Lethal Incision

by Dobi Cross

  “Hi, Mary. Could you help me pull up the records for John Doe that was admitted last night?

  “John Doe? Let me check.” She typed on the keyboard and straightened back up. “Hmmm.”

  ‘What is it? Did you find anything?”

  “Nothing. There is no John Doe. Are you sure he was admitted yesternight?”

  “This is crazy. How can a patient I operated on just disappear from the system?” Zora ran her hand over her hair. “Do you know if the anesthesiologists that were on call are still around?”

  “You mean Dr. Brennan? He was the only one here and he has left for the day.”

  “Wait, what? Wasn’t there another anesthesiologist that stood in for him?”

  Nurse Mary touched the base of her neck and frowned. “Dr. Brennan was the only one on the schedule and he was here alone all night. You know how he likes to hang out in the ER.”

  “So you haven’t seen the scrub nurses either?”

  What do you mean?”

  “Never mind. Thanks, Mary.”

  “You’re welcome.” She turned back to what she had been working on.

  Shaking her head, Zora pulled her phone and called Dr. Edwards as she walked out of the ER. He should remember the patient. She had briefed him about John Doe before and after the surgery.

  “Hi Dr. Edwards, I can’t seem to find the John Doe patient I called you about this morning.”

  “Which John Doe?”

  “The one with the missing kidney.”

  “I don’t recall getting a call from you about such a patient.”

  Zora blinked rapidly. This was getting crazier by the moment.

  “I did speak to you about him. I even checked in with you after the surgery,” she insisted. “His medical records are gone.”

  “Zora, are you sure you are not mixing things up? The last patient I spoke to you about was the one with abdominal trauma.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “What about your first assist? Have you spoken to him?”

  “Stewart? I can’t reach him!”

  “Calm down, Zora. If the surgery really took place, the operative report would be there.”

  “Sorry about that. This whole thing has been a little frustrating. There are no reports. All the records are gone. Dr. Brennan was the only one supposed to be on call last night, yet another anesthesiologist—who I had never seen before—stepped in for him for John Doe’s surgery. And the scrub nurses were new.”

  “Look, Zora. Maybe you’ve been working really hard and just need to rest.”

  Zora stiffened. He didn’t believe her. “I’m going to keep checking. If I don’t find anything, I’ll escalate it to Dr. Anderson.”

  “Zora, I’m not sure that’s wise. Even though I approved your taking Graham’s spot in the OR—which I had every right to do—you and I know that he must have complained to Anderson by now. And Anderson is not going to let it go without finding a way to express his displeasure. There’s no point in giving him ammunition that he can use against you, either to penalize you or even remove you from the program.

  “Also, a missing patient record is a serious issue, and you need to make sure you have the evidence to back it up. From what you’ve said, there isn’t. And if this patient really existed, remember that it occurred on your watch. The question becomes how you let it happen. That’s another mark against you. Why don’t you wait till you have more proof? Hold on.” Zora heard some muffled voices in the background. Dr. Edwards came back on. “Listen, I have to go. I need to take my wife to work. Let’s talk when I get in.”

  “Okay,” Zora responded. The call disconnected.

  Zora closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. This was insane. A patient and his records missing? Zora still had a hard time believing it. There were checks and balances to ensure patient data safety. She couldn’t fathom how this could have happened.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Zora retrieved it and looked at the screen. It was the alarm for her follow-up appointment with the oncologist.

  She let out a long exhale. She had lost track of the time and had forgotten about the appointment at seven a.m to review her yearly check-up results. Her stomach twisted into a knot, liked it had done for the past eight years since she was first diagnosed. She hoped it was good news.

  Zora sighed. She would first go for her appointment, then see to her other patients and continue to look for John Doe.

  She straightened and then headed to the second floor for her appointment.

  “Dr. Smyth, how are you feeling?” The silver-haired doctor leaned forward, his elbows on the large cherry desk in front of him. Zora sat opposite him in one of two grey upholstered cherry-framed chairs facing the table. The pale blue wall color was meant to give off a warm feeling, but it was lost on Zora as the cold tension from the potential scare of the cancer returning was more overpowering. Zora shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. “I can adjust the thermostat if you like.”

  “I’m fine.” Zora gave him a small smile.

  His pale blue eyes scrutinized her face. Zora could see the fatherly concern in them.

  Dr. Braithwaite was the kind of man Zora wished her mother would date. Tall, distinguished but very affable, she had grown to like him over the years that he had been her oncologist. And he’d been widowed for five years after losing his wife of twenty years. But every attempt from her to hint at a potential date had been rebuffed.

  “Really, I’m okay. What do you have for me, doc?” Zora asked. There was no point in beating about the bush.

  Dr. Braithwaite looked at the screen of the computer perched at a corner of the desk. “Your results came out and after reviewing it, everything looks fine. There are no cancer cells, and you are still in remission.”

  Zora exhaled. She hadn’t even realized she had been holding her breath. The appearance of the Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia eight years ago while she was a first year medical student had been shocking to say the least. But Zora had been lucky. With a combination of chemotherapy and targeted drug therapy, and the support of one of the best oncology teams in the country, Zora had won the fight over cancer and gone into remission. She was a cancer survivor and was grateful for another chance at life.

  “Are you still keeping up with your exercise and nutrition?” Dr. Braithwaite asked.

  “Yes.” Zora answered a little too quickly.

  Dr. Braithwaite lifted an eyebrow at her. “Really? I recall a certain young lady that didn’t like to exercise.”

  Zora laughed. “I still don’t, but I’ve finally learnt how to swim, so it’s been easier now to follow my exercise regimen.”

  “But?”

  “Well, you know that the schedule of a surgical resident is crazy. I do the best that I can, which might mean missing a few days.”

  “Missing a day here or there is fine, but it shouldn’t become a habit, Dr. Smyth.”

  “I know.”

  “Okay, make sure you stick with the follow-up care plan with Dr. Wang, your primary care physician, like you’ve done all this years. Hopefully we’ll continue to keep the cancer at bay.”

  “I’m on top of it.”

  “Good. So unless something happens or you suddenly start feeling tired again, I’ll see you next year.”

  “Awesome.” Zora gave him a broad smile. “So, have you been to the new restaurant three blocks away that opened last week?”

  “Goodbye, Zora.”

  Zora laughed. He was good at seeing through her attempts to set him up. But she wasn’t going to give up. Maybe one day he’d finally give in. She got up and left his office, shutting the door behind her.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Zora retrieved it and looked at the number. It was from the hospital. She swiped the green button.

  “Dr. Smyth, Dr. Anderson would like to see you immediately,” a familiar voice chimed.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Dr. Smyth, are you aware that you’ve violated policy?” Dr. Anderson’s grey eye
s bored into her from a bland face framed by curly wisps of alternating dark and grey hair. In another life, he could have passed off as a scientist. His bright red bow tie didn’t help matters. He was a professor of Surgery and Urology with an endowed professorship in GastroIntestinal Surgery, and had worked at Lexinbridge Regional for many years.

  Zora squirmed and fiddled with the gold pendant at her neck. It had been a gift from her late father. She sat opposite Dr. Anderson, a maple desk dividing them. But that’s where the resemblance to Dr. Braithwaite’s office ended. Books and medical journals overflowed from the shelves to the floor beside his desk and threatened to topple over. Zora hated being in this position where she had to defend herself.

  “I understand this wasn’t the best of circumstances, but a patient’s life was at stake,” she said. “The OR was empty, and I was in and out in no time. And I did get Dr. Edwards’ approval to do so.”

  Dr. Anderson furrowed his brows. His curly hair moved as if to frown with him. “Dr. Smyth, I’m not sure you understand how serious this matter is. He leaned back in his chair. “There is a reason why we have policy. You can’t just flaunt it whenever you choose.”

  “Dr. Anderson, I understand what you are saying, but that wasn’t my intention. And I did try to follow departmental policy. It’s been a goal for our department to minimize OR idle time. I tried to abide with that whilst saving a life. All the other ORs were busy, so I had no other option. And besides, Dr. Graham should have adjusted his block time with the OR operational manager once he knew the patient couldn’t make it.”

  Oops. She could have done without that last remark. She should really learn to keep certain thoughts to herself.

  Dr. Anderson glared at her. “Dr. Smyth, I believe you need more time to understand the gravity of the situation.” He fiddled with a pen from his desk. “You’ll be on-call for the next three days.”

  Zora groaned inwardly. Three days! She was just coming off a forty-eight hour call and she needed her rest. But Zora didn’t understand what that had to do with anything except … Her body stiffened as its implication dawned on her. The Gastrointestinal Conference. “But that means I won’t be able to attend the GI conference in France!”

  The conference was in three days. She had been looking forward to a relaxing time in France, and had planned to take two extra days off to sightsee before coming back to the States at the end of the weekend.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Dr. Anderson intoned as if talking to a child. “I’ve already informed the organizers that Dr. Graham would be representing our department and attending on your behalf.”

  So this meeting had merely been a formality. Dr. Anderson had already made the decision before calling for her. Zora cursed Dr. Graham under her breath. He’d been vying for the spot and had been furious when the department recommended her. Now she had all but handed the opportunity to him. She took a deep breath and smoothened out her medical coat that covered her lap.

  “I believe we are done here. Anything else?” Dr. Anderson asked. He was already flipping open a medical journal that he had in front of him. Zora thought about mentioning the missing patient, but remembered Dr. Edwards’ advice. She couldn’t afford to make the situation worse than it already was. She would come back when she had more evidence.

  Zora got up and shuffled out of his office. As she closed the door behind her, she bumped into Dr. Graham in front of the secretary’s desk.

  “Well, well, well, who do we have here?” he said. The smirk on his face made her want to dry heave, and she worked hard to unclench her fists. But she could be civil.

  “Congratulations, I heard you stole my spot for the GI conference,” Zora said.

  “Correction. It was my spot originally. I just took back what belonged to me.”

  Zora’s fists clenched up again and it took more effort to relax them. The boxing ring was the only place where she’d have permission to smash the grin off his face, and Dr. Graham would never be caught dead there—he was a wimp at heart despite how burly he looked.

  Zora gave him a cold smile. This was not the time and place to get back at Dr. Graham. They had an audience in Julie, Dr. Anderson’s secretary. And no matter how nice Julie was, she had a tendency to whisper back everything she saw to Dr. Anderson.

  And as angry as she was with Graham, she still had patients to see and a John Doe to find. Those were what she had to focus all her energy on.

  So Zora glared at him and stomped out of the front office.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Zora entered her apartment and dropped her honey-colored leather satchel on the grey granite kitchen countertop. She flipped the light switch on and bright white light flooded the space that had gone dark despite the curtains that had been left open to let light in. She had remodeled her apartment after she had graduated from medical school. The magenta-colored kitchen with its contrasting white cabinets and black granite countertop had been replaced by pale mint-green walls with contrasting rich natural wood grain cabinets and grey granite countertop. Matching whiskey-colored bar stools completed the design.

  But she was hardly around to enjoy it. The general surgical residency program had been hectic from day one even though she’d loved every moment of it. She made it home just to sleep or take a soak in her claw-footed bathtub which worked wonders in washing the tension and tiredness away. And she didn’t see the routine changing anytime soon. In fact, her life might even get busier with the upcoming fellowship. It also accounted for why she was still single.

  Zora had considered going steady a few years ago with Marcus Tate, her mother’s favorite investigator. Her mother owned a law firm—Smyth Law Associates—and Marcus had worked full-time for her mother since after college and had risen through the ranks to become one of the lead investigators. Zora and Marcus had maintained a big-brother-little-sister relationship over the years, but an incident in Zora’s first year in medical school had brought them closer.

  She had almost been charged with murder for a victim she had discovered on her dissecting table as well as other murders the formalin killer had tried to pin on her. Marcus had been there throughout the ordeal and had helped her crack the case.

  Zora had discovered Marcus was attracted to her and they’d dated a few times. But she had kept their relationship platonic despite the crush she’d had on him before. Medical school and relationships did not mix, and she didn’t want anything to ruin their friendship. By the time she had graduated from medical school, their busy lives had taken them in different directions and the possibility of a relationship was never raised again between them.

  Zora shuffled into the living room and flopped down on the couch. She loved her color-splattered couch and had kept it during the remodeling though the living room curtains now boasted a mint green and silver polka dot design set against pale dove-grey walls. Her green plants still hugged a corner of the room and looked like they needed some love. So she dragged herself from the couch and watered them with the little spray bottle she kept on her kitchen counter. Like her patients, she couldn’t have them die at her hands. Once she was done, she plopped back on the couch, laid down, and closed her eyes.

  The loss of the GI conference trip still irked her. It would have been perfect for her career. Not only would she have learned more about the latest breakthroughs in gastrointestinal surgery and the innovative techniques that surgeons in other parts of the world were experimenting with, it would have been a wonderful chance to network with some of the up-and-coming surgeons in this field, a great foundation for future collaborations.

  She let out a long sigh. I need to forget about this. Easier said than done. But there would be more opportunities. She would make sure of it.

  The sound of the Silent Night ringtone pierced the air. Christina had dared Zora to start Christmas early in the fall, and Zora had accepted the challenge. The Silent Night ringtone had been her response. She’d won the bet, but had decided to keep the ringtone all through till the end of the holidays
.

  Zora groaned. She didn’t want to get up and hoped the caller would go away. Her body ached and she needed a nap. She turned to her side and burrowed further into the couch.

  The phone kept ringing. Aargh. Realizing that the caller wasn’t going away till she answered, Zora sat up, shuffled over to the kitchen counter, and retrieved her phone from the satchel.

  She looked at the screen. It was Adrianna Smyth aka Mom. Zora hung her head. This was really not a good time. Zora’s relationship with her mother had always been rocky since her younger sister disappeared, but only in recent times—after Zora had almost died in the hands of the formalin killer—had they grown close. There were still working out the kinks in their relationship slowly but surely. Her mother was still as busy as ever, but she now made some effort to connect with Zora on a regular basis. If she ignored it, her mother would keep calling and think something was wrong. Better to answer and get it over with.

  She pressed the green button on her phone and held it against her ear. “Hello, mom.”

  “Zora, how have you been?”

  Zora leaned against the kitchen counter and pulled off the hair-tie off her hair with the other hand. “I’m good.”

  “You don’t sound great.”

  “I’m okay. Just tired.”

  “How did your doctor’s appointment go?”

  She should have guessed her mother would keep tabs on it. “Only good news. Everything is fine.”

  She heard an audible sigh on the other line. “I’m glad. Anyway, I know you are busy and all. I just checked to make sure you’re doing okay.”