“Thanks for the history lesson, Manny, and I like the lifestyles hint. How about the bad news,” Harvey said.
“You know,” Manny said, “I admire you two. You rise to the occasion with the most difficult and frustrating cases…”
“Now I’m getting nervous,” Mike said.
“The morning greeted me with a midwife and her patient. They came in from Canyon. The thirty-six year old mother, Melinda Hicks, lives somewhere in the hills in a commune. This is her first pregnancy.”
“Okay,” Harvey said. “Let’s have it.”
“Oh,” Manny said, “she’s twenty-three weeks, a Jehovah’s Witness, and yes, she’s in labor.”
Harvey and Mike faced each other, smiled, and then laughed.
“I don’t know how we can ever thank you, Manny,” Harvey groaned.
“You’ll find a way, Harvey.”
“Let’s meet them.”
When they entered the treatment room, Manny introduced Harvey and Mike.
“No transfusions,” Melinda Hicks said. She was laying on the gurney holding a woman’s hand. The woman standing next to her looked to be in her early twenties with long, straight hair that went to her waist.
Mike looked around to see to whom she was talking.
The midwife introduced herself. “I’m Angelina Cummins. We don’t believe in the use of blood. ‘But flesh with—blood—ye shall not eat’ (Genesis 9:4).”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Harvey said, smiling. “And, I don’t think that Brier Hospital has blood on its menu.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Melinda said, grimacing with a contraction. “It’s better to be out front with our beliefs.” She turned to Angelina. “Get the card from my purse.”
Angelina found Melinda’s wallet, then removed the card. “This is her advanced directive for health care. It prohibits the use of blood or blood byproducts.”
Mike reddened a bit, and then faced Melinda. “Dr. Russo’s an obstetrician. I’m a pediatrician, specializing in the care of newborn babies, especially those born prematurely. I have two questions; first, do you want us to treat you and your baby? Second, are there any other limitations on what care we can provide?”
“Yes, we’d like your help,” Angelina said. She paused. “However, blood, in any form, is the only prohibition.”
“Okay,” Harvey said. “I’m going to examine you, do an ultrasound to look at the baby, and run some tests.”
Afterward, Mike and Harvey sat again in Manny’s office.
“I’m admitting her to the OB ward under my name,” Harvey said.
“What’s with you?” Mike said. “If you think I’m going to abide by that religious crap with a preemie, then you don’t know me.”
“Take it easy, Mike. How many Jehovah’s Witnesses have you treated?”
“I’ve been involved peripherally when I was a resident. The woman let her baby die, rather than allowing her to get blood.”
“Well I have dealt with them before, and one of the secrets is knowing when to pick your battles.”
“Melinda may be willing to risk her life for her beliefs,” Mike said, “but once that baby’s born, I’ll see to it, somehow that the baby gets what it needs, including blood.”
The prohibition against blood took on the character of a political campaign. The door to Melinda’s room had a sign, interestingly in red letters, ‘NO BLOOD OR BLOOD PRODUCTS’ and the wall over her bed had a similar sign, plus the Advance Directive for Health Care.
“I think I get the message, Harvey,” Mike said as they entered her room.
Melinda sat in bed, reading The Watchtower. Copies of Awake lay on the bedside table.
“Good morning, Doctors,” Melinda said with a smile.
“We’ve been successful in stopping your labor for the moment, but it’s likely to recur. I’m starting you on medications to help your baby’s lungs mature.”
“No blood or blood products, right?”
“Right.”
Mike pulled up a chair, and then said, “Is it okay if I call you Melinda?”
“Of course, Dr. Cooper.”
“Everything depends on when you deliver. Do you know if it’s a girl or a boy?”
“It’s a boy, Dr. Cooper.”
“If we must deliver him any time soon, he’s too small to survive. The longer we delay delivering him, the better his chances. Right now, approaching the twenty-fourth week, he weighs about 750 grams. Babies this small come into the world unprepared, and more often than not, have serious medical problems.”
Mike glanced over at Harvey, who was shaking his head in the ‘no’ gesture.
“As long as blood isn’t involved, we’re okay.”
Harvey shook his head with more vigor.
“I can’t predict now what your baby might need…”
“You’re so typical, Dr. Cooper,” Melinda said, “and arrogant enough to tell me what to believe.”
“I’m not telling you what to believe. I only want to be prepared to save your child.”
“Thank you, Doctors. Maybe we’ve come to the wrong place. I’m going to confer with my advisors. I’ll let you know my decision.”
“This is a hospital,” Mike said, “not a prison. You’re free to come and go as you wish.”
Back at the nurses’ station with Melinda’s chart, Harvey said, “What’s gotten into you? You’re going to screw this whole thing up.”
“If you think I’m going to let her kill this baby…”
“Hello—remember me—your friend and mentor? Harvey’s the name,” he said, shaking Mike’s hand.
“Very funny, Harvey.”
“Stop being a schmuck. Why force the issue now, when we can only lose? You think I want that baby to die?”
“No, Harvey, but…”
“No ‘buts’. Everything I do with them is strategic. I’m setting this thing up in a way so that, when the time comes, we can protect this baby. If you continue this, she’s going to sign out AMA ( Against Medical Advice ).”
“But, Harvey…”
“What’s with the ‘buts’? I’ve seen the Jehovah’s Witness material on how to manipulate a physician to their demands. In some ways, this is going to be played like a war, with casualties on both sides. That’s part of what all those ‘NO BLOOD’ signs are about.”
“Okay, Harvey, but…”
“You’re stubborn, Mike. Trust the old man, will you?”
Ten days later, Melinda delivered a 1015 gram baby boy. Her delivery was uncomplicated, but the baby was in deep trouble.
When Mike entered the NICU the day after the baby’s birth, Lisa said, “You’d better get over here, quick.”
“What the matter?”
“His oxygen saturation is falling, and he’s having more trouble breathing.”
Mike looked into the incubator. The baby was struggling to breathe with gasps and flaring ribs. “Have his labs come back?”
Lisa opened the chart to the lab section, and then held the page containing blood counts. “His hemoglobin is down to five grams. How can he live with so little blood?”
“He can’t.”
“Every time I look up,” Lisa said, “Melinda is there, staring at me. I feel like I’m in a fishbowl.”
Mike looked up to see Melinda behind the glass window. “Bring her in here.”
“Have you named him?” Mike asked.
“Nathan—we call him Nathan, for God has given.”
“Look at him, Melinda. See how he can barely breathe, how he struggles? See how pale he is? I know you don’t want to hear this, but Nathan needs blood.”
Melinda’s disgust was obvious as she stared at Mike. “I knew it would come to this. You people have no respect for anyone’s beliefs, but your own. I’m arranging to have him moved to a place that respects my wishes.”
“He’s not going anywhere. He’s too sick.” Mike paused, trying to formulate the words that could alter her intransigence. “Look at him. Don’t you see ho
w sick he is? Don’t you want him to live?”
“Not at the cost of his immortal soul.”
“I respect your right to do as you please with your own body, but you don’t have the right to kill your baby.”
“I’m not killing him. I’m saving him.”
“And, I’m saving him from you. You’ll have to leave. I’m applying to the court for permission to transfuse your son.”
“Over my dead body, you will,” she said, lunging for the incubator.
“Are you crazy?” Mike shouted as he blocked her way, grabbed her arm, and led her out of the NICU. “Call security, and have Ms. Hicks escorted away from the NICU.”
In thirty minutes, the hospital attorney, Al Morris, had the court’s permission for transfusion. The tiny pack of blood was dripping into the baby’s vein.
Following his ordeal in NICU, Nathan Hicks was ready to go home. After promising not to interfere, Melinda came every day to see her son. She refused to talk with the nursing staff or the physicians.
As Melinda prepared to take Nathan home, Mike approached her. “Please take good care of him. We worked hard to get Nathan this far. The rest is up to you.” Mike hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Like you, Melinda, my conscience forced me to do what I thought was best for your baby. I won’t apologize.”
Melinda lifted the tiny boy to her chest, turned to face Mike, and whispered, “Thank you for everything, Dr. Cooper.”
Later that day, Mike met Harvey for a drink.
“She actually thanked me.”
“Who woulda thunk it?” Harvey smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mike and Lisa stood next to the U-Haul, which held most of her worldly possessions. She grasped his hand. “It’s strange what events signify life’s change. I moved away from home, graduated nursing school, Rudy died, and I found and married you, but moving out of Phoebe’s apartment is almost more than I can bear.”
“Love has its limits,” Mike said. “But I’m not towing that U-Haul with my S2000; not with my baby.”
“Would I put your baby in harm’s way?” She laughed. “We’ll pull it with the Wagoneer; that is, if it has enough guts left.”
Mike, Lisa, and Phoebe walked back and forth to the trailer carrying Lisa’s stuff, and it took all three to move her furniture.
Phoebe looked around the suddenly more spacious apartment, looked at Lisa, and said, “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“Me too,” Lisa said, “but I’m a few miles away, and you’re getting a new brother to boot.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Listen, are you free Friday night? Mike has someone he wants you to meet.”
Phoebe’s transformation was instantaneous. “Who is he? What does he look like? What does he do? How tall is he? Does he have all his hair?”
“Easy, girl,” Lisa said. “His name is Jason Carlin, and he’s a radiologist at UC Medical Center. Mike says he’s good looking, whatever that means coming from Mike.”
“Carlin—that doesn’t sound Jewish.”
“Do you really care?”
“Not really, but I’m better suited for an East Coast palate, don’t you think?”
“Well, Mike says Jason was born a Jew, but hasn’t seen the inside of a synagogue since his bar mitzvah.”
“Tell me more.”
Mike entered the room, looked at Lisa and said, “Is it a go?”
“Yes or no, Phoebe?” Lisa asked.
“A definite yes.”
“Should I tell Jason to wear body armor?” Mike asked.
“If I like him,” said Phoebe, “it won’t do him any good.”
As they drove back to their apartment, Lisa said, “What do you think about Phoebe and Jason?”
“Who knows what makes people click, but Jason’s smart, has a great sense of humor, and maybe he’s unconventional enough to interest Phoebe. When they meet, we’ll know in two minutes.”
“I’m so excited for Phoebe tonight,” Lisa said.
“You mean she’s never had a blind date before?” Mike asked.
“Of course she has,” Lisa smirked. “I loved your impression of Jason, and how he might match up with Phoebe. She’s the best, but there’s that New York brashness that tends to put some people off.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I love Phoebe, too, and maybe Jason’s the one.”
“What makes it work between us?” She asked, looking up at Mike.
“God only knows.” He grasped her by the waist, and kissed her neck.
She playfully punched him in the arm. “You haven’t learned a damned thing about women, Dr. Cooper.”
Mike looked at his watch. “You better get going, or we’ll be late.”
“I have to shave my legs, and then I’ll get dressed.”
“Good luck, sweetie, but first you’ll need to find my razor.”
“That’s okay. After shredding my poor legs time and again, I bought a Lady Remington electric shaver.”
“You could have gone for hot waxing.”
“Only if you do it, first.”
The hostess seated Lisa, Mike, and Phoebe in a corner booth at Bacci’s Trattoria in Emeryville at the foot of the Bay Bridge.
Phoebe’s plan was simple seduction. She wore a midnight blue sleeveless silk dress, which was draped to expose her ample cleavage. She had put her dark hair up with a clip to expose her neck and frame her face.
Mike was unconsciously staring at Phoebe’s chest.
When Phoebe noticed, Mike blushed. “They look great, don’t they, Mike?”
Mike stuttered, “I didn’t mean…”
Lisa laughed, “She looks fantastic, doesn’t she?”
Mike smiled. “Any man who doesn’t give his woman an occasion to dress up, to transform herself from time to time, needs his head examined.” He kissed Lisa, held both their hands, and said, “You both look incredible.”
A moment later, Mike’s friend walked up to the table.
He’s a cliché, thought Phoebe, tall, dark, and handsome, but before she could solidify her impression, he looked at her, and smiled broadly.
I’m melting, Phoebe thought.
Mike stood, shook Jason’s hand, and said, “Jason Carlin, meet my wife, Lisa. And this,” he nodded toward Phoebe, “is Phoebe Davis, who I told you so much about.”
Jason shook Phoebe’s hand, and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “It’s great to meet you, Phoebe. Mike said you were terrific, and I can see why.”
Uncharacteristically, Phoebe felt her face turning red.
What are you, a schoolgirl? She thought.
Phoebe and Jason sat opposite each other, and, in sixty seconds (it didn’t take two minutes) they were in deep conversation, smiling and embracing each other with their eyes.
Lisa leaned over and whispered, “Do you think they know that we’re still here?”
“They look right together, don’t they?” Mike asked.
Mike subtly reminded them that he and Lisa were still there, and the dinner went on with friendly, occasionally hilarious conversation, as Jason was a great storyteller.
“We have an early day tomorrow,” Mike said. “I think you guys can get along without us.”
“What?” Phoebe asked, smiling.
“Never mind,” Mike said, “have fun.”
“Count on it, Mike,” Phoebe said with a wink.
Jason rose, shook Mike’s hand, and whispered, “You were right. She’s wonderful.”
As they drove home, Lisa leaned on Mike’s shoulder, and said, “If you ever get tired of medicine, I see matchmaking in your future.”
After Mike and Lisa departed, Phoebe and Jason stared at each other for several minutes in silence. When Phoebe tilted her head slightly, looked up at Jason with her dark eyes, and then batted her long eyelashes, they burst out in laughter.
“I can almost read your mind, Phoebe.”
“Tell me.”
“I said almost. I’ve learned from experi
ence that mind-reading is a form of projection, that is, I subconsciously assume that someone else shares similar thoughts.”
“And desires?”
“That, too.”
“And that works for you with women?”
Jason laughed. “No formula of any kind works for women.”
“Ah, you enjoy the mystery?”
“It is mysterious, don’t you think?”
“It’s only mysterious, Jason, if you’re not willing to explore beyond the obvious.”
“The obvious?”
“Don’t go West Coast on me now, Jason. You were doing so well.”
“Don’t tell me you read my profile on E-Harmony.com?”
“I don’t think a guy like you needs an online dating service.”
“A guy like me?”
“If you think that a good-looking, single, Jewish physician means anything to me…” she paused, “then you hit it right on the nose.”
“And what about you, Phoebe? Beautiful, smart, sassy as hell, honest, and maybe not as tough as the image you’ve perfected.”
“Keep talking. You’re getting me hot.”
Jason burst out in laughter, and then reached across the table and took her hands. “Here’s something you’ll appreciate, this is one hell of a blind date.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Dr. Carlin.”
They talked until the restaurant’s cleaning staff asked them to lift their feet so they could vacuum. Taking the hint, they moved to the curb as the valet parking attendant drove up in Jason’s car, a 1965 Chevrolet Corvette convertible.
Phoebe let out a wolf whistle. “A family car?”
“Got to enjoy it while I can, although I can’t wait to drive my minivan or Suburban.”
“Right.”
“If you’re not in a rush to get home, let’s take a ride up to Grizzly Peak. It’s a clear night.”
“I’m game.”
He drove into the Berkeley hills, then through Tilden Park and parked at the appropriately named, Inspiration Point, overlooking the east bay with San Francisco shimmering in the distance.
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