by Peter Styles
Jason turned to Roberta, who was now fiddling with the IV at Mr. Terwilliger’s bedside, and grudgingly snapped out an order for Dilaudid.
“Already done,” Roberta said. At Jason’s confused expression, she added, “I heard Dr. Johnson order it when he came back into the room.”
“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Terwilliger yelled.
Jason turned to Roberta. “Could you please escort him to the restroom and wait for him, Roberta? We don’t want him falling down.”
Roberta nodded and helped the man to his feet. She let him lean on her as they left the room and headed for the restroom just down the hall.
As soon as they were out of earshot, I whirled on Jason. “Stop making this personal. I’m not trying to upstage you or whatever it is that you think.”
Jason laughed. “I know how all of this hospital politics stuff works. You think I’m stupid, but I’m not. You’re going to go to Rosenfeld and tell him I’m incompetent and that you had to step in and change my order. Then he’ll pat you on the back and tell you how you’re the best damn resident this hospital has ever seen. Before you know it, you’ll be fucking Chief of Staff, and I’ll be working in some little hundred-bed hospital in Bumfuck, Nowhere.”
“And you’re willing to jeopardize a patient’s safety just because you’re jealous of my success?”
“Of course not,” Jason said. “I changed the order, didn’t I? Even though the patient is obviously not aware of any allergy. You’re getting what you want, no harm done. Just know that I’m onto you.”
“You’re paranoid,” I said. “You think that just because you turned me down last night—just because you left me with my dick in my hand—I’m trying to sabotage your fucking career? Grow up, Jason. You’re not that important.”
The look of hurt on his face was like a punch to the gut. Oh, my God. What had I just said? I hadn’t meant it, but he had me so worked up I was saying crazy things. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Were we enemies now just because I’d gotten drunk and tried to seduce him?
“I know I’m not important to you. You proved that last night.”
My eyes went wide. “What? You’re the one who walked out on me, remember? Left me there like some—” I dug my fingers into my hair and pulled. “Like some desperate pervert.”
“And you’re not used to being turned down, are you? Not the almighty Mark Johnson. We’re all just supposed to bend over and let you stick it to us. No date, no wine, no flowers, no respect. Just shut the hell up and let you satisfy that big, greedy dick of yours.”
“Look, I don’t know where you got this idea you have of me.”
“You gave it to me, Mark. Couldn’t you have at least asked me out first before you tried to shove it in?” Jason clamped his mouth shut, stunned by his own words.
All of the air rushed from my lungs, and it took me a few seconds to find my voice. “Is that what you want? You want me to ask you out?”
Jason’s face went beet red. “No.” But his eyes—those expressive ocean-blue eyes—said otherwise. Or at least I thought they did.
I imagined what that might look like, asking Jason out. Taking him to a nice restaurant, staring across a candlelit table at that gorgeous face, kissing him chastely at the door. Jesus, why did that sound better than a quick and dirty fuck with—well, anyone?
Suddenly, the door flew open, and Jason and I jumped apart like we’d been caught making out instead of arguing. Jolene came in, looking remarkably better than she had earlier. Maybe the walk had done her some good. Or maybe it had been the smell of puke that had her green around the gills. I had to admit it was awful.
Jason cleared his throat. “Mr. Terwilliger is in the bathroom. Let’s go ahead and get the meds ready so we can rush him right down to get an ultrasound.”
I gave Jason one last look and left the room. Whatever had just happened between us was too much to deal with at that moment, and until it was resolved, we didn’t need to be around each other at work. Let Jason handle Mr. Terwilliger and his kidney stones. I didn’t know why I’d been so hell-bent to push it in the first place.
Of course, it was probably a good thing I had. Morphine allergies were nothing to sneeze at, and if I hadn’t run into the patient’s wife, no telling what would have happened. Jason would never admit it, but I’d probably just saved his ass.
7
Jason
The day after Mark and I faced off in Morris Terwilliger’s vomit-fouled ED room, we weren’t scheduled to work. I’d shut myself up in my tiny apartment for the entire day, with only Bill for company.
We’d ordered Chinese delivery. I’d had General Tso’s chicken, and Bill had eaten a couple of sushi rolls minus the rice. We’d listened to the audiobook of The Handmaid’s Tale and rearranged the bathroom cabinet. Bill hadn’t helped much with the physical labor part, but he’d sat close by and watched me through most of it. I got the feeling that Bill hadn’t had much love in his life, and he seemed content to be near me no matter what I was doing. I liked that about him; I needed him, too.
My parents were back in Florida. I’d rarely visited since my high school graduation, so we’d drifted apart. I had one sister, Melanie, and she’d stayed close to home. I supposed no one missed me too much. I was practically a stranger to them now.
I kept busy, though. Between college and work-study, and now work and my twice-weekly visits to Belle Meade Country Club, I didn’t have much time for friends. Mark was my friend—or he had been up until New Year’s Eve. Now I wasn’t sure where we stood.
Several times over the last two days, I had thought about calling him. It was rare for us to talk on the phone, but I did have his number, and we texted fairly frequently. Mostly we just talked about work or tennis, and the messages were brief. No long confessions or philosophical discussions. We were both single-minded about our careers.
That’s why I had gotten so upset about the Terwilliger incident. Mark had gone over my head—or behind my back—before on cases, and it always ended up with me looking borderline incompetent. It’s not that I thought he was trying to sabotage my career; I was pretty sure he wasn’t. But those little things stacked up in Rosenfeld’s eyes, and the more times I was found lacking, the closer I was to being left flapping in the wind after my residency was over.
I don’t think Mark saw it that way. He was just doing his job like I was, and he had every right to go over my head if he thought I’d made a mistake. Hell, he had a professional obligation to call me out. But he was just so damn perfect, and he didn’t understand the problems we mere mortals faced.
I was a good doctor, and I knew it. But Mark was better, and he was making me look bad.
And you’re angry, a small voice in my brain whispered.
It was true. I was angry about the way Mark had treated me. He’d never so much as hinted that he was gay or interested in me, and then he’d expected me to—
You want my big cock inside of you?
It was humiliating, and I couldn’t forget it. I was still obsessing over it when I arrived back at work. Jolene noticed the difference in my demeanor when I blew past the ED nurses’ desk on my way in.
“What’s got you so sour-faced this morning?” She fell in behind me and followed me a little way down the hall. “Hey, stop walking, will you? I can’t keep up with those long legs of yours.”
I stopped and whirled to face her. “I’m in a hurry. What’s up?”
“I just told you. I wanted to know what’s wrong with you. Does it have anything to do with the fight with Dr. You-know-who?”
I gaped at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You know…” She twirled her red braid around her finger and cut her eyes toward room six. “Roberta said you and Dr. Johnson had a blowout the other day when I went to the pharmacy. Said you guys were really hot under the collar about something.”
“Yeah? And what else did Roberta say?”
Jolene flinched, probably sensing she’d already sai
d too much. “She just said you were tearing Dr. Johnson a new one, and he wasn’t none too happy about it.”
“And?” I prompted, knowing Roberta wouldn’t have stopped there.
“She said the two of you were fighting right in front of the patient and that Mark said it was personal. So, what happened? You two are so close.”
“What do you mean close?” I demanded, my face heating.
“Best friends,” she said. “Why do you always try to play it off like y’all aren’t that close? Everybody knows you two are inseparable.”
“We’re work colleagues. Just like you and I are.”
She looked hurt. “Is that all we are? I thought we were friends.”
Dammit. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. “We are. I definitely consider you a friend.”
“So why were y’all fighting?” She pressed.
“It was nothing. I was just a little on edge, and Mark came in trying to take over my patient. I told him I had it, but he just wouldn’t get the message. He did happen to talk to the patient’s wife and find out some key information, and I’m grateful for that, but he shouldn’t have come in with his guns blazing trying to take over when it was my name on the patient’s file. Ultimately, I was the one who responsible for Terwilliger’s care, and Mark should have respected that.”
“Hey, I get it. He shouldn’t have tried to take over. But Roberta said it was personal.”
“Forget that,” I said. “There is nothing personal between Mark—Dr. Johnson—and me. You’re blowing our relationship way out of proportion. It was just business, and none of it should have happened. He shouldn’t have tried to take over my case, and I shouldn’t have said anything in front of Roberta and the patient. Like I said, I was on edge. It was a rough day, and emotions were running high. Tell Roberta I’m sorry she had to witness it, but it was nothing. Really.”
The lie sounded good. I almost believed it myself.
“All right,” Jolene said. “But if you need to talk about anything, I’m here. I know you, Jason, and I feel like you’re keeping something from me.”
God, I needed to change the subject before I said something I shouldn’t. “So how are things with you and Stan?”
“Steve,” she said, and the name didn’t sound nearly as sweet coming off her lips as it had the night of the party. “We’re fine. Did I show him to you? He’s really hot.”
All I could think of was the way he’d been flirting with that bartender. My first impression had been that he looked like a womanizer and a criminal, with his long black hair, black leather jacket, and sleazy smile. “Yeah, he’s hot. But does he treat you right?”
Jolene gave a nervous laugh. “Of course. Yeah. He’s great.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but it seemed that Jolene was just as reluctant to get real about her new boyfriend as I was to acknowledge that there was more between Mark and me than work and tennis. Apparently, we both had secrets, and since I didn’t plan on sharing mine, I had no right to grill her about hers.
“I’m glad he hasn’t turned into a pumpkin,” I said, touching her arm. “Look, I hate to run, but I have to get to the computers and start my day. Hopefully, it will be a quiet shift.”
“I heard that,” Jolene said. “I picked up an extra shift yesterday, and we had three codes. Fingers crossed for none today.”
I took a deep breath and made my way down the hall, hoping I wouldn’t see Mark. I didn’t know what I was going to say to him the next time we met, but I knew it wouldn’t be long. We were on the same team, so we always worked together. Would Mark still be angry about the argument we’d had? Was I?
Mark was sitting at one of the computers, and I walked past him without speaking, took one of the other computers, and logged on. I was glad there was another doctor charting, but all too soon he logged off and left. “Have a good day,” he mumbled as he walked out.
Mark and I both muttered back, and then the room was quiet, and we were alone. I took a deep breath and considered leaving.
“I’m sorry about the day before yesterday,” Mark said.
I was stunned by the unexpected apology. “Uh… me, too. I’m sorry.”
“I shouldn’t have interfered. You asked me to leave, and at that time I had no indication that my assistance was needed. I should have respected your wishes.” He pushed back from his computer and ran a hand through his dark hair, looking tired and contrite and sexy as hell. “It turned out to be a good thing I ran into Terwilliger’s wife, but the decisions I made up to that point were wrong.”
I nodded. “And I shouldn’t have accused you of trying to make me look bad. I know that’s not what you were trying to do. I guess I—”
The door opened, and Dr. Rosenfeld popped his head in. “Dr. Whitham, could you come with me, please?”
With wide eyes, I looked from him to Mark and back again. “Sure, doctor. What’s up?”
Rosenfeld frowned. “Just come with me.”
Okay, that didn’t sound good. I pushed to my feet and followed him out of the room. “What’s going on, Dr. Rosenfeld? Is there a problem?”
“Let’s go into my office,” he said.
Once I was seated in his office, and he had settled himself behind his desk, he fixed me with a serious look that made my heart drop into my toes.
“Doctor?” I asked, silently cursing the quaver in my voice.
“On January first, you had a patient named Morris Terwilliger. Is that correct?”
Mr. Terwilliger again. Jesus. Was everyone going to bring this up?
“Yes, sir. That is correct.”
“It says here that he presented with abdominal pain and vomiting, and you ordered morphine, Phenergan, and an ultrasound.”
“Well, that’s not exactly—”
Rosenfeld held up a freckled hand. “I’m not finished. At that point, Dr. Johnson informed you that the patient was allergic to morphine—per his wife—and counter-ordered Dilaudid instead of morphine.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say counter-ordered. It was my patient. I instructed the RN to change the order to Dilaudid in light of the new information.”
“Roberta Collins charted that you ordered the morphine and Dr. Johnson counter-ordered the Dilaudid.”
What the hell was the cause of this dressing-down? More of Mark’s tattling? Or Roberta’s? “I suppose that was her perception of the events, but Mr. Terwilliger was my patient. Dr. Johnson only happened to speak to the wife on his way out, and she informed him of the allergy. Then he came back in and told me. Of course, I changed the order to Dilaudid. I wasn’t going to give a patient a medication he was allergic to.”
“Then Dr. Johnson left the room, and you ordered nurse”—he glanced at his computer screen— “Jolene Starr to administer morphine and Phenergan.”
“Not morphine. We just went over that.”
“No, we just went over the order and the counter-order. Then you sent the patient to ultrasound, where they confirmed the diagnosis of kidney stones with a total blockage of the urinary tract by several large stones. You sent the patient straight to surgery for a Percutaneous Nephrolithotomy.”
“Yes, that’s right, but I didn’t order morphine on the patient. Well, I did initially, but I changed the order like I told you.”
“Then how did morphine get in the patient’s system, Dr. Whitham?”
“What? I have no idea. We gave him Dilaudid.”
“There was no Dilaudid in his system. Only morphine.”
I shook my head and searched my memory for anything that would make sense. “Where are you getting this information?”
“From the autopsy, Jason. Mr. Terwilliger died on the operating table.”
“Oh, my God.” The whole world disintegrated around me, and I was floating. I slumped back in my chair and jammed my fists into my temples, trying to quiet the ringing in my head. It sounded like an EKG flatline, loud and piercing and final. “It wasn’t me. We gave him Dilaudid. Who performed the surgery? Maybe
they—”
“It was Alex Trevayne. But who performed the surgery is irrelevant, Jason. The autopsy was conclusive. The morphine is what killed Mr. Terwilliger. Morphine that you prescribed and oversaw the administration of.”
“It’s impossible,” I said. “Unless… maybe the pharmacy sent the wrong medication over.”
Dr. Rosenfeld steepled his fingers under his chin. “We’re going to look into that. There will be a full inquest, Jason. Mr. Terwilliger’s family is suing the hospital for malpractice. You know what that means.”
I nodded slowly.
“Mr. Terwilliger was your patient. If the inquest determines that you were at fault, you could be charged with manslaughter. I’m sorry, Jason.”
“But I didn’t—”
“We’ll look into it. There will be a full investigation, and everyone involved will be questioned. I hope this turns out well for you, but right now it doesn’t look good. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to prepare yourself. This could get ugly.”
“What happens now? Do I just go back to work?”
“As of now, you’re on paid leave pending the results of the investigation.”
“But that’s not fair, Dr. Rosenfeld. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“Would you rather be unemployed now? I can arrange that if you like.”
“No, sir. I just… What if—”
Rosenfeld stood abruptly. “You’re dismissed, Dr. Whitham.”
There was nothing else I could do but stumble out of his office. As soon as the door closed behind me, I leaned my back against the wall and slid down to the floor, cradling my head in my hands.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
But the tears came anyway. It was impossible not to cry when my world was coming down.
When I was finally able to pull myself together, made my way to the break room, unable to make myself leave just yet. This might possibly be the last time I got to sit in the doctor’s break room. If I couldn’t prove my innocence, my career was over. Even worse, there was a possibility of jail time.