Godplayer

by Robin Cook

  Returning to his desk, he put away the pill container and closed the drawer. He began to feel more in control, but he still could not get over Cassi’s treachery. Didn’t she understand that all he really cared about was his surgery? How could she be so cruel as to try to jeopardize his career? First going to his mother, the one person who really had the power to upset him, then George, and now the head of his department. He would not tolerate this. He had loved her so much when they were first married. She had been so sweet, so delicate, so devoted. Why was she trying to destroy him? He would not let her. He would…

  Suddenly Thomas wondered if Ballantine was glad about all this. For some time he had the nagging feeling that something strange was going on with Ballantine and Sherman. Maybe it was all an elaborate play to undermine him.

  Thomas again felt a thrill of fear. He had to do something… but what?

  Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, ideas began to form. All at once he knew what he could do. He knew what he had to do.

  Still troubled by his meeting with Thomas, Ballantine decided to drop down to OR to see if he could find George. Sherman may have lacked Thomas’s genius, but he was a consistently excellent surgeon and an evenhanded and unflappable administrator. The house staff admired him, and Ballantine was increasingly considering backing George as chief when he himself stepped down. For a long time, the trustees had pushed to get Thomas to switch to full-time so he would be eligible for the post, but now Ballantine had doubts even if Kingsley would agree.

  Unfortunately George was still in surgery. Ballantine was surprised and hoped there was no trouble. He knew George had had only one seven-thirty case that morning. The fact that he was still in the OR in the middle of the afternoon was not auspicious.

  Ballantine decided to use the time to visit Cassi on Clarkson Two. Even if he wasn’t totally sanguine about her husband’s future, Ballantine wanted to offer what reassurance he could. Despite the years Dr. Ballantine had been on the staff of the Boston Memorial, he’d never once set foot on Clarkson Two, and when he pushed through the heavy fire door, he felt as if he’d entered another world.

  In a lot of ways it did not seem like a hospital at all. It had more the feeling of a second-class hotel. As he passed the main lounge, he could hear someone plunking atonally on the piano, as well as some mindless television game show. There were none of the sounds that he traditionally associated with the hospital, like the hiss of a cycling respirator or the characteristic clink of IV bottles. Perhaps the thing that made him the most uncomfortable was that everyone was dressed in street clothes. Dr. Ballantine could not be sure who was a patient and who was on staff. He wanted to find Cassi but was afraid of approaching the wrong person.

  The only place he could be sure of knowing who was who was the nurses’ station. Dr. Ballantine walked to the counter.

  “Can I help you?” asked a tall, elegant black woman whose name tag said simply, Roxane.

  “I’m looking for Dr. Cassidy,” said Dr. Ballantine self-consciously.

  Before Roxane could respond, Cassi’s head appeared around the door to the chart room.

  “Dr. Ballantine. What a surprise!” Cassi stood up.

  Ballantine joined her, again admiring her fragile beauty. Thomas must be crazy to spend so many nights in the hospital, he mused.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” asked Ballantine.

  “Of course. Would you like to go to my office?”

  “Here’s fine,” said Ballantine, indicating the empty room.

  Cassi pushed some of the charts away. “I’ve been writing summary notes on my patients for the other doctors to use while I’m in for my eye surgery.”

  Ballantine nodded. “The reason I stopped down was to tell you in person that I’ve already spoken with Thomas. We had a very good talk. I feel he’s been pushing it a bit, and he admitted a small reliance on Dexedrine to keep him awake, but he pretty well convinced me that he only took the pain-killers for his migraine headaches.”

  Cassi didn’t reply. She was certain Thomas hadn’t had a migraine since he was in his teens.

  “Well,” said Ballantine with forced joviality. “You get your eye taken care of and don’t worry anymore about your husband. He’s even offered to have his prescription roster audited.” He stood up and patted Cassi on the shoulder.

  Cassi wanted desperately to share Dr. Ballantine’s optimism. But he had not seen Thomas’s pupils or his staggering gait. And the chief was not the recipient of his unpredictable moods.

  “I hope you’re right,” said Cassi with a sigh.

  “Of course I’m right,” said Dr. Ballantine, annoyed that his pep talk hadn’t worked. He started to leave.

  “And you didn’t mention our conversation,” Cassi added, seeing Ballantine was becoming impatient.

  “Of course not. Anyway, Thomas’s jealousy makes it obvious he adores you. And with good reason.” Ballantine smiled.

  “Thanks for coming down,” said Cassi.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Ballantine, waving. He headed down toward the fire door, glad to be leaving Clarkson Two. He had never understood why anybody would take up psychiatry.

  Getting on the elevator, Ballantine shook his head. He hated getting mixed up with family problems. Here he had been trying to help both Kingsleys. He’d sought out Cassi in order to put her mind at ease. But she hadn’t seemed willing to listen. For the first time he began to question Cassi’s objectivity.

  Getting off the elevator, Ballantine decided to see if George was out of the OR.

  He found Sherman surrounded by house staff in the recovery room. When George caught the chief’s eye, he excused himself and followed Ballantine out into the hall.

  “I had a disturbing conversation with Kingsley’s wife this morning,” Ballantine said, getting straight to the point. “I thought she had wanted to see me to apologize about the incident last night. But that wasn’t it. She was worried that Thomas might be abusing drugs.”

  George opened his mouth to reply, then hesitated. The residents had just been describing Kingsley’s behavior in the OR that morning before George himself had taken over. If he told the chief that would mean real trouble for Kingsley. And it was always possible that Thomas had just drunk too much the night before, upset as he obviously was after the fight. George decided to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being.

  “Did you believe Cassi?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I spoke with Thomas, who had some very good answers, but even I have found his temper unusually erratic.” Ballantine sighed. “You always said you didn’t care about being chief of service, but even if Kingsley agrees to come full-time, he may not be right for the department when we are done reorganizing. He certainly opposes the new patients we’re scheduling on the teaching service.”

  “Yes,” said George. “And I can’t see Thomas accepting the idea of free surgery for the mentally retarded in order to train new teams of vascular surgeons.”

  “His point of view isn’t necessarily wrong. These new expensive procedures should be made available first to the patients with the best chances for long-term survival. But practically speaking, the residents rarely get such cases. And as far as the hospital favoring patients most valuable to society, who’s to judge? As you said, George, we’re just physicians, not God.”

  “Maybe he’ll calm down,” said George. “If our plans go through, we certainly will be needing him on the teaching staff.”

  “Let’s hope,” said Ballantine. “I’ve suggested he take a vacation with his wife. By the way, I assume his accusations were pure paranoia as far as you’re concerned.”

  “Unfortunately yes. But I’ll tell you, if she ever gave me a chance, I’d still fight for her. Aside from those amazing looks, she’s one of the most caring women I’ve ever met.”

  “Just don’t upset our genius any more than you have to,” said Ballantine with a laugh. “In the meantime, do you think I should review Thomas’s prescriptions?” />
  “How can it hurt? But there are other ways doctors can get hold of drugs,” said George, thinking of Thomas’s collapse in the OR.

  “Let’s just hope he takes his vacation soon and comes back his old self.”

  “Right,” said George, though he personally had not been that fond of Thomas in happier days.

  Nine

  Cassi was in a state of shock. She couldn’t believe the change that had come over Thomas. At around five o’clock he’d called her saying his surgery for that evening had been canceled and that he was free. He then offered to drive her home in the Porsche, saying she should leave her car at the hospital.

  For the first time in months, dinner was a pleasant affair. Thomas had suddenly become his old charming self, the man Cassi had married. He tolerated Patricia’s usual complaints with easy humor and was openly loving and affectionate toward Cassi.

  Cassi was infinitely pleased although a little confused. It was hard to believe that Thomas had forgotten the wrenching events of the previous evening, but she watched in amazement as he hurried his mother back to her apartment and solicitously poured Cassi a Kahlua. He fixed himself a cognac. They settled on the oval couch in front of the fire.

  “I got a call from Dr. Obermeyer,” he said, sipping his drink. “But by the time I called him back he’d left for the day. What’s happening about your eye?”

  “I saw him today. He said that since my vision hasn’t cleared I must have the surgery.”

  “When?” Thomas’s voice was mellow. He was swirling his cognac.

  “As soon as possible,” said Cassi hesitantly.

  Thomas absorbed the news with apparent equanimity, and Cassi continued. “I guess Dr. Obermeyer was trying to reach you because he scheduled me for the day after tomorrow. Unless, of course, you object.”

  “Object?” asked Thomas. “Why would I object? Your eyesight is far too important to take chances with.”

  Cassi let out a sigh of relief. She had been so concerned about Thomas’s response she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

  “Even though I know it’s a minor operation, I’m still frightened to death.”

  Thomas leaned over and put his arm around her. “Of course you’re scared. It’s a natural reaction. But Martin Obermeyer is the best. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

  “I know,” said Cassi, with a weak smile.

  “And I made a decision this afternoon,” Thomas said holding her tighter. “As soon as Obermeyer gives you the green light, we’ll take a vacation. Some place like the Caribbean. Ballantine convinced me that I need some time off, and what better time could there be than while you’re recuperating. What do you say?”

  “I say that sounds wonderful.” She turned her face up to kiss him as the phone rang.

  Thomas got up to answer it. She hoped he wasn’t being called back to the hospital.

  “Seibert,” said Thomas into the phone. “Nice to hear your voice.”

  Cassi leaned forward and carefully set her glass on the coffee table. Robert had never called her at home. This was just the kind of interruption that could throw Thomas into a frenzy.

  But he was saying calmly, “She’s right here, Robert. No, it’s not too late.”

  With a smile he handed the phone to Cassi.

  “I hope it’s all right that I called you at home,” said Robert, “but I managed to sneak up to pathology and look at Jeoffry Washington’s vein sections. After I got back to my room, I remembered where I’d seen such precipitates before. I had been doing the post on a man killed in an industrial accident. He had spilled concentrated sodium fluoride onto his lap. Even though he’d rinsed himself off, enough of the substance had been absorbed to prove fatal. He had the same kind of precipitation in his veins.”

  Cassi lowered her voice, turning her back to Thomas. She did not want him to know she was still following the SSD study. “But sodium fluoride isn’t used as a medication.”

  “It is on teeth,” said Robert.

  “But it’s not given internally,” Cassi whispered. “And certainly not by IV.”

  “That’s true,” said Robert. “But let me tell you how this accident victim died. He had grand mal seizures, and finally acute cardiac arrhythmia. Sound familiar?”

  Cassi knew that six patients in the SSD series had died with the same symptoms, but she didn’t say anything. Sodium fluoride wasn’t the only thing that could cause them, and there was no sense jumping to conclusions.

  “As soon as I get back in the lab,” said Robert, “I’ll be able to analyze these precipitates. I’ll find out if they are sodium fluoride. If they are, you know what that means, don’t you?”

  “I have an idea,” said Cassi reluctantly.

  “It means murder,” said Robert.

  “What was that all about?” asked Thomas when Cassi had rejoined him on the couch. “Does Robert have some new brainstorm about his SSD series?” To Cassi’s surprise Thomas only seemed curious, not upset. She decided it was safe to tell him a little about Robert’s progress.

  “He’s still working on it,” she said. “He’d begun to collate the data just before he was admitted to the hospital. He got a computer printout that showed some rather interesting results.”

  “Like what?” asked Thomas.

  “Oh, any number of possibilities,” Cassi said evasively. “He can’t rule out anything. I mean, all sorts of things can happen in hospitals. Remember those poor people in New Jersey who were given curare?” Cassi laughed nervously.

  “Surely he doesn’t suspect murder?” said Thomas.

  “No, no,” said Cassi, sorry she said so much. “He just noticed an odd precipitate at the last autopsy that he wanted to track through the data.” Thomas nodded and appeared to be thinking. Hoping to restore his good humor, Cassi added, “Robert really appreciated your intervening on his behalf.”

  “I know,” said Thomas, suddenly smiling. “I didn’t do it for his benefit, but if he insists on seeing it that way, it’s fine with me. Now I think we should go to bed.”

  As he tenderly guided her upstairs, Cassi wasn’t sure just what she read in his extraordinary blue eyes. She shivered, not entirely sure if it was with pleasurable expectation.

  Ten

  Cassi had not been a hospital inpatient since college. Now with medical school and internship behind her, it was a very different experience, just as Robert had suggested. Knowledge of all that could happen made the process far more frightening. Since she’d ridden into the hospital with Thomas, she was there far too early to be admitted. In fact, she’d been told she would have to wait until ten before the proper clerks were available. When Cassi protested that people were admitted all night long through the emergency room, the secretary just repeated that Cassi had to come back at ten.

  After spending three unproductive hours in the library, much too nervous to concentrate on anything more demanding than Psychology Today, Cassi went back to admitting. The personnel had changed, although their attitude hadn’t. Instead of smoothing the way through the admitting procedure, they seemed intent on making it as harrowing as possible, as if it were a rite of passage. Now Cassi was informed that she had no hospital card, and without one she could not be admitted. A disinterested clerk finally told her to go to the ID office on the third floor.

  Thirty minutes later, armed with a new ID which looked suspiciously like a credit card, Cassi returned to admitting. There she was confronted with another seemingly insurmountable problem. Since she used her maiden name, Cassidy, in the hospital because it was the name on her medical degree, and since Thomas had taken out her health insurance under Kingsley, the secretary claimed they needed her marriage certificate. Cassi said she didn’t have it. It wasn’t something she’d imagined she’d need to be admitted to the hospital, and surely they could just call Thomas’s office and get it straightened out. The clerk insisted the computer had to have the certificate. She was only the machine’s handmaiden, or so she said. This impasse was finally s
olved by the admitting supervisor who somehow got the computer to accept the information. Finally Cassi was assigned a room on the seventeenth floor, and a pleasant woman in a green smock, with a badge that said MEMORIAL VOLUNTEER, escorted Cassi upstairs.

  But not to seventeen. First Cassi was taken to the second floor for a chest X ray. She said she had just had one six weeks ago during a routine physical and did not want another. X ray claimed anesthesia would not anesthetize anyone who was not X-rayed, and it took Cassi another hour to get the chief of anesthesia to call Obermeyer, who in turn called Jackson, the chief of radiology. After Jackson checked Cassi’s old film, he called Obermeyer back, who called back the chief of anesthesia, who called back the radiology clerk to say that Cassi didn’t need another chest film.

  The rest of Cassi’s admission went more smoothly, including the visit to the lab for standard blood and urine analysis. Finally Cassi was deposited in a nondescript light blue hospital room with two beds. Her roommate was sixty-one and had a bandage over her left eye.

  “Mary Sullivan’s the name,” said the woman after Cassi had introduced herself. She looked older than her sixty-one years because she wasn’t wearing her dentures.

  Cassi wondered what kind of surgery the woman had had on her eye.

  “Retina fell off,” said Mary, as if noting Cassi’s interest. “They had to take the eye out and glue it back on with a laser beam.”

  Cassi laughed in spite of herself. “I don’t think they took your eye out,” she said.

  “Sure did. In fact, when they first took my bandage off I saw double and thought they’d put it back in crooked.”