Executive Sick Days

by Maria E. Schneider

  "Oh." Then since I sounded disbelieving, I added, "He has an office at The Pavilion with you, doesn't he?" Maybe Dr. Evans referred patients to him because he was part of the group of doctors at The Pavilion. That sort of business exchange was common in the computer business. Some executives would throw business to their golf buddies without caring whether the guys were any good or not.

  Brenda, who had come up behind us, laughed at me. "You can't let a few bad habits get in the way of a referral. He's really good!"

  Dr. Evans agreed as she turned to go down the hall to do rounds. Before Brenda followed I asked, "Are you guys serious?"

  She nodded. "Honestly, working with him beats half the other doctors. Think about it. Can you imagine letting Dr. Staple take a knife to you?" She shivered.

  "Uh, no." But while Dr. Staple doled out smiles as if they were the cause of all disease and strife in the world, he probably didn't steal patient's food. "Doesn't Dr. Staple work at The Pavilion too?"

  "Yes. He's a surgeon, but has his private offices over there like Dr. Evans. He’s actually extremely talented, but he doesn’t have bedside manners, not a one. He gets results and that’s all that matters to him."

  "Are there any other internists here?"

  Brenda nodded. "Of course, but don't you worry. Dr. Burns is the best. I really like him. If I--" she stopped suddenly. With a snap, she closed her mouth and mumbled, "All the doctors here are really good."

  I turned around. Dr. Staple must have been lurking in the break room because he was now standing in the doorway with a fierce frown on his face. I hoped he hadn't overheard Brenda's remark about him.

  "Mrs. Pierce's bed needs changing," he said.

  Since it wasn't Brenda's job to change sheets, he was obviously addressing me, although he didn't even lift his little cleft chin from his chart. "I'll get right on that," I responded, heading for the linen closet.

  Mrs. Pierce didn't seem to like her doctor much. Whatever exam had been performed had either frightened her into losing control over all her bodily functions, or more likely, she had been aiming at Dr. Staple.

  Computer work paid better and rarely smelled bad. Even when electronics were on fire and smelled like singed hair, it beat sewage. "Ohboy." This was going to take some doing.

  Paul came in the room just then and stopped on a dime. His little fish face worked as though his gills had suddenly realized that he required water to breathe. He must have decided to go in search of some because he disappeared faster than a tadpole.

  "Hey," I called out after him.

  "He's never a big help, is he?" Mrs. Pierce murmured. She patted my arm.

  I wasn't certain whether to be dismayed or relieved when a knock sounded. It wasn't Paul. Holly, from x-ray, poked her head around the doorway. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. "Eh-yew. Smells like there was a code brown in here." She wrinkled her nose.

  "You got that right." Brenda had explained that "code brown" was nurse talk for "emptied bowels." It wasn't an official code. Those were saved for the intercom, because it wasn't considered good form to blare out, "Patient stopped breathing in room 302, bring emergency equipment." Instead, a "code blue" was announced. I had a sheet with all the codes and their meanings in my volunteer packet.

  Holly swished her head back and forth before pushing a wheelchair into the room. "Mrs. Pierce is due in my shop for some x-rays." She sucked in a breath like she was going to laugh, but she coughed instead, waving a hand in front of her face. "At the moment I'm wishing I had called in and a sub were here, but since there's only one x-ray tech in at a time, I guess it's me." While she was talking her hazel eyes searched slyly for a graceful exit. She shuffled her feet. "Doesn't look like Mrs. Pierce is quite ready."

  "I'm working on it," I grumbled. "Paul was here, but he didn't exactly offer to help."

  Grudgingly, she took the hint. After putting the chart down on the wheelchair she grabbed clean linens. "Some of the nurses will help out, some won't. Technically it's a technician's job--not an x-ray technician," she clarified, "a nurse's technician, you know, the aides."

  "Yeah, I know. Or a volunteer's job."

  "In Paul's case, he probably wouldn't help his own mother. If you ever need to move someone and need help, don't ask him."

  "You'd think he could put some of that male muscle to work," I said.

  Holly snorted. "Yeah right. Have you met John or Charles? John is an ambulance driver and Charles works in the ER. Mm-hmm, now there are some muscles."

  "No, I guess I've missed them."

  "Oh, I miss them too." She shivered delicately. "Next time you have to come in, Mizz Pierce, call the ambulance. I-am tell-ing you! That Charles can give me a ride any old time!"

  Mrs. Pierce smiled vacantly, a little dopey. I wasn't sure how anyone could have romantic thoughts about men during a code brown cleanup. I had never washed my hands so much or changed my apron so often as I had since I started this job.

  Once we finished, it was only polite to offer to go down with Holly to bring Mrs. Pierce back up. After all, she had helped with the mess.

  We were just rolling out of the elevator onto the first floor when Crissa called out for us to hold the doors. She was pushing a patient bed all by herself. "Can you help me?" she asked. "This guy needs to go upstairs for emergency surgery."

  Holly waved me onward. "Go on!"

  I hurried to help Crissa get the patient into the elevator. The guy didn't look very healthy, moaning and breathing erratically. He had an IV in his arm and without my help, it would have been almost impossible for Crissa to control the bed and the IV pole.

  The surgical rooms were at back of the third floor, behind an extra set of doors for additional privacy. Crissa didn't waste any time. When we got through the double doors into the surgery area, someone with green scrubs took over and rolled the guy into a procedure room.

  "Thanks," Crissa said. "The ER is crazy today. We normally have more help, but I was left holding the bag this time."

  "No problem." I turned around and almost slammed into one of the doctors. He stopped short to keep from plowing me over. He steadied me with one hand while asking, "In one?"

  "Yes, sir, doctor," Crissa replied, saluting playfully and giving him a saucy wink.

  He looked down at me then and caught me staring. "Sorry," I said. He was the kind of doctor mothers dream about; professional, good-looking and emanating doctor with every step.

  He moved to one of the sinks, but didn't break eye contact. "You must be new."

  I was about to follow Crissa out, but common courtesy demanded I answer his question. "I'm Sedona, one of the volunteers." I would have offered my hand, but his were under the running water. Just as with the other doctors, I got a thorough inspection, but this one seemed more personal and a lot more complimentary. I didn't feel at all diseased.

  "Dr. Fox. Alex Fox." He said his name like, "Bond. James Bond." The man even looked like James Bond, except his eyes were green rather than blue. He had a hint of gray at his temples. "Wash up. Grab some scrubs. You can watch."

  My eyes about popped out of my head. "Really?"

  "Sure. It's a routine appendicitis. We encourage students to observe as often as possible."

  Technically, I wasn't a student, but I didn't argue when one of the nurses took pity on me and tossed some scrubs in my direction. “I’m Stacey, welcome aboard.” Her hair was already covered, and after introducing herself, she donned her face mask and followed Dr. Fox.

  “Thanks, I’ll be right there!” I hurriedly pulled on the protective uniform. We had learned in training to wash up properly. Ellen had put goop all over our hands and then checked them under ultraviolet light to see how much we had actually washed off.

  I barely washed my hands long enough, even though rushing wasn't necessary because my presence wasn't critical to anyone. The doctor wouldn't care if I wandered in late, but I didn't want to miss anything, or worse, distract him in the middle of something critical.


  This was the most exciting thing to happen since I'd started. Too bad it had nothing to do with the case. Feeling very privileged, I went through the door and stood out of the way toward the patient's head. I made sure I was well away from Dr. Fox so that I couldn't bump anything, especially his arm. The video screen was on the other side of the patient so everything was within easy view. An anesthesiologist was already putting the mask over the patient's face. There was one little spot with the guy's abdomen exposed.

  Dr. Fox didn't waste any time. He didn't even have to say, "scalpel," because the tray was right there with all kinds of instruments. Stacey stood next to him, efficient and professional. Dr. Fox blocked most of my view of her, but he was better to look at anyway.

  I admit, I couldn't watch when he made the initial cut. Sure, it was all for a good cause. I still closed my eyes. When I peeked, Dr. Fox had finished inserting a tube underneath the patient's bellybutton. He said something about "inflate," and then he made a second incision and then a third. I forgot to close my eyes.

  There were a lot of long instruments and giant tubes. Dr. Fox moved a long tube around, and pictures of a whitish wormy looking thing surrounded by red capillaries appeared on the video monitor. Dr. Fox seemed to be going after this wormy, disgusting body piece. I hoped the images were meaningful to Dr. Fox because they were indistinguishable to me. All of the flesh looked, "infected" and "swollen" not to mention disgusting and oozing.

  "Not ruptured," Dr. Fox commented.

  It was hard to watch the monitor and Dr. Fox's hands at the same time. The patient looked like a weird voodoo doll with all the instruments poking out of his abdomen.

  Dr. Fox made a small cut underneath the worm. He then used something else to clamp one end of the white mass. A few more movements and another clamp, and suddenly there it was, a grotesque bundle of flesh. Plop, he dropped it into a specimen bag that the nurse held out.

  "Good thing the guy didn't ignore the pain," Dr. Fox said.

  Wow.

  I stayed out of the way while he bandaged the patient up. He snapped his gloves off just like on television and strode out of the room. It took me several minutes to follow because I was too amazed to get my feet working.

  There it was, the workings of life and death. Just like that, the doctor went in and removed the problem. This guy would wake up and heal and move on with his life. I felt heroic and all I had done was watch. My own appendix wanted to be taken out at that moment.

  In a daze, I wandered back out. I hadn't even gotten a spec of dust on me, never mind blood or gore. This surgery watching was a lot more captivating and a good deal more sanitary than bedpan changing. Truthfully, with all the computers involved, it should have been nothing more than another lab exercise to me, but it wasn't. There was a patient involved with real blood and everything!

  Dr. Fox had already removed his mask and scrubs. "What did you think of the surgery?"

  "Totally impressive," I said in awe.

  He smiled. "How long have you been here?"

  "A...couple of days...a week now," I stuttered. "I'm trying to decide on whether or not to choose a medical career. How long have you worked here?" It was a stupid question, but mentally I pretended I was furthering the investigation by asking questions, rather than being nervously flattered by his attention.

  He flashed perfect white teeth. "About fifteen years, give or take. I did my residency in Houston, but I've been doing surgery here ever since."

  "Oh."

  "I'm on my way to check on room 305--removed a tumor yesterday. You headed back that way?"

  Without his prodding I might have stood there all day thinking about the amazing surgery. "Sure. I’m supposed to be helping."

  He grinned at me, his emerald eyes flashing.

  I followed along and wondered if he would mind if I asked a few thousand questions. Before I could form an intelligent thought, a voice from down the hall hailed him.

  "Oh, Doc-tor Fo-ox! Yoohoo!" There was no way that cawing voice could coo. Attila's attempt was worse than a howling cat.

  Like a race car driver, she zoomed in. Her muscular arm grabbed mine and nearly squeezed it off. Since she was the head nurse and rarely helped with the grunt work, I doubted she got those muscles from lifting patients. She must spend all of her free time working out at the gym.

  "Sedona, you need to check the supply cabinet and restock it," she grated out before turning her dark-haired vixen wattage on Dr. Fox. To my disgust, he didn't seem to mind. Like Bond, he seemed willing to give any female his amused attention.

  Attila wasn't all that well endowed, but what she did have, she pushed out in a parody of either a strutting peacock or some weird chest exercise that I didn’t know about. His eyes, as intended, strayed to the target.

  "Thanks again," I said to the doctor.

  He acknowledged my appreciation with a wave. "Anytime. We usually set up a time for students to come in and watch. Check with your administrator. I'm sure she will know when we have the sessions planned."

  By the time Attila and Dr. Fox went into room 305, he had a hand on her shoulder, but I couldn't tell if that was to keep her from becoming velcroed to his lab coat or if he was encouraging her. At last, the closet romances that television dramas always seemed to portray.

  "Hmph," I muttered.

  "That woman is determined to marry herself a rich, handsome doctor and retire before she's thirty. She's not the only one either."

  I jumped and turned to find Holly behind me pushing an empty wheelchair. "He doesn't look all that unwilling,"I said.

  Holly shrugged. "That man gets whatever he wants. Then again, most of the doctors do. Sally is too blind to see that." She paused and raised the pitch of her voice, "Alex, oh Alex," she fluffed at her hair even though hers was blond to Attila's long dark hair, "isn't a one-woman kind of man."

  "He's not married?"

  "Nah, messy divorce years and years ago. He's a surgeon--the head surgeon--and like most of them, he's married to his work. He manages to date, and I happen to know that he and Sally," she wiggled two of her fingers together and then hurried on, "but I think he's currently dating at least one of the girls downstairs. Since his daughter works here too, he keeps a lid on things, because you know, people would talk."

  Like we were doing. She went on to confide, "From what I've heard, he isn't dying to settle back in with one woman. You should probably be careful. He has a reputation, if you know what I mean." She leaned forward and stared at the door where he had disappeared. "He sure is nice to look at though."

  I had to agree on both counts. In fact, he was probably one of the few doctors who wasn't completely weird. Really, most of them were as geeky as engineers; they just lacked the nerd reputation.

  Thinking of weird must have been a beacon. Dr. Burns came out of one of the patient rooms, eating a cookie. I winced. Mrs. Starksy liked to keep her meal trays and dawdle, especially if she had pudding. She also nabbed the cookies or brownies and saved them for later.

  I went into her room and sure enough, there she was with her very empty lunch tray. "Hey, Mrs. Starksy."

  "Anna, dear. Just call me Anna."

  "You ready for me to take your tray?"

  She nodded.

  What else could she do? There wasn't anything on the tray but a lonely empty plastic bag that the cookie had been wrapped in.

  I shook my head. Maybe there was a pattern, and Dr. Burns only took food from patients who didn't have incurable or contagious diseases. Much as I liked food, there was no way I was that greedy. I hated to think badly of the doctor, but who else could be guilty of stealing my lunch?

  The real question, of course, was whether or not he was guilty of stealing something even more valuable.

  Chapter 8

  Instead of wandering around aimlessly looking for non-existent clues or doing my volunteer work, I went looking for Radar. Surely by now he had more information.

  I entered his lair and called out a greeting.
He jumped about three feet in the air. The wheeled chair he had been sitting on spun halfway across the concrete floor before stopping. "You trying to parachute off that chair or what?" He wasn't a particularly nervous person, but maybe the creepy basement was getting to him.

  "Couldn't you knock?"

  "Would you have heard?" There were far too many clanks and echoes across the concrete floor for anyone to distinguish a polite knock on the door.

  Radar retrieved his chair.

  I checked my watch because I didn't want to be gone too long. "Find anything yet?"

  "I looked up the admitting doctors and went through more of the codes, but I'm not sure any of the information is going to help. The charges are almost exactly the same for two of the patients, but the third one is kind of off."

  "Who admitted them?" If it had been the same doctor, Radar would have been more excited.

  "Dr. Evans admitted Mrs. O for the dates that Brenda mentioned. The Brown patient was admitted by Burns and the third guy by Fox." He shrugged. "I went back into Mrs. O's records. She has been admitted by Burns several times in the past and also by Dr. Staple."

  "Typical hypochondriac," I said.

  "Dr. Evans has also admitted Brown. I charted all this, but since it isn't the same doctor, it doesn't prove a thing. Maybe that is why someone picked these patients to overcharge. They have more than one doctor so how is anyone going to be able to keep track?" He pulled out a three ring binder. Instead of flipping through what appeared to be blank pages, he dug out papers from a very carefully concealed slit in the plastic. "I know you like hard copy so I printed these. Be careful with them. Don't leave them lying around where someone could see them."

  So far as I could tell, Radar and I were the only ones who had ventured down to the basement in several years. Even if he posted it on the wall, no one would be likely to discover the sheets of information.

  He laid out the copies. "Brown and Mercer had colonoscopies. Mrs. O had a hysterectomy on the dates you originally gave me, but," he held up his eureka finger, "I found another stay where she had a colonoscopy so I included that. She's also been in for ulcers and had a couple of tumors removed--not all at the same time, but I went back through all her records."