It's Nothing Personal

by Gorman MD, Sherry

  The judge raised his head and beheld the victim in front of him.

  Jenna erupted. “I have lost everything – my dignity, my integrity, my reputation. You took away the only chance I had to redeem myself. You took that from me!”

  Black streams ran from Jenna’s eyes and down her face. She refused to wipe them away. Judge Hastings deserved to see every aspect of her anguish.

  Jenna pulled a picture of Mia from her coat pocket and thrust it at the judge. At first, he made no effort to accept it. Jenna shook the photo in front of him.

  “Take this!” she insisted.

  The judge reached for the picture. He studied the young girl in the photo. Instantly, he recognized her eyes. They were the same as her mother’s, except the girl’s eyes were happy and full of life, whereas Jenna’s were hollow and dead.

  “She’s beautiful,” Grant Hastings said softly, rubbing his thumb along the edge.

  “Yes, she is. Not only that, she’s smart and kind and funny. Now, thanks to you, she’s also jaded. We taught her to follow the rules and stand up for what she believes. Then, she watched me cower and say nothing, as I was slayed by Allison Anders. Right now, I should be in your courtroom making my daughter proud. Not here, in some parking lot, begging you for answers!”

  Grant Hastings handed Mia’s picture back to Jenna. With his arm extended, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  She kept her hands buried in her pockets. “Keep it. Maybe one day, you’ll look at it – look at her – and realize what you’ve done.”

  Jenna turned and walked back to her car. Watching her drive away, in the quietness of a frosty January day, the judge felt the sting of tears.

  CHAPTER 70

  June 2012

  Jenna and Mia, donned in summer dresses and sandals, met Tom downtown for lunch. Sitting at an outdoor table, sipping ice tea, Jenna could not have been happier. Tom reached across the table and held her hand. He admired his wife. She looked so beautiful with a light summer tan accentuating her striking eyes. What Tom noticed most, however, was how peaceful Jenna had become since leaving medicine. Her face no longer appeared strained, her voice was softer, her frown gone. Reflecting on the contrast from then to now, Tom wondered how Jenna lasted as long as she did.

  “Have I told you lately how pretty you are?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jenna giggled, “but you can always tell me again.”

  “You look so content and relaxed. It suits you well.”

  Jenna leaned across the table and kissed Tom passionately. Mia rolled her eyes, but her grin gave her true feelings away.

  Life had changed dramatically in the past six months. Since the day Jenna had crumbled to Allison Anders, she never returned to medicine. The perks of her salary were gone, but so was the antipathy and pessimism. Her marriage to Tom had never been better, and her relationship with Mia had never been closer.

  “You want to hear something kind of crazy?” Jenna asked.

  “I love crazy,” Tom teased. “Lay it on me.”

  “In a way, I’m almost grateful to Allison Anders.”

  Mia shrieked, “Mom! How can you say that? She ruined our lives for a long time. She’s an awful, wretched woman.”

  Jenna reached over and brushed Mia’s hair out of her face, caressing her daughter’s cheek as she pulled her hand away. “That’s all true. The thing is, look how much better our lives are now. If this whole thing hadn’t happened, I’d still be stuck in a career I despised, and I’d still be miserable. As painful as the lawsuit was, I would have never quit medicine for any other reason.”

  “We’re glad you did. Now we get you all to ourselves, right, Dad?” Like her mother, Mia had blossomed over the past six months. She was starting to become a spectacular, young woman, with her own thoughts and attitudes.

  Tom winked at his daughter. “Right.”

  The threesome finished their lunch, happily chatting over hamburgers and fries.

  After a wonderful meal, they stood to leave. Before heading back to work, Tom teased, “So what kind of trouble are my ladies going into get in this afternoon?”

  Mia planted her hands on her hips. “Uh, duh! We’re packing for our trip.”

  Tom laughed, knowing full well how Jenna and Mia would spend the rest of their day. In the morning, they were returning to Hawaii – this time for an entire month and with an agenda. They would be house shopping.

  “Mom?” Mia smirked.

  “Yes?”

  “This time, no fighting with the luggage Nazi, okay?”

  Jenna chuckled. Her outlandish behavior had evolved into a family joke. She and Mia locked pinkies.

  “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 71

  At 5 p.m., Jenna and Mia were in the bedroom packing when Tom came home from work. Jenna had the news on the television, but the sound was muted. Tom came in and kissed her on the cheek. When she looked up at him, the video on the screen caught her attention. She dropped a shirt she was folding and lunged across the bed for the remote. Anxiously, she turned up the volume. She and Tom were locked on the TV.

  A reporter stood on the steps outside an office building. Jenna immediately recognized the location. A year ago, she had found herself numb and alone, sitting on those very steps after her deposition.

  The newswoman held a microphone to her mouth and narrowed her eyes as she spoke into the camera. “We are standing outside the offices of Silverstein, Howell, and Anders. Prominent malpractice attorneys Lyle Silverstein and Allison Anders were arrested today on a variety of charges, including extortion and perversion of justice.”

  The video streamed to a clip of Allison, her hands cuffed behind her back, being placed into a patrol car. Her face was turned away from the camera, her head bowed.

  The reporter continued, “Also arrested was CEO of St. Augustine Hospital, Keith Jones. The three are accused of devising an intricate plot to bury evidence. Channel 8 News has learned that former St. Augustine scrub technician, Hillary Martin, may have exposed more patients to infectious diseases than originally thought.

  “In a court-sealed, videotaped deposition released today under the orders of Judge Grant Hastings, Martin admits to sharing stolen Fentanyl syringes with others within her social circle. Those people may also have been carriers of hepatitis C, along with other forms of hepatitis and HIV.

  “During Hillary Martin’s deposition, she admits to exchanging syringes of Fentanyl intended for patients with contaminated syringes – ones filled with saline and labeled identically to the stolen drugs. Anesthesiologists at St. Augustine unknowingly administered the tainted medications to their patients during surgical procedures, exposing them to deadly viruses.

  “Until this recent development, it was believed that Hillary Martin was the only one whose blood contaminated the syringes that were later used on patients. Testing done by St. Augustine two years ago focused only on identifying patients who met two criteria – those who had surgery during the time period when Hillary Martin was employed and also had a strain of hepatitis C that was genetically linked to that of Ms. Martin’s. In light of these latest developments, Hillary Martin’s crimes my have introduced other strains of hepatitis C into the contaminated intravenous medications. It also introduces the possibility that patients were infected with diseases besides hepatitis C, including hepatitis B and HIV.

  “St. Augustine had previously promised to provide free, lifelong medical care to all infected patients. In light of this new information, the number of infected patients could escalate dramatically, possibly financially crippling St. Augustine Hospital. Keith Jones, Lyle Silverstein, and Allison Anders are accused of attempting to suppress this information in hopes of minimizing St. Augustine’s financial exposure to victims.

  “Attempts to contact representatives from St. Augustine Hospital and Silverstein, Howell, and Anders have gone unanswered. We will continue to bring you updates on this story as it evolves.”

  Mia walked in to the bedroom, carrying an armload of beach ge
ar. She heard the last bit of the news story. Her eyes darted between her parents. “What’s going on?”

  Jenna led Mia over to the bed, and they sat on the down comforter. Cupping Mia’s cheeks in her palms, Jenna said, “Mia, I think fate just stepped in and taught Allison Anders a lesson.”

  Mia had seen the images of the lawyer being led away in handcuffs. She knew all too well the identity of the gorgeous blonde who tried to destroy her mother. “Is she going to jail?”

  Jenna’s voice was smooth and tranquil. “I think she may be. And a couple of other bad guys, too.”

  Grinning, Mia said, “It’s Karma. Like that boy in first grade who used to kick me on the playground. Then one day, we saw him at the mall in a wheelchair with his leg in a cast. Remember that, Mom? Just like back then, Karma was looking out for us.”

  Jenna pulled her daughter close, melding their torsos together. She kissed the top of Mia’s head and whispered into her ear, “Good people usually win, Mia. Sometimes we just have to be patient.”

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted Jenna’s moment with her daughter. In her bare feet, shorts, and a tank top, Jenna ran to get the door. When she opened it, she gasped. Judge Hastings stood on her doorstep, with Mia’s photo in his hand.

  “Did you see the news?” he asked, solemnly.

  “I did,” replied Jenna.

  The judge shifted his weight. It was odd to see such a powerful man look uncomfortable and awkward. He handed the photo of Mia back to Jenna. As he did, Mia came running up behind her mother.

  “Hey, Mom, have you seen my blue bikini?” When Mia saw the stranger at the door, she immediately apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were talking to someone.”

  “I’m just leaving.” The judge headed back to his car. When he reached the bottom of their porch, he turned back around and smiled at Mia. “You should be proud of your mother.”

  The stranger caught Mia off guard, but she sensed something significant was transpiring. She looked into his eyes. With the wisdom and confidence of a woman, not a child, Mia said, “I am.”

  The mysterious man nodded and walked away. Jenna and Mia stood in the doorway, holding hands, and watched him drive off. The judge rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Once he was out of sight, Mia grabbed her photo from her mother’s hand. Although it was her most recent school picture, it looked tattered and frayed. The edges were worn and uneven. Mia regarded her mother with bewilderment.

  “Who was that?” she asked.

  Jenna squeezed Mia’s hand. “That, my sweetness, was the judge that gave me back my life.”

  Jenna squinted into the blinding afternoon sun. A single, salty bead escaped from her eye and traced an erratic path down her cheek. The tear slithered its way to Jenna’s mouth, where it settled on her lips. She licked it away. For the first time in years, the saltiness was sweet, rather than bitter. It was a blessed tear of joy.

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First and foremost, I want to express my love and gratitude to my husband and daughter who have always been, and will always be, my biggest fans. They stood by me through the worst of times. Hopefully, I will be able to repay them someday with the best of times.

  Thank you to the countless people who were willing to sacrifice their time to offer me feedback. To my amazing editor, Liz Parker, who was never afraid to tell me the truth, and was never wrong about it, either. Your edits and impressions were priceless. May there be many more meetings at coffee houses in our future. On more occasions than I would like to admit, you saved me from myself. I also thank my stepdaughter, Kim, who gave me not only invaluable editorial advice, but, most importantly, her friendship. To Don and Robin, no amount of gratitude can express my debt to you – your feedback transformed my manuscript.

  And to my Monday crew: Sharon, Robin, Val, Sandy, Brittany, and Jay (our ‘honorary’ gal pal) – an unlikely group of people that learned to love and cherish one another. We all faced our challenges, but the reward, our collective friendship, was worth the pain. To all of you, thank you for holding me up when I felt like crumbling, and for encouraging me every step along the way. To Sharon, in particular, we came together at the worst points in either of our lives. Over that time, you have supported me, inspired me, made me laugh, and watched me cry. I wish you and your family nothing but happiness.

  CREDITS

  Editor Liz Parker

  Cover Design by Ryan Jarvis, all rights reserved

  Photography by Tricia Turpenoff

  Contributing Editor Kimberly Dickson

  Contributing Editor Don Dennis

  ABOUT SHERRY GORMAN, MD

  Sherry Gorman is a physician, specializing in anesthesiology. In late 2009, Sherry was plunged into a painful battle in a high profile, medical malpractice suit. The calamity that ensued nearly destroyed Sherry and her family. After the suit ended and the wounds started to heal, Sherry was urged by close friends and co-workers to document her experiences. The words flowed, and It’s Nothing Personal was born from Sherry’s journey through her temporary hell.

  In her second book, In Good Hands, Sherry tells a moving, gripping, and tragic story of an anesthesiologist who dispenses her own version of justice after being the innocent victim of a brutal crime. In Good Hands will be released in June of 2013.

  Sherry currently resides in Colorado with her husband and their beautiful daughter. In her spare time, she enjoys running, writing, reading, and spending time with her family. Her family vacations are always spent in Hawaii, a place that Sherry and her family hold dear to their hearts. Having lived on Oahu while her daughter was young, Sherry and her family relish the day when they can return to the islands permanently.

  **********

  Visit her website at http://www.thewritemd.com

  Coming summer 2013

  In Good Hands

  Marcus

  A sharp, stabbing pain rips through me. Warm fluid flows down the side of my belly and pools under my back. For several minutes, I can think of nothing else but the flames burning a hole inside me.

  Where the fuck am I?

  Everything is black. My eyes refuse to open. Or maybe they are open, but I can’t see anything in the darkness.

  I have to get out of here.

  My legs won’t move. Neither will my arms. My mind screams for help, but my mouth is frozen. I try to lift my head. It won’t budge.

  What’s going on?

  Squish. Air is forced into my lungs, and my chest blows up like a balloon being overfilled. My lungs are about to burst. Swoosh. The air rushes out. The cycle repeats, over and over again. I try to suck a breath in on my own. Nothing happens.

  Something fills my mouth, pressing against my tongue and going down my throat. With each blast of air moving in and out of my lungs, the thing vibrates, and I can feel the tip from deep inside my chest.

  My heart beats so fast, I know it’s going to explode. A machine near my head beeps as fast as my heart. They are in rhythm with each other. The sound reminds me of when my old man used to take me to the racetrack when I was a kid. Like the hooves of a racehorse galloping through the dirt, each beat is nearly on top of the one before it. A high-pitched alarm sounds.

  “Patient is tachycardic, heart rate in the 150s,” a woman standing near my head calls out, her voice filled with urgency. My left wrist burns and then a rush of coolness spreads up my arm. Seconds pass, and the pace of the beeping from the machine slows. At the same moment, the hum of blood whirling through my skull suddenly stops.

  Am I the patient? Come on Marcus, focus!

  I listen hard. Strange sounds come from every direction. On my left side, I hear metal clanking. All around me, there are muffled sounds of bodies rustling and footsteps. Slowly, my mind begins to clear. I am lying on my back on something hard and scratchy. My arms are out to my sides, like I’m Jesus on the cross. Panic sets in.

  What kind of sick, twisted shit is going on here?

  “How far up the abdo
men do you want me to prep, Doctor?” asks a woman with a raspy voice. She sounds like she is standing right beside me.

  “To the nipples,” calls out a deep, male voice that seems further away.

  Something cold and wet splashes across my belly and chest. I want to reach up and wipe it away, but my arms are dead weight. There is no escape. I am trapped in my body, at the mercy of strangers.

  A scratchy pad touches my belly button. It moves outward in bigger and bigger circles all across my stomach. Whoever is doing this to me is being rough, pressing hard, and scraping up my skin. My entire stomach stings, like I fell into a bee hive. Even though I am chilled to the bone and I should be shivering, I’m not. Finally, the circles reach my sides, and the scrubbing stops.

  Music plays in the background. I don’t recognize the song. It’s nothing I would listen to.

  Think. Where am I? Think.

  My chest blows up with air again and then empties.

  In bits and pieces, things come back to me. I remember being at Freddie’s party and getting really messed up. In the back room, I did a couple of lines with the guys. When I walked out to the kitchen to grab a beer, Lacey was standing by the door with some guy. She looked right at me, tossed me a nasty little smile, and then started making out with him. He grabbed her ass, and she grinded her body into his.

  She’s only with him to piss me off. Fucking whore.

  Again, my chest expands against my will.

  My mind drifts back to the kitchen, with it’s stained, cracked linoleum and paint chips peeling from the walls. I can see everything so clearly, like I’m standing right there, reliving it. The stereo blares from the living room. Lil Wayne pounds from the speakers, rattling the walls. I pull my knife out of my back pocket and walk up to Lacey. When I’m standing right in front of her, I press the release button, and the shiny blade springs out. Her boy toy yells, “Oh, shit!” and backs away from the two of us. Other people scream and run. But not Lacey. Our eyes are locked on each other. Then, she tilts her head down, her blonde hair falling across her face, and looks at the knife. It’s razor sharp, and she knows it. After a few seconds, she looks back up, just standing there, mocking me, with hands on her hips.