Guarded Prognosis

by Richard L. Mabry MD

  It took a few seconds, maybe a full minute, before he realized his procedure was finished. I guess I should be happy. Didn’t I want to get this over? No, what he wanted was for the procedure not to be necessary in the first place. But it had to be done—two consultants had told him that. And no matter how much he wanted to ignore it, his problem wasn’t going away. Well, now the die was cast. There was nothing more to do but wait for the verdict, then move on.

  “Awake? You had a nice nap, thanks to some IV Versed.”

  Henry looked to the right and saw Dr. Ross standing next to where he lay. The doctor was in scrubs, a cap still covering his hair. He moved closer to Henry and spoke in a low voice. “I found exactly what the other studies suggested. You have a solid mass behind the first part of your small intestine.”

  “The C-loop of the duodenum,” Henry said.

  “Right. I guess I’m used to talking in layman’s terms. Anyway, I took several needle biopsies. I think the odds are high that the mass is a carcinoma of the pancreas. But if it is, we caught it early, so don’t immediately expect the worst.”

  Henry didn’t feel particularly grateful at the moment, but he knew Dr. Ross was trying to be upbeat with him. “Thanks.”

  Ross looked around. “I’ll go out to the waiting room and tell the family. One or two of them should be able to come in here and see you soon.”

  “I . . . I came by taxi. I plan to go home the same way.”

  “That’s not what we ask,” Ross said. “You need to have a driver who brings you and takes you home. You’ll be sleepy, and—”

  Henry held up a hand, the one not encumbered by an IV. “Look, Dr. Ross. I have my reasons. I finally convinced the lady who gave me my instructions to let me do this. I’ll let my family know—my son is a doctor—and I’m capable of taking care of myself at home. If it makes you feel any better, there’s a nurse I can call if I need anyone.”

  Ross threw up his hands. “If you weren’t a doctor—”

  “Thank you. I’ll be fine.”

  “Any questions?” Ross asked, almost as an afterthought.

  Henry shook his head. Oh, he had questions, all right, but he knew there was no need to ask them because there were no answers—at least, not yet.

  “We’ll talk more when I get the biopsies back. Then we can discuss where we go from here. I’ll be back later to check on you again.”

  Henry didn’t reply. He knew there were several things that could be done, things that might stretch his life by a few months, maybe even a year or two, possibly more. Then again, there was always the possibility that long before that time was up he would meet death on his own terms. He hadn’t completely made up his mind.

  He rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but he was too keyed up. His mind flitted hither and yon, settling for a moment on each of his worries and then moving on. Finally, he recalled the words he’d read earlier that morning. “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble.” At that point, he closed his eyes and tried to turn off his mind. What had Nancy said on more than one occasion? “Let go and let God.”

  Driving to the office on Friday with Beth beside him, Caden found his sprained wrist didn’t bother him so long as he wore the splint to support it. Once he reached the office he decided doctors weren’t supposed to show weakness, so he removed the splint and replaced the taped-on bandage on his forehead with a large, flesh-colored Band-Aid.

  As soon as he started down the hall for his office, Rose met him with a cup of coffee. Beth had slipped into her role so well, he’d almost forgotten about Rose, but her first words brought him back to reality in a hurry.

  She set the coffee cup on his desk and waited until he was seated. “Dr. Taggart, I know this isn’t a good time for you, especially with your dad’s surgery and your car accident, but I need to tell you this. I’ve wanted to for a day or two, but—”

  “That’s okay, Rose. Just tell me.”

  “My husband’s transfer has been moved up. And it would really help if I could make this my last day.” Rose looked as though she expected him to explode, but Caden didn’t.

  “If we’d had a bit more warning—”

  “No, I understand. But Beth is doing a good job, so you aren’t going to be caught short-handed.”

  Rose promised to let Beth and the other nurses know this would be her last day. Just before she exited his office, she turned toward him and said, “Thank you.” Then she was gone.

  Caden made it through the morning with no problems except a brief argument with Jim Sparling about coming to work so soon. He did sneak off and take a couple of extra-strength Tylenol tabs after the first patient. When he passed Beth in the hall, she gave him a wink and a nod. Rose had apparently told her the news, and she was letting him know she was ready to take over. Caden breathed a sigh of relief.

  He was supposed to be off on Friday afternoon, but that only meant a change of scenery, not a time to put his feet up and rest. His first call was to his insurance agent, who promised an adjustor would check out his wrecked car within the next day or so. In the meantime, just rent a car and they’d work out the details later.

  Then Caden called a friend at a local car dealership. Caden had acquired his now-wrecked Ford Fusion as a used car and had driven it through med school and residency. He didn’t know the exact mileage it had on it, but it had to be well over 250 thousand. Maybe he should go ahead and trade it in.

  “See what your insurance company will give you for your car, and we should be able to make a deal. In the meantime, let me arrange a rental car for you.”

  It wasn’t long before the paperwork was done for the rental. Caden kissed Beth good-bye, and she left in the Outback to run her own errands. Now he was ready to tackle more of his to-do list.

  One of the first things Caden did after getting the rental car, a Toyota Camry, was to throw the wrist brace into the back seat. He hated using it. He’d almost prefer a little discomfort to answering all the questions the brace generated.

  His father had said he was to undergo the endoscopy with biopsy this morning. With the IV sedation, Henry would be sleepy most of the day, but maybe there was a way to check on him without waking him up. Yes, there was. But it meant calling Jean, and Caden didn’t want to do that. He’d wait and call his father’s number later this afternoon.

  Meanwhile, Caden needed a new cell phone, so he headed for the phone store. Neilson told him to get another phone, as though it were the easiest thing in the world. But Caden dreaded having to choose one. Maybe whoever helped him pick one out would take pity on his lack of sophistication.

  Like some men, Caden felt that the instruction book in the glove compartment of his rental car was a last resort. He alternated between watching where he was driving and glancing at the various switches and knobs. Then, as he approached an intersection controlled by four-way stop signs, Caden noticed just in time that a pickup on his right cruised right past the sign, causing him to slam on the brakes in a panic stop.

  He sat there at the intersection until the driver behind him honked. Caden pulled forward slowly, turning his head to look in all directions at once. Maybe he’d better save the familiarization until a time when he wasn’t moving.

  Once again, Henry awoke groggy. Was this some sort of déjà vu? He tried to remember where he was. Then he opened his eyes, looked around him, and realized he was no longer in the recovery room. No, he was in his home, stretched out on the living room couch.

  How did he get here? What time was it? Matter of fact, what day was it? Then he began to piece it together. He’d undergone a procedure with biopsy that morning. The anesthesiologist had started an IV and administered “something to relax him.” He remembered waking up in the recovery room at the outpatient center. He remembered talking with the doctor. After that, things got a little blurry, but he was eventually able to recall climbing into a wheelchair and rolling out to the taxi waiting at the curb.

  Had he paid the taxi driver?
Yes, he did. After the man, who insisted on walking him to the door, had gone, Henry vaguely remembered collapsing onto the couch. Now his watch showed it was four o’clock. Was that morning or afternoon? Still lying on the couch, he turned to look through the slit in the partially opened drapes. Bright sun was visible outside, so it must be four in the afternoon. He’d slept for almost half a day.

  Why hadn’t he let Jean drive him home? She would have been happy to provide transportation, fix him some food, help him get into bed, take care of him. Oh, yes. He’d made the decision not to involve Jean because Nancy was dead, and he wasn’t ready for Jean or any other woman to take over her role. He wanted to be independent.

  The buzz of his cell phone caused him to come a little more awake. That was one of the penalties of being a doctor—a ringing phone produced an immediate reaction, whatever the state that preceded it. He followed the vibration and found his cell stuck between two of the sofa cushions.

  He fumbled it out and punched the button to answer the call. “Dr. Taggart.”

  “Henry, this is Jean. Are you okay?”

  Henry tried to sit up. His first effort made him dizzy, but on trying again he found that by doing it slowly he could make it to an upright position without falling over. “I’m fine. Just waking up from a nap.”

  “I wondered why you weren’t at work today. No one seemed to know. Eventually, I asked Dr. Horner, who hemmed and hawed. What he finally said was that you were taking care of some personal business.”

  “I . . . I guess that’s one way to put it.”

  “Henry, are you okay? You sound groggy.”

  He started to shake his head, then thought better of it. “No, no. As I told you, I took a nap and your call woke me. I’m fine.”

  “I think there’s something you’re not telling me,” Jean said. “I’d better come over there and we can talk about this . . . whatever it is.”

  Henry thought for a moment. He was being silly, and now was the time to set things right. “Give me half an hour to shower and change. Come on over and I’ll tell you everything.”

  15

  It had been several hours since Beth had driven away from the dealership where Caden planned to pick up a loaner car. She figured that by now he’d had enough time to go by the cell phone store. She tried his “old” cell phone number, but the call went unanswered. Would his new cell phone have the same number? She wasn’t certain. With a sigh, she put down the phone and decided she had no alternative but to wait.

  Beth had come to the same conclusion as Caden did. If she wanted to get a report on Henry’s procedure today, calling Jean provided the best option. And it was probably up to her to make the call. Beth dialed that number and waited through six rings before the call rolled over to voicemail. Maybe Jean had accompanied Henry for the test, and if they were still at the hospital she might not have turned on her phone.

  Her cell phone rang while it was still in her hand, and she answered it. Beth hoped Caden had picked up a new phone, and possibly had a different number as a result. Sure enough, when she looked at the caller ID, she didn’t recognize the number. But with Caden gone, she decided to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Beth, it’s me. Let me assure you that I’m all right.”

  When she heard Caden’s voice, she relaxed, but when his second sentence hit her ears her heart lodged firmly in her throat. “What happened?”

  “I was getting ready to back out of my parking space at the cell phone store when someone came around the corner and clipped the rear of my car. It didn’t do much damage to the rental car I was driving, but the other vehicle looks like it’s been in a fight and lost—crumpled right front fender, good-sized dent in the passenger door.”

  Beth realized she’d been holding her breath. “But you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine, but someone saw the wreck and called the police. My new cell phone isn’t activated yet, so I’m borrowing a phone to call you.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. Now let me make one more call before the police get here.”

  Beth frowned. “Who?

  “My attorney. I think I need to involve the police in all this, and I want to make sure he agrees.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Beth said. “I don’t care what the DEA agents asked. And stay in touch.”

  No sooner had Beth put down the phone than it rang. She looked and saw that Jean was calling her back.

  “I was talking with Henry when you called,” Jean said.

  “Is he okay? I understand he was supposed to have an endoscopy and biopsy today.”

  “I guess he did. I didn’t find out about it until earlier today.”

  “I don’t understand,” Beth said. “Haven’t you usually been the one to drive him to these appointments?”

  “Yes, until this one. I phoned him just a few minutes ago. He finally said if I come over in about half an hour, he’d tell me all about it.”

  “Why—”

  “Why wouldn’t he let me be there with him?” Jean said. “I can think of a couple of reasons. Maybe he thought that after Nancy died he was being too dependent on me. Perhaps he thought I was auditioning for the role of Mrs. Henry Taggart.”

  “I hope not,” Beth said, although she knew Caden had that very thought. Matter of fact, he still harbored the opinion that Jean had a hand in Nancy Taggart’s death. Had Henry come around to that way of thinking, as well?

  Jean responded. “Maybe he decided to be all macho and get through this without my help. I don’t know.”

  “Well, let me know what you find out,” Beth said.

  Caden thought back over what might have been the modern version of a Greek tragedy—one that included an attempt by a person or persons unknown to kill him. He’d made what in retrospect was a mistake when he initially passed on hiring an attorney to protect his interests, instead blindly trying to cooperate with the DEA agents who showed up in his office.

  Someone, impersonating one of those men on the phone, had lured him—no better word for it—had lured him to an abandoned farm house where he’d almost been shot. Now he was jumping at shadows, couldn’t pin down the agents (who’d by and large disappeared), and now he was at the police station, waiting to talk with a detective.

  His attorney had agreed with the action he was taking, summing it up by saying, “It’s about time.” Caden had turned down Mel Sewell’s offer to come to the station, promising to call him if this turned into more than just his giving a bare statement to the police detective.

  “Remember, don’t hesitate to call me. And if you do, don’t say anything more until I get there.”

  “You Dr. Taggart?”

  Caden looked up from his seat near the desk sergeant at a stout man in his mid-50s. He wore a suit that was from one of the lower end stores. His white shirt was clean, his tie conservative if you ignored the small gravy spot on it. But what really gave him away as a detective were the thick-soled shoes and the look that he’d seen it all and believed little, if any, of it.

  “That’s me.” Caden rose.

  “Detective Caruso.” He offered a handshake that was firm without any attempt to be overpowering. “Let’s go back to my office. I understand you’ve had an interesting several days, and you want to talk about it.”

  Beth was reading. At least, she held a book on her lap and tried to make sense of the words, but she couldn’t concentrate. Instead, she found herself wondering about Caden. She was certain her husband wasn’t involved in any scheme to prescribe drugs to fictitious patients. Yes, it made sense that someone had gotten hold of his DEA number. On her first day at work she’d seen how easy it would be for someone to use the credentials of any of the three doctors practicing in that office. She couldn’t believe Caden was a part of this.

  But he apparently was involved in it, although Beth didn’t know why. Why did the person making the anonymous phone calls about the DEA investigators choose to warn Caden? Why did someone lure him
to a deserted farmhouse and try to kill him. Why were they—whoever “they” were—intent on taking him out of the game?

  Beth started, dropping her book on her lap, when she heard the front door open and close.

  “I’m home,” Caden called. “Finally.”

  “I’m glad.” The kiss Beth gave her husband was more tender than usual, the hug lasted longer. “I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad you’re here. And I’ll be glad when this is over.”

  “That makes two of us.” Caden followed Beth into the living room and virtually collapsed onto the sofa. “I have a rental car, even though it has a dent in the rear bumper. They offered me another one, but I’ve traded cars enough today.”

  “How was your time with the police?”

  Caden sighed. “Mel Sewell agreed with me that it was time to involve them, so I followed the patrolman to the police station. I’ve spent the past hour talking with Detective Caruso. And you know what? I feel better. I should have gone to my lawyer first when the DEA agents approached me. Now I’m glad the police know about all this, and I wish I’d shared events with them sooner as well.”

  “The main thing is you’re home—safe,” Beth said.

  He squeezed her hand. “What have you found out about my dad’s biopsy?”

  Henry steadied himself with one hand against the door frame as he turned the knob and opened the door for Jean. “Come in.”

  She followed him into his study, the room where he seemed to spend most of his time after Nancy’s death. At least, that was where they’d sat and talked the few times she’d seen him outside of work since then.

  Henry lowered himself into the recliner that sat in the corner—“his” chair, as she’d heard him refer to it—and nodded to her. “Thank you for coming over.

  “I’d have done a lot more if you let me. Why didn’t you tell me you were having the biopsy? I would have driven you there and back, taken care of anything you needed while you recovered from the anesthetic—”