Marion stood before Joe, arms placed on her hips. “You were so smart,” she said bitterly. “You were in control, and now you’re giving up, letting them win.”
Polk opened his eyes. He remained unfocused for a moment, and then he fixed his gaze on Marion. Slowly he rose from the chair grabbing Marion’s arms, crushing them in his tight grasp, his fingers turning white from the pressure. His face was contorted with rage, his lips retracted, teeth bared.
“Joe, what are you doing,” Marion shouted, alarmed. “Let me go, right now!”
His face remained fixed. He gradually released the pressure on her arms. Marion’s sense of relief was short lived when he suddenly grabbed for her neck with both hands, squeezing her throat.
Marion tried to cry out, but his hands, crushing her throat, cut off her airway. She reached for his face, scratching, tearing at anything she could reach. Her world began to fade; a cloud of blackness began to overcome her as she stretched one last time for his eyes. With her last ounce of strength, she thrust her hand forward, fingernails extended, finally reaching his left eye.
Suddenly, she was free. She fell to the floor coughing and gasping for breath.
Polk stood before her, looking at his hands. “Look what you made me do,” he cried as he sat back in his chair.
Marion struggled to her feet. She looked down at the man who had lost everything.
They can’t do this to me–I won’t have it.
She left him, then called Ross Cohen’s office and left a message, then had the psychiatrist paged. Moments later the phone rang, it was Ross.
“Ross, please come and see Joe. He’s in bad shape. He tried to kill me. He didn’t know what he was doing. Now he’s sitting there, catatonic. What should I do?”
“Look Marion, I’m three hours away, it’ll take a while for me to get there. Will you be all right?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll be over as soon as possible with an ambulance. He needs to be in a hospital for his own protection and for yours. If he shows any more anger, get out or call the police.”
When Marion returned to the den, Joe was gone. She searched the first floor of their home, and then climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Joe lay in bed sleeping peacefully. Marion returned to the den and called Vanessa, their daughter, who arrived twenty minutes later. They sat together talking until Ross Cohen and the ambulance arrived.
“Where is he?” asked Ross.
“He’s still sleeping.”
Ross, Marion, and Vanessa climbed the stairs to the bedroom. When Ross reached for the knob, it wouldn’t turn. Polk had locked it.
“Joe, it’s Ross Cohen. May we come in?”
Silence.
Ross knocked loudly, “Joe, may we come in?”
Silence.
After examining the lock, Ross said, “Do you have the key?”
“Yes. It’s somewhere in the kitchen. I’ll get it.”
“We can’t wait too long. If you can’t find it, we’ll need to break in.”
Marion returned two minutes later. When they unlocked the door, it was immediately clear something was wrong. Joe’s body sprawled awkwardly across the bed, his mouth agape, his tongue slightly protruding through the right corner of his lips.
“Joe ... Joe ... wake up,” Marion cried as she shook her husband.
Ross pushed past Marion, turned Joe’s face toward his, and said, “He’s barely breathing. Get the ambulance attendants and their resuscitation gear up here right away.”
It was then Marion and Ross saw the light-blue folded piece of stationary placed on the nightstand next to Joe’s Montblanc Limited Edition fountain pen. She unfolded the note. Joe, in his best pen craft wrote: Forgive me, Marion. I’m so tired. I can’t fight anymore. I love you. I love Vanessa, and Joe...we’ll be together soon enough. It was signed, Joseph.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ross Cohen had accompanied the ambulance to Brier Emergency. Polk remained unresponsive.
The empty bottle of Valium at the bedside was Marion’s. It contained fifty, ten-milligram pills. Marion thought that she’d taken at least ten so it was possible that Joe had consumed a potential maximum of 400 milligrams. Ross knew that Joe had access to the full range of potent and potentially lethal medications, so he couldn’t be sanguine about the risks of the overdose (O.D.). What else did he take?
Ross had called Warren Davidson on their way in, asking for his assistance. Warren was waiting when they arrived. Polk was comatose, but his blood pressure was stable and he was breathing on his own.
Warren picked up the phone and said, “Page Dr. Byrnes, stat. For the ER.”
My pager vibrated then chirped as I came off the racket ball court.
“We have Dr. Byrnes on the line for you Dr. Davidson,” I heard the ER clerk call to Warren.
“Jack, I need you in emergency right away.”
“What’s up?”
“You won’t believe it, but your old buddy Joe Polk O.D.’d.”
I laughed, and then felt guilty. I thought, but didn’t say, that whatever Polk took, it wasn’t enough. Instead, I asked, “What did he take? How much and how long ago? Are his vital signs stable?”
“Just get down here and give me a hand.”
“I’m a sweaty mess. Give me a few minutes to shower and I’ll be right there. And Warren, you’d better get the broadest toxicology screens on blood and urine. He’s a physician with access to a whole range of drugs.”
When I arrived, they were preparing to move Polk to ICU. His vital signs remained stable and he continued to breathe on his own. The toxicology screens revealed a high level of Valium, but showed no alcohol and were negative for a large panel of intoxicants. After they settled him in ICU, I reviewed the events with Marion.
“I knew he was upset and angry,” she said, “but I never believed it would come to this.”
“When did Dr. Polk have his last meal?”
“Last night. He said he was too upset to eat this morning.”
After I wrote basic supportive admission orders, I sat with Warren and Beth in the nurse’s lounge. I shook my head in disgust. “This whole thing stinks. Polk committing suicide?”
“I agree,” Warren said. “It’s totally out of character.”
“Let’s look at this systematically,” I said. “He took Valium. Patient’s rarely die from Valium. The dose he took was too small to produce serious harm. He had access to lots of dangerous drugs that could do the job, yet he chose Valium. To top it off, he ate his last meal at dinner the night before, effectively eliminating the possibility that he might vomit and choke while unconscious.”
“That creep planned this?” Beth shouted.
“The permutations of the sociopath’s mind,” Warren said smiling. “What a waste.”
“The District Attorney has to know this, especially if Polk tries for a plea bargain,” Beth said.
Warren shook his head. “He can’t hear it from us. Everything we know about him is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality. We can’t hint at these conclusions.”
When Joseph Polk awakened thirty hours later, unharmed and untouched by the Valium overdosage, he promptly fired me.
Three weeks later, the D.A., Kevin Walters, sat at his desk reviewing the case material on Joseph Polk. The issues looked straight forward, and he felt certain that his appointment today with Jason Phelps and the Doctor would produce a plea agreement.
Walters was a moderate conservative in ultra liberal Berkeley where he received constant scrutiny. Both side of the political spectrum felt free to disparage him.
Local newspapers and talk radio kept the Polk case in the spotlight. The public had an intense primal reaction to the charges against his deception, betrayal, and Loretta Harrington’s senseless death. Even his loyal patients had been shocked into silence.
As a public figure and an attorney who took his oath seriously, Kevin bristled at the uninformed and biased comments and suggestions hurled his way. He rememb
ered listening to Ask Dr. Joe on the radio, and he knew of Polk’s long history of service to the community. The attack on his wife, the suicide, Polk had sure fallen a long way.
He’s going to get some jail time, but maybe, considering all that he lost, how much is enough?
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Polk and Jason Phelps stood outside of the DA’s office.
“I’ve told you, Joe,” Phelps said, “that you should have a criminal attorney, I’m not a criminal attorney.”
“I know, but I want you here. At least try to make the deal for me. If I have to go to court, I’ll get another lawyer.”
They entered Kevin’s office and sat in the two leather chairs before his desk.
“Kevin,” Jason said, “It’s good to see you again. Let me introduce Dr. Polk.”
Polk nodded at the introduction.
“It’s good to see a former assistant prosecutor making it big. You look well, Jason, and prosperous.”
“Well, no subversion intended, but we always have room in our practice for someone with your credentials, Kevin.”
“No thanks, Jason. I have my eye on the bench, and convictions pave the way. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Jason edged forward in his chair seeking Kevin’s eyes. “I know you’re a fair and reasonable man, Kevin. And, I also know that you’re capable of making your own decisions in spite of the public pressure on this case.”
“Thank you, Jason, but this case is pretty straightforward. It’s my own internal sense of justice that says that the good Doctor will do time.”
Jason turned to Polk and said, “I know you said you wanted to be here, but there’s no need for you to stay as I try to make Mr. Walters understand all that’s happened to you.”
“Get on with it,” Polk replied.
“If you trust me, and if you want to make a deal, I must to do this alone with Mr. Walters. It will take but a few minutes then I’ll have you right back.”
Polk rose, and then silently left the room.
“You have a tough one there, Jason. Go ahead, make your pitch.”
“First of all, Kevin, I shouldn’t be here. I’m not the right attorney for this criminal case, but Polk insists. I’ve discussed the case with several of our criminal defense attorneys, but be a nice guy and don’t take advantage of a novice.”
“Good start, Jason, but I’ve never seen you take on anything without being sufficiently prepared. I’m checking my wallet already,” Kevin said smiling.
Jason smiled back then began, “I’m appealing for justice and compassion for this man who’s been one the most beloved physicians and stalwarts in our community. He has come on hard times. Pressures are mounting on physicians like Joe Polk who have spent their professional lives in the service of others. Add to this, the devastating loss of a child and it’s not surprising that even the best and strongest of our physicians can break. Dr. Polk’s actions; the attack on his beloved wife of thirty-eight years, and his attempted suicide reveal that Joe had overloaded the circuits of his emotional network. We’re not asking that society condone his actions. Dr. Polk is remorseful and wants to accept responsibility for what he’s done.”
Kevin Walters related well to the stresses and the sacrifices of a professional life.
Will I reach my breaking point some day?
“What you’re proposing, Jason?”
“Dr. Polk will agree to the revocation of his license and a one year commitment to a psychiatric facility, where he can work out his problems and perhaps return to a productive life at some time in the future.”
“I don’t think so, Jason. I’m no shrink, so I’m not in a position to determine how much treatment is appropriate. I might, if our own psychiatrist agrees, consider an indeterminate psych hospitalization after a two-year minimum.”
“It’s too much considering that either way, without a license to practice medicine, Dr. Polk won’t be able to harm another patient.”
The DA’s picked up the ringing phone. “I told you we were not to be disturbed.”
Kevin’s administrative assistant, Jennie Hill, was on the line. “Excuse yourself for a moment, Kevin. Come to my office there’s something you need to see.”
“I’m in a meeting, can’t this wait?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” Kevin said, “there’s something I must attend to. I’ll ask Dr. Polk to rejoin you while I’m gone.”
Polk reentered the office and sat next to Jason.
“So, how did it go? Is he going to buy it?”
“Yes, I think we’re nearly there. He’s asking for an indeterminate psych hospitalization, but I think we can get this down to the one, or at worst, a two-year stay.”
“You still have the magic, Jason. You haven’t lost the touch,” Polk said smugly.
They can’t pay me enough to be a part of this, thought Jason. I need to go home and take a shower.
When Kevin reached his assistant’s office he said, “What’s so important Jennie?”
Holding up several pages she said, “These came by fax. I don’t know who sent it, but if I were you, I’d sit first before reading it.”
The fax contained copies of a hospital chart, Joe Polk’s chart.
Kevin read the first page, a recitation of the circumstances pertaining to Polk’s hospitalization. When he began reading Jack Byrne’s analysis and conclusion, he reddened: Taken in its entirety, Dr. Polk’s choice of Valium, the dosage taken, the absence of other and more toxic substances readily available to a physician, and the special care Dr. Polk took to avoid eating and thus preventing vomiting and aspiration, all strongly suggest that Dr. Polk is perpetuating a hoax. This “suicide” is his final attempt to evade responsibility in a recently filed malpractice claim and to escape the punishment of the courts in the action brought by the death of Loretta Harrington.
Kevin felt his face flushing,
That son-of-a-bitch! If Phelps had a hand in this...
Kevin stormed back to his office. He rushed to his place behind the desk then threw the fax pages down on his desk in front of Jason Phelps.
“If you had anything to do with this, if you were a party to this, then we’re done, and I’m reporting you to the bar.”
Alarmed, Jason grabbed the pages and read. A moment later, Jason turned to Polk. “How could you...”
Jason handed the pages to Polk.
“Can you give us a moment, Kevin?”
“Of course,” Kevin said, then turned, and left his office.
Polk set the pages down. “Damn that Warren Davidson! This is his work.”
“How could you do this? Why did you keep it from me? Don’t you recognize what it means to me and to your case?”
“You knew what was going on, Jason,” Polk said with resignation. “You played it beautifully, very convincing, I’m sure. Don’t deny it now. Don’t get excited or take it personally. It was my best shot.”
“Well, Dr. Polk, you’ve outdone yourself. Let’s ask the DA back and see how much sympathy he has for a plea bargain.”
Epilogue
Polk’s case never came to trial. After weeks of high drama, threats, offers and counter-offers, Joseph Polk agreed to four years in prison and permanent surrender of his license to practice medicine.
With two policemen at his side, the court permitted Joe to visit his son, one last time. Although publically reviled, the nurses and aids at Sunny Acres found themselves moved to tears as Joe placed his head against his son and wept.
When he arrived at the minimum-security prison, the warden assigned him to the prison infirmary.
Rupert Rabi hardly broke a sweat as he extracted a generous settlement for Laura Larsen from Polk’s malpractice carrier.
“No amount of money can compensate me for my experience with Joe Polk, but at least we have a nest egg,” she said to Rupert. “Are you sure you earned your forty percent of this settlement?” she said smiling.
“I
’m sure.”
She and Mac were expecting in January.
Helen Martin felt lucky again. She was now convinced, more than ever, that her optimism was indeed, well founded. She returned to work full-time.
I don’t recall the discussion or my proposal, but before I knew it, Beth and I were into the full planning mode for a June wedding.
Just looking at Beth, holding her hand, and feeling her love, made my petty preoccupations fade away. Whatever life brought our way, we’d face it together.
Maybe there’s a lesson in this whole Polk thing; I don’t know, but for the moment, I’d rather go sailing.
A “stat” page interrupted my rounds this morning. Warren’s voice boomed over the phone. “I’ve had it with that dumb bastard, Parnell. See his patient, Sandra Carter in ICU like a good boy, and make sure he doesn’t hurt anybody else!”
Other Works
By
Lawrence W. Gold, M.D.
Fiction:
Brier Hospital Series:
First, Do No Harm
No Cure for Murder
The Sixth Sense
Tortured Memory
The Plague Within
Other Novels:
For the Love of God
Rage
Non-Fiction:
I Love My Doctor, But…, a lighthearted look at the doctor/patient relationship
All available in print and in Kindle.
First, Do No Harm (Brier Hospital Series Book 1) Page 33