She was staring down at the cracked pavement, silent and brooding. Then she looked up, first at me, then at Virginia.
“He fired me, that’s what happened.” She was blunt, almost accusatory.
“He did what?” I exclaimed, not believing what I had just heard.
Virginia reached out and put a hand on Amy’s arm. She didn’t pull away.
“Tell us what happened with Walter Stevens.”
She recoiled at the sound of his name, and it took a moment or two for her to collect herself.
“I went in his office and sat down, and he immediately started in on me,” she began, anger rising in her voice.
Virginia crossed her arms and started tapping her right foot, trying to control her own boiling emotions. “Take your time, Amy. Just take a deep breath and take your time.”
She took a deep breath, blew it out, and looked straight into my eyes.
“He didn’t waste any time,” she began to tell us. “He told me he knew I had been stealing the drugs in the ER and he had proof. He wanted me to confess and get it over with.”
“What kind of proof did he have?” I asked her, becoming angrier myself.
“He didn’t have any, of course,” Amy answered tersely. “I asked him the same thing, but he just hemmed and hawed and said I needed to confess and clear things up. I told him to go jump and that I hadn’t done anything. That really teed him off, ’cause he got up out of his chair and started pacin’ around the room.”
“Amy,” I interrupted her. “I told you to try to keep quiet and let him talk.”
Virginia shot me a disapproving glance.
“I tried, Dr. Lesslie, but he’s such an arrogant…an arrogant…” She glanced over at Virginia, not wanting to offend her.
“He’s an arrogant jerk,” Virginia said, finishing her sentence. “Go on.”
“Then he pulled out a notepad and started going down some list he had made. He knew about our new truck and asked where we had got the money to buy it. I told him we had a car loan and that we were probably goin’ to lose it, but he just blew that off. And he knew about Charlie losing his job.”
“Charlie lost his job?” Virginia exclaimed, surprised by this news. “Amy, you didn’t tell me about that.”
Amy looked down at the pavement again and said, “It happened a couple of weeks ago. There were some layoffs at the plant, and Charlie was one of them. They promised he would be hired back on once things got better. But it’s been tough, and I didn’t want anybody to know about it. I didn’t want you guys to worry about us.”
“Amy…” Virginia said quietly.
“And he knew about us takin’ Benji out of the private school. I don’t know how he found out about that, but it really ticked me off. We wanted him to go out to Westminster and be with some of his friends, but when things got tight, we just couldn’t…we couldn’t afford it. Stevens said all those things pointed to ‘motive’ or something like that. He started talkin’ about ‘need’ and ‘opportunity’ and about rationalizin’ stuff, and I wanted to slug him.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I told her, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“How do you know I didn’t?” she asked, staring straight at me with a serious expression on her face.
I flinched a little and she said, “Don’t worry. I didn’t slug him. Wanted to, but I didn’t.”
“You said he fired you,” Virginia asked her. “How did that come about?”
“Well, first he told me to resign and be done with it,” Amy began again. “When I told him that wasn’t happenin’, he told me that South Carolina was a ‘hire at will’ state, or somethin’ like that, and that he could fire me for no cause. Just like that. Then he kept tryin’ to get me to resign, telling me that it would look better on my record, and I would have a better chance of gettin’ another job, and stuff like that. But I kept tellin’ him I wasn’t goin’ to resign because I hadn’t done anything wrong. That set him off all over again, and he started poundin’ on his desk. I wanted to pound it with his head, but I didn’t. Then all of a sudden, he stood up straight, took a deep breath, and got real calm. That’s when I got nervous. Then he started talkin’ about some bus and how I didn’t need to be on it.”
I glanced over at Virginia. She was shaking her head.
Amy stopped talking and looked again at each of us.
“Then he told me you two knew all about this and that you agreed with everything he was saying, and that you wanted me to resign too.”
There was hurt in her voice and in her eyes.
“That’s absurd!” Virginia snapped out, stepping closer to Amy. “We knew about this—that’s why we talked with you yesterday. But neither of us believes a word of what Walter Stevens is saying, and we certainly don’t want you to resign!”
“Well, it’s too late for that,” she said, pulling back a little from Virginia. “Like I said, he fired me. When I refused to resign, he said, ‘Fine, then. Have it your way. You’re fired and you are to leave the premises immediately.’ Just like that. Then he told me to leave his office. I had more to say to him, but he said ‘Just get out,’ and that’s what I did. I’m done with this place,” she said, looking over at the hospital and shaking her head.
“Done with it,” she repeated. Then she turned and started off again toward her truck.
“Amy!” I called after her.
She raised her hand in the air and kept walking. I looked over at Virginia and she shook her head, silencing me.
“We have to give her some time,” she said quietly. “A little space is what she needs right now.”
“Well, she might need some space, Virginia,” I told her. “But I’m going to see Bill Chalmers.”
Once again, Virginia Granger would prove to be right. When I had a break, I went to the administration offices and asked the secretary there if I could speak with Bill Chalmers. The waiting area was surrounded by four or five offices, one for the CEO and the others for various vice presidents. The door to Walter Stevens’s office was the only one open and I could see him sitting behind his desk. He was looking away from me, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on his desk, talking on the phone. He was animated, and he was smiling. That almost did it for me. It was all I could do to keep from charging into his office and letting him have it, but that wouldn’t do Amy any good. I took a deep breath and looked away.
“Mr. Chalmers will see you now, Dr. Lesslie,” his secretary politely told me.
“Thanks,” I said, then walked over to his closed door.
I rapped on the paneled wood, and then stepped into his office. Chalmers was sitting behind his desk. He stood up, walked over to me, and shook my hand.
“Have a seat, Robert,” he told me, gesturing to a couple of chairs clustered around a small coffee table. I could tell he had been expecting this visit. I sat down and he took the chair beside me.
Bill Chalmers and I had always gotten along. I respected him, even liked him, which was a little unusual, considering the constant potential for conflict between a hospital administrator and his medical staff.
Bill was a businessman and he knew the importance of the bottom line, and of keeping the hospital operating in the black. But unlike too many hospital administrators, he also knew the importance of providing the best medical care possible. We had talked about that—how you can’t have one without the other. I had come to believe he was committed to making Rock Hill General the best hospital in the area, and that he understood it didn’t start in the business office.
He also understood that my job was to see that the patients who came through the ER got the best care possible and that the staff was taken care of. So far, that had never been a source of conflict for the two of us. So far.
Bill was aware of the situation with Amy Connors, and I explained my position. He listened patiently, not saying anything, and occasionally nodded his head in seeming agreement.
Finally, I said, “Bill, we need to do something h
ere. You need to do something here. Amy Connors doesn’t have anything to do with this—I’m sure of it. She’s a solid woman and the best secretary you’ve got. I don’t know why Walter Stevens has personally convicted her, but he’s dead wrong. She’s been singled out for some unknown reason, and she’s being harmed. I’m asking you to step in and help her. Tell Stevens to back off, and if he needs more time to investigate…well, what’s the sudden rush?”
Chalmers sat quietly, studying the back of his hands.
“Robert, I hear everything you’ve said, and I completely understand your position in this matter. But let me explain where I am in this. I’ve given Walter the assignment of solving this trouble—actually, he asked for it and I agreed—and I have to support him in his findings. If I don’t do that, it will undermine his position in this administration and cause irreparable harm. I’m sure that as the director of the ER, you can understand that.”
“But what about Amy?” I asked him. “What about the irreparable harm done to her?”
He started rubbing his hands together, and there was a look of concern on his face.
“Robert, I know how close you are to Amy Connors. I hear you, and believe me, I understand what you’re having to deal with.”
This seemed genuinely painful for him, and I waited as he began stroking his chin.
Finally, he took a deep breath, sighed, and said, “I know how you feel about Walter Stevens. And I know you think he’s misguided with the way he’s handling this. In fact, I probably feel the same way. But I see a different side of him. He’s determined to help make Rock Hill General the best it can be, and I have to admire that.”
He paused, then sighed once more.
“I just have to stick with my vice president on this one. My hands are tied, Robert. I’m sorry.”
“But Bill—” I tried one more time.
“Robert, I’m sorry. My hands are tied.”
There was nothing left to say, and I turned and walked out of the office.
Walter Stevens was standing beside the secretary’s desk, pointing out something to her on a report he held in his hand. He looked up as I passed by, and without a word turned his back to me.
15
Facing the Darkness
6:50 p.m. Three days had passed, and we hadn’t heard anything from Amy. Virginia had tried to call her in the morning, but there was no answer and her voice mail was full.
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” she told me when I came in to begin my night shift. “And just so you know, Walter Stevens came down here this afternoon. He wanted to know if any more drugs were missing, and when I told him no, he seemed to take great satisfaction. I told him it had only been three days. Then he looked at me and said, ‘Case closed.’ It was all I could do to hold my tongue.”
Word of Amy’s firing had quickly spread through the ER and throughout the hospital. The reason for her firing was known by a growing number of people in the department, and it would be impossible to keep that from spreading as well, try as we might.
“Virginia, it really bothers me that the person who’s been stealing the drugs knows that Amy’s been fired, and probably knows why. Yet they haven’t come forward and are willing to let her take the fall. It’s bad enough to be doing this in the first place, but to knowingly allow someone else to suffer for it, and Amy with kids…”
“I know, and it stinks,” she huffed. “But what can we do?”
She was right, and I knew it. We were both helpless to do anything for Amy. I wasn’t used to that feeling, and I knew it bothered Virginia. I picked up my briefcase and headed to our office.
“Oh, and Dr. Lesslie,” she called out to me. I turned and walked back to her. “Darren Adler called in sick again this afternoon. And this time he won’t be coming in. Says he can’t stop vomiting or some such.” She made this last statement with a measure of skepticism in her voice and on her face.
“And Patsy Wilson will be coming in. In fact, I think she’s already here, back in the lounge. You’ll be working with her and with Clara Adams tonight.”
That will be interesting, I thought, nodding my head.
“Good,” I replied, and once more headed down the hallway.
“Well, well—Dr. Lesslie, I presume.”
The voice was behind me and was familiar. I turned around and was facing Patsy Wilson.
“Patsy,” I said, leaning forward and giving her a hug. “How long has it been? Three, four years?”
“How about seven?” she answered.
Ouch! Where had the time gone?
She hadn’t changed a bit since she’d last worked in the ER. She had the same smiling, cheerful face, and the same confident, energetic bearing. It was good to have her back, if only for this night.
“The place looks about the same,” she told me, glancing around the department. “Different faces, but everything seems to be where it’s always been.”
“‘Don’t mess with success.’ Isn’t that what you always said?” I quipped.
“Nope. I always said ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’ So if you’re going to quote me, make sure you get it right.”
Clara Adams walked up and asked, “Get what right?”
“Oh, never mind, Clara,” I responded. “Have you had a chance to meet Patsy Wilson?”
“Yes, I have,” she answered smiling at the older nurse. “We ran into each other in the lounge. It turns out we went to the same nursing school.”
“Just a few years apart,” Patsy quickly added. “Actually, Clara was still in diapers when I was in nursing school.”
“They had diapers back then?” I teased.
Two charts sat on the countertop, belonging to patients who still needed to be seen. Clara slid one over in front of me.
“Here, why don’t you go do something?” she told me with a mischievous smile on her face.
The evening went by smoothly, and it seemed as if Patsy had never left the department. She helped Clara start a difficult IV and later showed her some tricks in effectively delivering a breathing treatment to a wheezing and uncooperative two-year-old.
A little after ten, Jeff Ryan came through triage, pushing a middle-aged man in one of our wheelchairs. I was standing behind the nurses’ station and looked up as he passed.
“Cardiac,” was all he said, motioning with his head and hurrying toward that room.
Clara had been assigned major trauma and cardiac, and she started off after Jeff.
Patsy was walking out of room 5 and Clara asked, “Patsy, can you give me a hand?”
“Sure, I’ll be right there. Let me give these orders to the secretary.”
Ozzie Fielder was a fifty-two-year-old man with a long history of diabetes and cigarette smoking. He had come to the ER complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath, and Jeff had immediately noticed his pale color and labored respirations. By the time I got to cardiac, Jeff had him up on our stretcher and was placing electrodes on his bare chest. Next he connected him to our heart monitor.
“Here, let me take over,” Patsy said, stepping up beside him.
“Sure,” Jeff answered, moving out of her way. He told us what he knew of Mr. Fielder’s history and then gave us his vital signs.
“Heart rate is around 50, and his blood pressure’s a little over 80. His lungs sound a little wet too.”
Ozzie Fielder was having a heart attack and was already getting into trouble. Clara and Patsy were all over him, starting a couple of IVs, getting his oxygen going, setting out the needed medications before I asked for them, and arranging for an expedited trip to the cath lab. Everything went like clockwork, as if these two women had been working together for years. It was great, and I wanted to tell them so.
As Ozzie was being wheeled out of the room by the cath lab techs, I looked at Patsy and Clara and said, “I want the two of you to know you handled that perfectly. It couldn’t have gone any more smoothly.”
“Hey, we’re just doing our jobs,” Patsy responded, smiling
at her partner. “Isn’t that what you always say, Dr. Lesslie?”
“You know what I mean,” I mumbled. Patsy knew, and she also knew I didn’t give someone a compliment unless I really meant it. “Okay,” I groused. “Forget it then. You guys are terrible.”
“Now that’s the Dr. Lesslie we know and love,” Patsy chuckled, helping Clara straighten up the room.
The three of us had just walked out of cardiac and over to the nurses’ station when we heard a loud commotion from out in triage. It was the voices of several men, angry and cursing, and it seemed to be escalating. Suddenly the ambulance entrance doors opened and Denton Roberts, one of the paramedics on EMS 2, came hurrying into the department. In his arms was a small child, wrapped in a beige blanket that was covered in blood.
“We need major trauma,” he called to us, his eyes wide not with fear but with anger.
“Major’s open,” Clara told him, hurrying ahead and turning on the room’s lights.
As he passed me, his head turned toward triage. He heard the yelling and muttered, “How did those guys get here so fast?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, hurrying along beside him.
With a disgusted look on his face he said, “I’ll tell you in a minute, Doc. It’s crazy.”
Patsy and Clara were standing on each side of the trauma stretcher, ready for Denton and the bundled child.
“Her name is Jenny,” he told us, carefully placing her on the thin, sheeted mattress.
Patsy began opening the blanket, a look of growing horror on her face. There was blood everywhere, and when a tiny hand came up toward us with a long gash extending from the wrist to the elbow, Clara gasped.
“It’s awful,” Denton whispered, staring down at the child, his bloodied hands hanging by his side.
When Jenny had been fully exposed, we just stood there for a split second, looking down in silence and not able to tear our eyes away. I had never seen anything like it. I immediately checked her breath sounds and listened to her heart. For the moment she seemed stable.
I gave Patsy and Clara some instructions and they sprang into action. Then I turned to Denton.
Angels on the Night Shift Page 15