Mindbend

by Robin Cook

  She had just finished when Dr. Vandermer returned. “I’ll take over,” he said in the same flat voice. “Your weight is fine. How have you been feeling in general?”

  “I haven’t examined her yet,” interrupted Nancy.

  “That’s all right,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Why don’t you run the hematocrit while I talk to Jennifer.”

  With an audible sigh, Nancy took the hematocrit tubes and left the room.

  “So how have you been feeling?” asked Dr. Vandermer again.

  Jennifer stared at the man facing her. He had the same polished good looks, but his face was slack, as if he were exhausted. His hair was also a little different. It seemed bushier, and instead of his usual hurried manner, he gave Jennifer the impression that he actually wanted to know what was on her mind.

  “I guess I’ve been feeling pretty good,” she said.

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

  “Well . . .,” said Jennifer, “I’m less tired, but the morning sickness has gotten worse, no matter what I do about diet.”

  “How do you feel about this pregnancy?” asked Dr. Vandermer. “Sometimes emotions play a role in our well-being.”

  Jennifer looked at Dr. Vandermer’s face. He seemed genuinely concerned. “To tell the truth,” she said, “I feel very ambivalent about being pregnant.” Up until that moment she’d been unwilling to admit it, even to her mother. But Dr. Vandermer did not seem disapproving.

  “Second thoughts are very common,” he said gently. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel.”

  Encouraged by his attitude, Jennifer found herself telling him all of her fears about her career and her relationship with Adam. She admitted that Vandermer had been right; it wasn’t the proper time for them to have a child. She talked for nearly ten minutes, saved from tears only by an odd lack of affect in Vandermer’s expression. He was concerned but in some way remote.

  When she finished, he said softly, “I appreciate your confiding in me. It’s not healthy to bottle up your feelings. In fact, they may be related to your continued morning sickness, which should have abated by now. I think that we will have to try you on some medication.” Turning to Nancy, who had just returned to the room, he said, “Would you go down to the supply room and bring back a handful of pregdolen samples?”

  Nancy left without a word.

  “Now then,” said Dr. Vandermer, “let’s get a good look at you.”

  The examination included ultrasonography, which Dr. Vandermer described as a method by which images were produced as ultrasonic waves echoed off the baby’s tissues. Jennifer wasn’t sure she understood, but Dr. Vandermer assured her it was both painless and harmless to mother and fetus alike, and indeed it was. Although a technician came in to run the unit, Dr. Vandermer insisted on doing the test himself. On a screen much like a television’s Jennifer saw the outline of her baby.

  “Do you care to know the sex of the child?” asked Dr. Vandermer, straightening up.

  “I guess,” said Jennifer, not having given the matter much thought.

  “I can’t be sure,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but if I had to guess it looks like a boy.”

  Jennifer nodded. For the moment it didn’t make any difference if it were a boy or a girl, but she wondered how Adam felt.

  Back in the examination room, Dr. Vandermer sat down at the small desk and began to write up his findings. He dismissed Nancy, who left without a word, obviously displeased to have had her job curtailed.

  Jennifer sat on the table, wondering whether she should dress. Finally, Dr. Vandermer turned to face her. “Aside from the morning sickness, you’re doing fine, and maybe this will stop the nausea.” He stacked the samples next to her and wrote out a prescription as well. “Take one pill three times a day.”

  Jennifer nodded. She was willing to try anything.

  “Now,” said Dr. Vandermer in his new monotone voice, “there are two things I want to discuss with you. First, the next time I see you it will be at the Julian Clinic.”

  Jennifer felt her heart skip a beat. The image of Cheryl slumping to the floor flashed before her. She could see the blood and feel the icy panic.

  “Jennifer, are you all right?” asked Dr. Vandermer.

  “Maybe I should lie down,” said Jennifer, feeling suddenly dizzy.

  Dr. Vandermer helped her to lie back.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” said Jennifer. “I’m all right now. Why will I be seeing you at the Julian Clinic?”

  “Because I’ve decided to join their staff,” said Dr. Vandermer, checking her pulse. “I’m no longer interested in private practice. And I can assure you that as a patient you will get better care at the Julian Clinic. Now, do you feel all right?”

  Jennifer nodded.

  “Is this the first time in your pregnancy you’ve felt faint like this?”

  “Yes,” said Jennifer and went on to describe Cheryl’s unexpected death.

  “What an awful experience for you,” Dr. Vandermer said. “Especially being pregnant. Fortunately, such a clotting disorder is extremely rare, and I hope you don’t blame the Julian Clinic. I heard about that case and I happen to know that Miss Tedesco had withheld certain aspects of her medical history. Her extensive drug usage had caused hematologic problems that did not show up in routine lab work. Had Miss Tedesco been more forthright, she’d undoubtedly be alive today. I’m only telling you this so you won’t have any doubts about the clinic.”

  “I’d heard good things about it before I went with Cheryl. And I must admit I was impressed with the staff’s caring attitude.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m going there. The doctors aren’t involved with any of the competitive nonsense associate with private practice.”

  Jennifer sat up, relieved to find that the dizziness had completely passed.

  “Are you going to be all right now?” asked Dr. Vandermer.

  “I think so,” said Jennifer.

  “The second thing I wanted to discuss with you is the possibility of doing amniocentesis.”

  Jennifer felt another rush of light-headedness, but this time it passed quickly. “You’ve changed your mind,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “That is true,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Initially, I was convinced that your brother’s problem had been congenital, meaning a chromosomal change after conception. But I got the slides from the hospital where your brother died, and the lab thinks the problem may be hereditary. Given that possibility, it would be a mistake not to take advantage of all the technology at our disposal.”

  “Would the test show if my child had the same problem?” asked Jennifer.

  “Absolutely,” said Dr. Vandermer. “But we should do it soon, since it takes several weeks to get the results. If we wait too long, it will be difficult to do anything if the result is positive.”

  “By ‘doing anything’ you mean an abortion?” said Jennifer.

  “Yes,” said Dr. Vandermer. “The chances of a problem are very small, but with the ambivalence you’ve voiced, I think that you would be able to handle such an eventuality.”

  “I’ll have to talk with my husband and my parents,” said Jennifer.

  She left the office nervous about the prospect of amniocentesis but glad she had a doctor as caring as Vandermer. She’d have to tell Adam that she’d totally reversed her original impression of the man.

  • • •

  Adam never quite lost consciousness. He was vaguely aware of being dragged into Percy’s living room and unceremoniously dumped onto the couch. He felt his wallet being removed, and then replaced. That little sequence didn’t jibe with his expectations, and puzzling it over, he shook off his stupor.

  The first thing he did was search for his glasses, which were suddenly thrust into his hand. He put them on and the room came into focus. Sitting in front of him was a heavyset man in a blue suit and a white shirt open at the collar.

  “Good morning,” said the man. “Welcome back.”
/>
  Adam moved. Nothing hurt, which was surprising.

  “Unless you want to ride down to the police station, Mr. Schonberg, you’d better tell me what you were doing in this apartment.”

  “Nothing,” croaked Adam. He cleared his throat.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that,” said the man, lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

  “I could say the same for you,” said Adam.

  The stranger reached over and grabbed Adam’s shirt front, almost lifting him off the couch. “I’m not in the mood for wisecracks,” he snarled.

  Adam nodded.

  As suddenly as he’d grabbed him, the man let him go. “OK,” said the stranger. “Let’s start again. What were you doing in this apartment?”

  “I am a friend of Percy Harmon,” said Adam quickly. “Well, sort of a friend. I was starting work for Arolen Pharmaceuticals and he took me around to teach me the routine.”

  The man nodded slightly, as if he accepted the story so far.

  “Percy was supposed to call me,” Adam said. “He never did and he never answered his phone. So I came over to see if he was here.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you broke into the apartment,” said the stranger.

  “It was an impulse,” said Adam meekly. “I wanted to see if he was all right.”

  The man didn’t say anything. The silence and the tension quickly began to wear on Adam. “I liked Percy,” he said. “I was worried about him. He was supposed to go to Puerto Rico for a training course, but he never got there.”

  The man remained silent.

  “That’s all I know,” said Adam. “I never saw him again.”

  “I believe you,” said the man, after a pause.

  “Thank you,” said Adam, relieved to the point he could have cried.

  The man stubbed out his cigarette. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a card and extended it to Adam. It said “Robert Marlow, Private Investigator.” In the lower right-hand corner was a telephone number.

  “About six weeks ago Percy Harmon left a Japanese restaurant in Fort Lee, New Jersey. He never got home. I’ve been hired by the family to see what I can find out. I’ve been watching the apartment. Aside from a couple of young ladies, you’re the only one to show up.”

  “Do you have any idea of what could have happened to him?” asked Adam.

  “Not the foggiest,” said Mr. Marlow. “But if you happen to hear anything, I’d appreciate a call.”

  • • •

  Adam still felt shell-shocked when he got back to his empty apartment. Jennifer’s absence irritated him. He was upset and he wanted to talk to her, but he guessed she was off with her mother again. He flung himself down on the bed and turned on the news. Slowly he began to unwind.

  The next thing Adam knew, he heard the front door close and for a moment thought he was back in Harmon’s apartment.

  “Well, well,” teased Jennifer. “Lying down on the job.”

  Adam didn’t answer.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “I suppose you’ve been to Englewood,” Adam snapped unreasonably.

  Jennifer stared at him. She wasn’t up to one of Adam’s moods. She resented having to apologize for seeing her parents. Putting her hands on her hips, she said, “Yes, I did go home.”

  “I guessed as much,” said Adam, turning to the television.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Jennifer.

  “Nothing in particular,” said Adam.

  “Look,” said Jennifer, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I had good reason to go home. Dr. Vandermer suggested I have amniocentesis. I went home to discuss whether or not to do it.”

  “That’s nice,” said Adam sarcastically. “You discuss it with your parents even though it is our child.”

  “I knew I couldn’t get hold of you during the day,” explained Jennifer, trying to be reasonable. “Of course I planned to discuss it with you. But I wanted to talk to my mother because she experienced the trauma of giving birth to a Down’s baby.”

  “I still think the decision is ours alone,” said Adam.

  He rolled over and put his feet on the floor, knowing he was being unfair. “Besides, I thought Vandermer said you didn’t need amniocentesis.”

  “That’s true,” said Jennifer. “But today he told me that after checking the slides on my brother, he thinks I should have it.”

  Adam got to his feet and stretched. From the little he knew about genetics, he didn’t think that Jennifer needed amniocentesis. “Maybe you should get a second opinion. When I initially asked around for an OB man, people also recommended Herbert Wickelman.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t need to see anyone else. Another opinion would just confuse the issue further. I’m happy with Dr. Vandermer and I have confidence in him, particularly since his manner has improved so much.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Adam.

  “Since he returned from his medical conference, he seems to have more time and interest,” said Jennifer. “He isn’t so rushed.”

  Adam forgot his anger. “Has he changed in any other way?” he asked.

  “He says he’s tired of private practice,” said Jennifer, taking off her dress and heading into the bathroom. “He’s decided to go to the Julian Clinic, and I’m to see him there from now on.”

  Adam slowly sank back on the bed.

  “I never thought I’d go back to the Julian after Cheryl died,” Jennifer called out, “but Dr. Vandermer has convinced me of its excellence. And you know I was impressed by the staff.”

  Adam heard the sound of water in the bathroom sink. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t mentioned anything to Jennifer about Percy Harmon’s disappearance or any of his other suspicions about Arolen, but now that it seemed as if Vandermer was involved, Adam knew he had to do something.

  Adam walked to the bathroom, where Jennifer was washing her face. “I’m going to insist that you see Dr. Wickelman. I don’t like the idea of Vandermer going to the Julian Clinic.”

  Jennifer looked up, surprised. There were times lately when Adam acted very strangely.

  “I’m serious,” he began, but stopped in mid-sentence, glimpsing a familiar bottle on the edge of the sink.

  “What the hell is this?” he demanded, grabbing it.

  Jennifer glanced from his face to the small bottle he held in his hand. Then she turned and silently hung up her towel.

  “I asked you a question,” yelled Adam.

  “I think the answer is obvious. It’s pregdolen. For my morning sickness. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She started for the bedroom. Adam grabbed her arm.

  “Where did you get this?” he demanded, holding the bottle directly in front of her.

  Jennifer pushed it away. “If you must know, from Dr. Vandermer.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Adam. “Vandermer would never prescribe this stuff.”

  Jennifer pulled her arm free. “Are you suggesting that I’m lying?”

  Adam returned to the bathroom and poured some of the blue-and-yellow capsules into his hand. It was pregdolen all right.

  “Did you hear me?” demanded Jennifer.

  “I don’t want you taking this drug,” he said. “Do you have any more of it?”

  “I’m going to follow my doctor’s orders,” said Jennifer. “Since I started taking these pills, I’ve had the first nausea-free day in months. And remember, you are the one who sent me to Dr. Vandermer in the first place.”

  “Well, you’re definitely not going back,” said Adam. He lifted Jennifer’s tote bag from the shelf above the toilet and looked inside. The additional packages of pregdolen were right on top.

  Trying to grab the purse, Jennifer shouted, “I like Dr. Vandermer and I trust him. Give me my bag!”

  Adam fished out the other samples before letting it go. “Listen!” he said. “I don’t want you taking this stuff. It’s dangerous.”

  �
��Dr. Vandermer wouldn’t give it to me if it were dangerous,” said Jennifer. “And I intend to take it. After all, I’m the one who is suffering, not you. And I think that you should remember that you are not a doctor. In fact, all you are right now is a drug salesman.”

  Adam opened the sample packages while he lifted the lid of the toilet with his foot.

  “Give me my medicine!” yelled Jennifer, realizing what he was doing.

  Adam dumped the contents of the first bottle into the toilet.

  Desperately, Jennifer snatched a bottle from Adam’s hand and ran into the bedroom. Stunned, Adam hesitated, then ran after her. For a minute they stood face to face. Then Jennifer dashed back into the bathroom and tried to lock the door. But she wasn’t fast enough. Adam got his foot beyond the door, and a brief shoving match ensued. Slowly the door inched open until Jennifer gave way. She backed up against the shower stall, hiding the bottle behind her.

  “Give me the pregdolen,” ordered Adam.

  Jennifer shook her head. Her breath was coming in short gasps.

  “OK!” snapped Adam as he reached out and roughly pulled her hands from behind her back.

  “No!” shouted Jennifer.

  One by one he peeled back her fingers, took the bottle, and emptied it into the toilet. Jennifer began pounding his back. To protect himself, Adam threw up his right hand, accidentally hitting the side of her head. The blow sent her reeling against the wall, momentarily stunned.

  Adam dumped the remaining samples into the bowl and flushed them away. Then he turned to apologize to Jennifer, but she was so furious she wouldn’t listen.

  “You’re not my doctor,” she screamed. “I’m tired of being sick every day, and if he gives me medication to feel better, I’m going to take it.”

  She tore into the bedroom and pulled her suitcase down from the top of the closet.

  “Jennifer, what are you doing?” asked Adam, though it was pretty clear what she had in mind. Jennifer didn’t answer but began rolling up clothes and throwing them into the case.

  “Jennifer, we can have disagreements without your running away,” said Adam.

  Jennifer turned to face him, her cheeks flushed.

  “I’m going home. I’m tired, I don’t feel well, and I can’t stand this bickering.”