life to be the best doctor. Hell, I'm still working at it. And now this!" Craig angrily slapped the envelope containing the legal papers.
"But isn't this the reason you pay the malpractice insurance you complain about?"
Craig eyed Leona with exasperation. "I don't think you understand. This screwball Stanhope is publicly defaming me by demanding his, quote, day in court. The process is the problem. It's bad no matter what happens. I'm helpless, a victim. And if you go to trial, who knows how it will turn out. There are no guarantees, even in my situation, where I've been bending over backward for my patients, particularly Patience Stanhope, making house calls for crying out loud. And the idea it would be a trial by my peers? That's a bad joke. File clerks, plumbers, and retired schoolteachers have no idea what it's like being a doctor like me, getting up in the middle of the night to hold hypochondriacs' hands. Jesus H. Christ!"
"Can't you tell them? Make it part of your testimony."
Craig rolled his eyes with exasperation. There were occasions when Leona drove him batty. It was the downside of spending time with someone so young and inexperienced.
"Why does he think there was malpractice?" Leona asked.
Craig looked off at the normal, beautiful people around the bar, obviously enjoying the evening with their happy banter. The juxtaposition made him feel worse. Maybe coming up to the public bar was a bad idea. The thought went through his mind that perhaps becoming one of them through his cultural endeavors was really beyond his grasp. Medicine and its current problems, including the malpractice mess, had him ensnared.
"What malpractice was there supposed to have been?" Leona asked, rephrasing her question.
Craig threw up his hands. "Listen, bright eyes! It's generic on the complaint, saying something about me not using the skill and care in making a diagnosis and treatment that a reasonable, competent doctor would employ in the same circumstance ... blah blah blah. It's all bullshit. The long and short is that there was a bad outcome, meaning Patience Stanhope died. A personal injury-malpractice lawyer will just go from there and be creative. Those guys can always find something that some asshole, courthouse-whore doctor will say should have been done differently."
"Bright eyes!" Leona snapped back. "Don't be condescending to me!"
"Okay, I'm sorry," Craig said. He took a deep breath. "Obviously, I'm out of sorts."
"What's a courthouse-whore doctor?"
"It's a doctor who hires himself or herself out to be a, quote, expert and who will say whatever the plaintiff attorney wants him to say. It used to be hard to find doctors to testify against doctors, but not anymore. There are some worthless bastards that make a living doing it."
"That's terrible."
"It's the least of it," Craig said. He shook his head dejectedly. "It's mighty hypocritical that this screwball Jordan Stanhope is suing me when he didn't even stay around at the hospital while I was struggling to revive his pathetic wife. Hell, on a number of occasions he confided with me that his wife was a hopeless hypochondriac and that he couldn't keep all her symptoms straight. He was even apologetic when she'd have him call and insist I come to the house at three in the morning because she thought she was dying. That really happened on more than one occasion. Usually the house calls were in the evenings, forcing me to interrupt what I was doing. But even then, Jordan would always thank me, so he knew what kind of effort it was, coming out there for no good reason. The woman was a disaster. Everyone is better off with her out of the picture, including Jordan Stanhope, yet he is suing me and claiming damages of five million dollars for loss of consortium. What a cruel joke." Craig shook his head dejectedly.
"What's consortium?"
"What someone is supposed to get from a spouse. You know: company, affection, assistance, and sex."
"I don't think they were having much
"But isn't this the reason you pay the malpractice insurance you complain about?"
Craig eyed Leona with exasperation. "I don't think you understand. This screwball Stanhope is publicly defaming me by demanding his, quote, day in court. The process is the problem. It's bad no matter what happens. I'm helpless, a victim. And if you go to trial, who knows how it will turn out. There are no guarantees, even in my situation, where I've been bending over backward for my patients, particularly Patience Stanhope, making house calls for crying out loud. And the idea it would be a trial by my peers? That's a bad joke. File clerks, plumbers, and retired schoolteachers have no idea what it's like being a doctor like me, getting up in the middle of the night to hold hypochondriacs' hands. Jesus H. Christ!"
"Can't you tell them? Make it part of your testimony."
Craig rolled his eyes with exasperation. There were occasions when Leona drove him batty. It was the downside of spending time with someone so young and inexperienced.
"Why does he think there was malpractice?" Leona asked.
Craig looked off at the normal, beautiful people around the bar, obviously enjoying the evening with their happy banter. The juxtaposition made him feel worse. Maybe coming up to the public bar was a bad idea. The thought went through his mind that perhaps becoming one of them through his cultural endeavors was really beyond his grasp. Medicine and its current problems, including the malpractice mess, had him ensnared.
"What malpractice was there supposed to have been?" Leona asked, rephrasing her question.
Craig threw up his hands. "Listen, bright eyes! It's generic on the complaint, saying something about me not using the skill and care in making a diagnosis and treatment that a reasonable, competent doctor would employ in the same circumstance ... blah blah blah. It's all bullshit. The long and short is that there was a bad outcome, meaning Patience Stanhope died. A personal injury-malpractice lawyer will just go from there and be creative. Those guys can always find something that some asshole, courthouse-whore doctor will say should have been done differently."
"Bright eyes!" Leona snapped back. "Don't be condescending to me!"
"Okay, I'm sorry," Craig said. He took a deep breath. "Obviously, I'm out of sorts."
"What's a courthouse-whore doctor?"
"It's a doctor who hires himself or herself out to be a, quote, expert and who will say whatever the plaintiff attorney wants him to say. It used to be hard to find doctors to testify against doctors, but not anymore. There are some worthless bastards that make a living doing it."
"That's terrible."
"It's the least of it," Craig said. He shook his head dejectedly. "It's mighty hypocritical that this screwball Jordan Stanhope is suing me when he didn't even stay around at the hospital while I was struggling to revive his pathetic wife. Hell, on a number of occasions he confided with me that his wife was a hopeless hypochondriac and that he couldn't keep all her symptoms straight. He was even apologetic when she'd have him call and insist I come to the house at three in the morning because she thought she was dying. That really happened on more than one occasion. Usually the house calls were in the evenings, forcing me to interrupt what I was doing. But even then, Jordan would always thank me, so he knew what kind of effort it was, coming out there for no good reason. The woman was a disaster. Everyone is better off with her out of the picture, including Jordan Stanhope, yet he is suing me and claiming damages of five million dollars for loss of consortium. What a cruel joke." Craig shook his head dejectedly.
"What's consortium?"
"What someone is supposed to get from a spouse. You know: company, affection, assistance, and sex."
"I don't think they were having much
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