so devastatingly old. Mr. and Mrs. Markiff; she remembered telling them their son had expired. She’d held Mrs. Markiff in her arms for several minutes as she sobbed. Mrs. Markiff appeared to be losing her hair and was painfully thin, sallow, her face so deeply lined. She looked so weak. Mr. Markiff, on the other hand, looked so much bigger than she remembered. He had a fierce look on his face and a huge belly that strained the buttons on his white dress shirt. Both of them looked at her with loathing.

  She had tried. She had tried so hard. Losing those kids was horrible. And yet it was her work and she didn’t have time to second-guess split-second decisions or pause to reconsider.

  “All rise! The Honorable John Bestover White presiding.”

  The judge entered, the entire courtroom rose and Maggie studied him. He looked very big in his robes but she thought, given the perspective of him passing the bailiff, he was actually a small, chunky man with a large, intimidating mustache and a ring of white hair around his otherwise bald head. And he was scowling.

  He was efficient. They began going through the paperwork, first the complaint of wrongful death, then the motions—each one was read and had Maggie’s attorney not explained them all, she would be lost. There was the complaint, which was the plaintiff’s case. There was the counterclaim, which was essentially her side of the story and as close as she’d ever get to testifying, which she probably would never get to do. With the help of her lawyer and depositions, they had reconstructed the emergency in a timeline with supporting facts. There was the reply to the counterclaim in which the plaintiff alleged it should be obvious to any certified and experienced neurosurgeon that the patient to take to surgery was their son and not the unconscious boy—they alleged she had mismanaged triage. Then there was the statute of limitations, forcing the trial in a timely manner. She found that laughable a year and a half after the event. There were several more motions as well as evidence in discovery. All of these motions, each one read and explained and denied, took almost two hours. Denied to the defense team was the district attorney’s report in which he declined to prosecute any malpractice. A blow to the defense.

  Then, finally, the plaintiff’s attorney offered a motion of summary judgment. Steve whispered to her that meant they’d go with the judge’s decision rather than a jury. They had no doubt heard Judge White wasn’t crazy about doctors.

  “Your Honor, we make a motion to dismiss,” Steve said.

  “Sit down, Mr. Rubin.”

  The courtroom sank into dark quiet. The judge took a deep breath before he spoke.

  “My heart is very heavy today,” he said. “I’ve read the claim, the counterclaim, all the motions and pleas. Inclusive in those materials was the accident report. In the plaintiff’s claim the focus is on two sixteen-year-old boys but in fact there were five—it was a catastrophic event, all arriving in the emergency room critical, one of them beyond help upon arrival. I preside over many civil malpractice and wrongful death suits. Many of them emerge from emergency rooms and emergency operating rooms. There is not only a reconstructed timeline provided by the defendant but notes from paramedics, RNs, attending physicians and ER physicians, not to mention the OR staff. From the time the first of the injured arrived in the emergency room until the fifth patient arrived, only six minutes had elapsed. From the time triage was complete until the first patient was anesthetized and the surgeon at the ready, four more minutes. From the time patient Markiff was assessed and sent to radiology for his head CT—two and a half minutes. There were also other decisions and designations made within this time frame—one boy sent to surgery for splenectomy while yet another was put into the care of an orthopedic surgeon and on to surgery to deal with two life-threatening broken femurs and yet another put on life support for possible organ harvest.

  “If anyone had trouble following that—the time from the very first of five injured arriving in the emergency room until Dr. Sullivan entered the OR suite—ten minutes. If you could break it down, she probably had less than thirty seconds to make a decision. Her notes are written by the attending physician and verbally recorded. I not only looked at the accident reports—police, paramedic, fire and rescue—but the postmortem reports. And I must tell you, the entire scene must have been horrific, and yet the record is not only flawless, it is flawlessly consistent. The only report lacking in this vast collection of documentation is a blood test done on the emergency room and operating room staff to measure drug or alcohol use. It was not done because there was no indication. Fifteen emergency room and operating room employees were deposed and under oath stated that the physicians in question appeared rested, s
ober and efficient.

  “I pored over all of this detailed information and yet the most telling and crucial fact came down to a single number—the time of death. Rory Busch in the operating room and Carl Markiff in radiology for a CT both expired ten minutes after arriving in the emergency room at the exact same time. Well, resuscitation began on both patients at exactly the same time and continued for several minutes. Their injuries and cause of death were nearly identical as well—both died of head injuries that led to massive brain hemorrhage. This fact alone made it physically impossible for Dr. Sullivan to make either choice work, although the testimony of the staff establishes that her decision to take the unconscious lad to surgery first is indeed protocol.

  “But let me say this—I believe it needs to be said. For any doctor to enter a melee such as that emergency room, filled with critical teenagers, make a sound decision, move to intervention in the midst of chaos and try to save a patient under such dismal circumstances and against such overpowering odds is nothing short of heroic.

  “Because we have access to the many reports and depositions, I don’t feel anything further can be gained by reading or reciting them aloud in this courtroom. I’m dismissing this case with prejudice. I find no case here. Mr. and Mrs. Markiff, my deepest sympathy for your tragic loss. We are adjourned.” His gavel struck and the courtroom began to stir, first with voices, then cries of happiness, cries of devastation from the Markiffs.

  “With prejudice?” Maggie asked, though she thought she knew what it meant.

  Steve Rubin was looking at her, smiling somewhat sadly as he wiped the tears off her cheeks with his thumb. Maggie didn’t even realize that when the judge started going through the events of that night it took her back and the tears were automatic, rolling down her cheeks. “That means the case is closed forever,” he said. “Of course, in the event of new and previously undisclosed evidence, the plaintiffs can petition the court, but it would have to be stunning and they’d have to find a lawyer willing to do that when the odds of winning are so remote. This is it, Maggie. You’re through here. You did nothing wrong. There was no mistake.”

  “Oh God,” she whispered weakly.

  “I think some people are waiting for you,” he said.

  She looked up to see Rob Hollis leaning over the rail, grinning like a fool. “We’re going to O’Malley’s down the street, Maggie. Terry sent a posse ahead to hold tables. We’re taking you out to celebrate.”

  “Jaycee?” she asked, looking around.

  “She’ll be there. She just had to call her service first. You coming? Of course you’re coming!”

  “Of course, yes,” she said. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you. I’m going to get out of the courthouse parking garage and drive down. And thanks,” she said.

  She turned to Steve. “Will you join us?” she asked.

  “I’m going to pass,” he said, laughing. “I wish I could, but there’s always work to finish. Not for you, though. Your work here is done.”

  She hugged him. “We were lucky, weren’t we?”

  “You were in the right all along, but there’s no such thing as a slam dunk in this business. Now go enjoy your friends. And get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Thank you, Steve.” She smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Hardly anyone is actually pleased when they have to do business with me...”

  “Then we have that in common,” she said. She grabbed her purse and briefcase and headed out the door.

  She wanted to be alone. She wanted to be away from people. She saw a ladies’-room sign at the end of a long deserted hallway far away from the courtroom, in the opposite direction from where the crowd seemed to be heading. She walked that way and ducked in. There was only one occupied stall so she washed her hands and checked her appearance. A little blotchy, but not bad. The toilet flushed and a uniformed female security officer came out, smiled hello, busied herself at the sink for a moment and departed.

  Maggie pulled out her phone. She dialed Cal’s cell phone number and mentally prepared a message. Since he’d been at the crossing he hadn’t carried his phone during the day. He sometimes took it with him when he ran errands and checked it once or at most twice a day. He was free of encumbrances and seemed happy about that.

  “Maggie?” he said.

  “Cal? You’re there?”

  “Right here, baby,” he said.

  “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m at space number eleven, cleaning out the grill, raking up the site.”

  “And you have your phone with you?” she asked, though she immediately thought it was such a foolish question. He answered, after all.

  “I told you I would. I knew you were in court, Maggie. I wanted to be able to answer if you called.”

  She started to sob. She backed against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting on her heels. Sitting on the heels of those dressy business pumps.

  “Honey? You okay? Need me to come?”

  “I’m okay,” she whimpered. “It’s over, Cal. It’s over.”

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Dismissed with prejudice. The judge made a fantastic speech... I wonder if it’s possible to get a copy. He said the doctors were heroic.”

  “We’ll get a copy,” he said. “I know how to get a copy.”

  “There were friends there,” she said, still crying and gasping a little. “I thought they mostly hated me. They were all listed as witnesses, deposed, subpoenaed. I didn’t tell them but they came.”

  “Honey, where are you?”

  “Oh. I’m in the bathroom. Why?”

  He laughed. “There’s an echo.”

  “I’m falling apart. They’re having a celebration at a pub down the street and I’m in the bathroom, falling apart.”

  “You’re just unloading the tension of a long ordeal. You’re not going to fall apart. You need me to drive up there and sleep with you tonight?”

  “No, I’m okay. I’m going to visit my mother and Walter on the way home tomorrow. But then...” She stopped and sniffed. “Then I’m coming home and I have nothing to do but you. Do you get that, California? I have no more court case, no job, no stress, no nothing. Nothing but you. I have to get something started or finished or figured out with you.”

  “Do you, now?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

  “No pressure,” she said. “We just have to figure out where we’re going because I just don’t want anything else. I want you in my life. While you’re missing me tonight, figure out what I have to do to get that, will you?”

  “Sure, Maggie,” he said. And his voice was, if possible, smoldering.

  “I think I’m falling in love with you, damn it. You’re probably a worse risk than the artist or the ER doctor. I didn’t do this on purpose. I had no intention. Please don’t make me wait, Calhoun. You’re a smart lawyer, come up with a statement of intent and a plan because I don’t want to be strung along or crushed.”

  “Go have a glass of wine, Maggie,” he said. “Everything is going to be fine. Don’t drink and drive!”

  “All right, then. But you better think about it!” She cried a little more. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “You’ll be okay after a little cry and a few deep breaths,” he said.

  “Oh my God, I told you I love you on the phone in a courthouse bathroom! Crying! You probably don’t believe me but I don’t cry that much, just over huge ordeals, which in my life...”

  “Are you going to try to take it back now?” he asked.

  “This is why no one ever casts someone like me in a chick flick, because I don’t even know how to stage words of love! Do you think I’m socially handicapped?”

  “Maybe a little bit,” he said.

  “Oh, stop it!
Well, it’s probably true. You miss a lot of social training when you want premed...”

  “And when you refuse debutante balls. I hear there’s tons of social training for debutantes.”

  She laughed and slowly rose. “This must be so hard for you,” she said. “Here you have experience with princesses and find yourself with a debutante reject.”

  “Only one princess,” he reminded her. “And fooling around with me cost her the crown, so maybe you should be careful. Have you called Sully?”

  “I’m going to do that right now, as soon as we hang up. I’ll see you tomorrow, Calvin. Be prepared. I’m coming back with emotions blazing.”

  “I can’t wait. Now go have fun! You’ve earned it.”

  “Maybe I’ll call you tonight and interrupt your reading time.”

  “That’d be okay. Just call Sully. I’m not good at keeping secrets and he’s been a little anxious today.”

  They said goodbye and Maggie tucked away her phone, deciding she could call Sully before going into O’Malley’s. She occupied a stall briefly and when she came out she was facing Mrs. Markiff. The woman was waiting right outside the stall, a fierce look on her face.

  “Mrs. Markiff!” she said, startled.

  “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she said bitterly. “You let my boy die and you got away with it.”

  “I did everything I could,” Maggie said pleadingly. “I’m so sorry for your loss, but I did the best I could. There just wasn’t anything more I could do.”

  “A person could try! You didn’t try!” Then she whirled around and stormed out.

  So there, Maggie thought. Just in case I needed to be reminded that I’m not allowed even the briefest periods of happiness without a dark cloud passing over.

  She left the ladies’ room to call Sully, forcing any melancholy from her voice for his sake.

  * * *

  When Maggie walked into the pub, there were cheers. There were more people there from the hospital, those who hadn’t made it to the courthouse but had been called with the news the case was dismissed. She was pulled into a party of at least twenty that grew as the hour got a little later and the day shift at the hospital ended. Doctors, nurses and techs showed up in jeans or scrubs to congratulate her, to show their support.