Secondary Impact

by Barbara Ebel

  As Phil deliberated his reply, Danny thought it was nice for a change that he was a spectator and not in front of the judge himself. But how he hated that his best friend had to be in court at all.

  “Your Honor, the accident in question occurred after my client had checked her oil. She was at a house where she was waiting for her daughter to come out for visitation. She simply still had her car hood open when Casey Hamilton came out with her daughter. She didn’t ask him to stick his hand in there and look at her engine.”

  Although Rachel had explained the situation as he just told it, Phil thought they had a judge who was a big ‘women’s libber,’ so he continued with one more thought. “Sometimes men think that women aren’t capable of taking care of their own vehicles.”

  “So true, Mr. Beckett,” she said, but her tone was indecipherable. “However, you still have not answered my question. Are these medical bills a financial burden for your client to pay?”

  Rachel nudged Phil with her elbow. “May my client address that question?” he asked.

  “Go ahead, Ms. Hendersen.”

  “Your Honor,” she said, getting up and slightly drooping her shoulders. “I am a single mother doing the best I can to make ends meet. Mr. Hamilton has an extremely lucrative field in the medical profession. For me, all bills are a financial burden. But despite my hardships, during the miniscule time I have left over for myself, I volunteer at a children’s hospital taking care of the most invalid cases.”

  Rachel knew the volunteer work was a nice ploy but she also knew the real reason she was rushing to Knoxville was that she was due in court because of her involvement in Julia’s child abuse case. If they ever knew that, she’d be in big trouble.

  Listening to her, Casey wanted to pick up his jaw after it had metaphorically fallen on the floor; he tried to keep his anger from boiling over or to look back at Danny with disbelief. Danny had already dropped his head and closed his eyes; maybe they shouldn’t have encouraged Casey to sue after all.

  The judge noticed Casey’s reaction as well as that of the man behind him and folded her hands on the desk. Rachel lowered into the stiff chair as if she had a backache.

  “You can stay seated, ma’am,” the judge said. “I understand you were in a hurry after Mr. Hamilton lost much of his finger. You weren’t the one to drive him to the hospital?”

  “No. I had limited visitation with my daughter and was preparing that day to do this volunteer work. And my car wouldn’t start so that’s why I couldn’t drive him.”

  “So something was wrong with your car when Mr. Hamilton went to look at it for you?”

  “Well, I didn’t know that when I decided to check my oil. I didn’t know it until I tried to start the engine and leave.”

  The judge twisted her mouth as if she clamped down on a wad of gum. She looked at Casey. “Mr. Hamilton, please give me your version.”

  “Your Honor, I brought my brother-in-law’s daughter out to Miss Hendersen.” He turned his head and nodded to Danny. “He’s in the courtroom behind me. Anyway, after strapping Julia in and Miss Hendersen turning her ignition key, the engine wouldn’t start. I told her I’d help her and to not turn the engine on while I looked under the hood. While my hand was under there, she started the car and a belt whacked off my finger. She said she was in a hurry and, for her, that was the end of it.”

  There was silence. The stenographer looked around waiting to take notes.

  “What is your brother-in-law’s name? the judge asked.

  “Dr. Danny Tilson,” Casey responded.

  “Dr. Tilson, do you pay Miss Hendersen child support?”

  Danny stood up, a little relieved to render information. “Yes, I do. However, it’s not much because I have Julia most of the time. Her mother has her on an occasional weekend.”

  The Judge looked down at her desk, scratching behind her ear.

  “Your Honor, may I say something?” Phil Beckett asked.

  “No, Mr. Beckett.”

  “Mr. Cunningham,” she said, “if you have your client’s best interest at heart, I think you did not serve him well.”

  Mark didn’t know what to say; it was rare to be so admonished by a Judge.

  Judge Underwood’s broad shoulders pulled back as she sat with perfect posture and she looked intently over at Phil Beckett.

  “Mr. Beckett,” she said, “your client will pay Mr. Hamilton’s medical bills, every single penny within the next thirty days.”

  She shifted her gaze to Rachel. “You are an amazing woman to feed me that volunteer work story. If it’s true, then it must be done in as callous a manner in which you treated Mr. Hamilton after the injury he sustained by your mistake. Do you realize you have shown no empathy in this courtroom for him losing most of his finger? He’s walked around with that digit his whole life and he was going to use it for the other half, too. Too bad you had some place to go. You are heartless, Miss Hendersen.”

  Rachel gulped and felt her face turn red. “I …”

  Very quickly, Phil put his hand on hers, putting pressure to not speak any further.

  “In addition to the medical bills, I am ordering you to pay Mr. Hamilton twelve thousand dollars for pain and suffering. With leniency, I will allow you to pay one thousand dollars a month and have the total paid off in one year.” She pounded her gavel, then stood and left the courtroom.

  Rachel practically blew steam as she turned on Phil Beckett. “You imbecile,” she said.

  Simultaneously, they both slipped out from behind the table and walked down the aisle without looking at Mark, Casey or Danny.

  “Rachel,” Phil said, “that was your undoing.”

  “My undoing? You’re my attorney.”

  “You run things in the courtroom your own way. I usually don’t carry as much weight as your testimony, either good or bad. In this case, bad.” He pulled open the heavy door and let her walk out first.

  “Do you realize I will need a huge jump in income to pay off that buffoon?”

  Casey and Danny had turned around and watched them leave, smiling as they looked at each other.

  “Well done, gentlemen,” Mark said. “Let’s get out of here while we’re ahead.”

  Mark shoved his papers in his briefcase and led the way. When Casey joined Danny in the aisle, they left alongside each other.

  Danny suppressed a laugh as he grinned at Casey. “Who would have thought?” he asked.

  “Not I,” Casey responded. “You can’t make this stuff up. Sometimes the world works in mysterious ways.”

  -----

  Another week went by and Danny and Vance sat across from each other at the work bench they’d been using in the lab. The fluorescent bulb on one side of the room flickered in need of replacement so Vance turned the lights off, went over to the blinds and yanked on the string, pulling them as high as they would go.

  “I think we’ve made progress,” he said.

  Danny picked up the electrodes on the table within arm’s reach and looked them over. The intracranial strip electrodes, grid electrodes or depth electrodes were way too big; they were clunky and invasive and the reason he was persisting with his idea.

  “Yes, these ten-millimeter electrodes won’t cut it.”

  “But don’t forget, Danny. For traditional intracranial electroencephalograms, they are fine. You’re just not satisfied with the present state of affairs.” Vance stood alongside Danny, took the electrodes with his hands, and placed them out of reach.

  Danny rubbed his eyes, trying to feign off the sleepiness he felt. He’d been in the lab since 6:00 a.m. and had only taken a break for incoming phone calls from the office and for a quick lunch in the lounge. Vance, on the other hand, had come in later after much more coffee than Danny and with a half-read newspaper tucked under his arm. Although he was devoted to his projects, he made sure they fit into a 40-hour work week.

  Both men eyed their product. Danny’s fingers separated them and he nodded his head slowly and emphatically
, a pleasurable grin replacing his tired look.

  “We did it,” Danny said. “At least I think we did. The diameter of these electrodes is less than 100 micrometers?”

  “You know they are. You just need someone to pinch you that they are a reality.”

  Danny sighed. “And the other parts?”

  “The engineers made you a microchip, an antenna and a miniaturized station all based on your ideas and theories as to how this will all work.” Vance opened a cardboard box and let Danny take out the contents.

  “I’m speechless,” Danny said. “Thank you and a big thank you to the department.”

  “You’re welcome but you’re responsible. They and I just helped out. Putting your gadgets together functionally is your job; the rest of your idea is yet to be put to the test.” Vance scratched his bald head in thought but gave Danny the benefit of the doubt.

  “Okay,” Danny said. “Have I developed a wireless microelectrode system that will monitor David Bell’s brain activity without having him be confined to an ICU bed?”

  Vance didn’t answer the question. If it worked, it wouldn’t just impact David Bell but the future of all patients who were in the same predicament.

  Chapter 19

  Between cases, Rachel sat in the outpatient facility OR break room. She barely touched the microwave popcorn in the bag next to her and fiddled with a pen. Since going to court when that nasty judge ordered her to pay more than what was requested, she had lain low at work and at home.

  This new mandated financial payment to Casey felt like an iron anchor sitting on her chest, one so big it could hold in place a mega-cruise ship. Misfortune, that’s what she called it. A string of bad luck.

  But it was going to change. Her original plan was fool proof. So much so, it was practically ‘in the bag.’ However, now it wouldn’t be enough.

  She had recently been relying only on herself and staying clear of involvement with more men, but the more she thought about it, perhaps it was time to change that yet again. A supplemental plan in her back pocket wouldn’t hurt. Since she knew a move very far away was imminent in the coming months, it would be possible to tweak the exact location if someone else was involved.

  Rachel looked around the small lounge. There were few nurses and orderlies there, and all the doctors were doing surgery or in the recovery room. An effeminate nurse named Tom was sitting on the other end of the black leather couch with her. If anyone wanted to know what went on in the ambulatory center, or with their health care personnel or local physician practices, the best information source, gossip or not, was Tom.

  She slid the warm popcorn bag over to the middle of the seat between them. “Tom, help yourself. It’s kettle corn which makes regular popcorn taste inferior.”

  Tom’s eyes twinkled as he turned sideways and reached into the bag. “I don’t mind if I do.”

  “Say,” Rachel said, “I have a dear friend who is moving out west soon and I’m trying to help her with preliminary details. You know everyone coming and going around here. Are you aware of anyone that’s moving out there? If you do, I could ask them a few questions.”

  Tom finished chewing and crossed his legs. “No, can’t think of a soul.”

  She tapped her pen on her blue scrubs. “What about residents? Third or fourth years should be finishing up and have their jobs lined up. I mean, they take positions all over the place when they are offered the best salaries and spots in good practices.”

  After scratching into his ivory-blonde hair, Tom took a sip of coke beside him. “I know a bunch of them. Two going to the big northeast cities, although I don’t know why. That little female Ob/Gyn resident you see running around here is going down the road to Huntington and the ENT fellowship guy that does the MOHS repairs with the attending is going to the windy city.”

  Rachel frowned, almost giving up with her questions.

  “It’s not like you said, ya know,” Tom added. “In other words, they may start off with good salaries and spots in good practices but think of the debt a lot of them have.”

  “That’s true,” Rachel lamented.

  “The only one probably not floating in that boat is Dr. Kevin Mcbride. I was in a room with him about three weeks ago. He hardly comes over here.” Tom looked down at the bag.

  “Here, you finish them,” Rachel said, handing him the chips. “What do you mean about this Dr. Mcbride?”

  “If any of them aren’t in debt, it’s him. He was a CPA for years. One of the partners of the group. He became one of those late bloomers to apply to medical school. You know, it’s like one day they wake up and an epiphany strikes them in the head and they can’t get it out of their system from then on out. They believe they were supposed to help people and so they become fixated on becoming a doctor.” Tom shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “If only they knew what they’re getting themselves into.”

  Rachel smiled. “Yes, if only they knew. So, does he have a job waiting for him and what’s his specialty?”

  “He’s what I call a male Gyner. You know, a genitourinary doc. I know he’s accepted a position. Hey, I think he said he’s going to California. Yes, I’m sure of it. He’s going where he’ll be tied up in the ridiculousness of the traffic around the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  She practically got goose bumps but there was one more thing she needed to know ahead of time. “That’s a move that will surely be disruptive to his wife, especially if she has a lucrative job here in Nashville.”

  Tom licked his fingers and crumpled the bag. “The guy may be older than most of the other residents but I know he ain’t married.” Tom practically blushed. “I was kinda wondering about him myself, if you know what I mean, but he’s straight.”

  “Thanks, Tom,” she said. “I’ll be sure to try and track him down. Maybe he can shed some light on the San Francisco area.”

  “He’s usually over in the main OR, especially in the cysto room.”

  Rachel grew happier that Tom was such a chatterbox and always willing to gossip. “They have a devoted cystoscopy room?”

  “Why sure. And it’s as busy as seven-year cicadas. I have a friend who works mostly in that room and he’s sick and tired of the monotony of it. Guys with big prostates. He says you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

  “Hmm, sounds like something I’d like to do for a while. You know, a change of pace for something easier.” She reached for her bottle of lemonade on the scratched table in front of them.

  “Actually, my friend loves our outpatient facility,” Tom said. “You could ask the head nurse who deals with staffing. Maybe you two can switch your positions around.”

  “Thanks, Tom,” she said. She rose slowly while her heart thumped at the mere possibilities of what she could attain with Kevin Mcbride.

  -----

  Danny paced in front of his mahogany desk waiting for Penny Banks to return his phone call. He’d only gotten through half of the paperwork clutter that had accumulated during his limited office time in the last two to three weeks but he needed the break. Besides, it was difficult to contain his excitement about the work he had completed with Vance Saxton as it was time to explain it to the people whom it could possibly impact and then test it on David. He’d already discussed his project with his buddies at the FDA, they fast-tracked it, and there was nothing holding him back but to ask permission from the Banks’ family for its placement.

  His extension rang and he grabbed the phone.

  “Hey, Danny, it’s Penny.”

  “Would you like to be in the ICU when I tell David and his parents about what I’ve been working on?” he asked. “See if they agree to implanting it in David?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “How about 5:00 p.m.?”

  “See you then,” she said.

  Danny put down the phone. He resumed pacing across the room, not knowing what to do about Annabel. Since she still was behaving poorly towards him and she scowled at David’s present medical treat
ment, he didn’t know if he should reach out to her and include her in the afternoon meeting. And what if his new method failed? On the other hand, it was possible that Annabel would be with David in his room later.

  He stopped at the window. Activity on the street was dying down as doctor’s offices slowed down and fewer patients were walking back and forth between the medical buildings. Deciding that he would only include family later today and not call his daughter, he swiveled the blinds three-quarters shut.

  -----

  In the nurses’ station, Danny joined Penny as she finished writing a chart note. Her long brown hair was tightly braided and she wore a smile as she looked up at him. “I am very excited about your news. But I know it’s too early to celebrate until we see how it all goes.”

  “I am reluctant, too. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even told my daughter. We don’t know if my method will work. And, if it does, are we then going to be able to pinpoint the origin of David’s epileptic activity?”

  “Stay optimistic. It’s the best shot this kid has right now.”

  Danny took David’s chart and asked a nurse to come with him to witness the signing of the surgical permission form. The three of them walked in where Tara sat in a chair pulled beside David’s bed and Floyd stood with his back to the window.

  “I’m so glad to have you all gathered for what I’m about to tell you,” Danny said after greeting each one of them.

  The couple stole a glance at each other while Danny spoke. Tara held David’s hand tightly as if he was still two years old; Floyd stepped forward and Danny wondered if he had forgotten to shave or if he was growing a beard. Yet but perhaps it was concern for his son that had put Floyd’s personal tasks on hold.

  “Since Dr. Banks is intimately involved with David’s care, I wanted to have her here as well. We both feel we have given David plenty of time on anti-epileptic medications and it’s time to move on to surgical methods. Without much detail, I have previously mentioned to each of you about the surgical methods and technology that presently exists if a patient doesn’t respond to medication. I didn’t want to alarm you too much that, if we came down to this, David would have to stay in the ICU for weeks on end due to the monitoring. Wires would pass through his skull and electrodes would be connected to a machine. With constant recording, we would be able to pinpoint where his seizure foci are.”