Read Online Monday Mornings: A Novel by Sanjay Gupta - Free Book Online
Authors: Sanjay Gupta
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all of life’s pleasures could be included as Exhibit A in a malpractice suit.
Unless the hospital came close to his demand, Tompkins promised to take the case to trial and slather on the sympathy for Mary Cash like butter on corn bread. His ace in the hole: Mary Cash was a James Beard Award–winning chef. She needed her sense of smell to work. A chef who couldn’t smell was like an artist who couldn’t see. Cases this strong came along once a decade.
“When I get through with this hospital, people bleeding to death will drive an hour out of the way to avoid Chelsea General,” Tompkins promised the hospital attorney after he filed suit at the Oakland County courthouse. “And forget about the bonuses for the hospital executives. That money’s going to pay off the suit. Remember, the jury isn’t limited to awarding twenty-two million.” A third of twenty-two million dollars, of course, was seven million and change. That was Tompkins’s cut. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
In the conference room, Tompkins paced, barely able to contain his glee. He ran his fingers over the expensive hand-screen-printed wallpaper.
“Now, Dr. Ridgeway, tell me how Mary Cash’s career was destroyed. Walk me through this. How do you go about cutting someone’s olfactory nerve?”
When she was growing up, doctors were revered in the community. They were healers, civic leaders, wise men—and they were mostly men. They didn’t make as much money as many specialists these days, but patients treated their word as the gospel. They didn’t Google their symptoms and arrive at the doctor’s only after the supplements or other pop remedies failed. And if something went wrong, it was God’s will, fate, or simply bad luck. Tina couldn’t remember her father facing a single malpractice suit in his forty-year career.
Tina narrated the operation step by step for the plaintiff’s attorney. She had explained the procedure dozens of times for med students, so it was second nature. After the patient’s head was immobilized, an incision was made on the scalp and the skull was exposed. Then a burr hole was perforated behind Mary Cash’s right eye. The hole allowed a larger hole to be sawed in the young woman’s skull, which gave the surgeon access to the brain. From there, it was a matter of gently cutting away the outer layers of the brain and then resecting the tumor. Because a meningioma can sit so close to the olfactory nerve, there is always the danger of nerve damage.
Tompkins was sitting during Tina’s narration. Now that she had finished, he was standing again.
“Very interesting, Dr. Ridgeway. Fascinating, really. You described it so well, I almost feel as though I can do the surgery myself.”
Tina said nothing.
“Now, when you say, ‘A burr hole was made,’ or ‘The tumor was resected’—who was doing the cutting and resecting on Mary Cash? I’m assuming it was you. After all, you are an attending physician, the surgeon of record, and you wouldn’t want to give this talented, James Beard Award–wining chef second-class treatment.”
Tompkins paused and looked at the hospital attorney. The attorney tried to give Tompkins a what-me-worried look, but he did look a little worried. Tompkins turned back to Tina.
“So, you were performing this surgery, right?”
“No,” Tina answered.
“No?” Tompkins feigned surprise. “All right then, who was operating on this young, talented, attractive chef with a whole career ahead of her, a rising star in the culinary world?”
“Dr. Robidaux.”
“Dr. Robidaux?”
“Yes, Michelle Robidaux. A resident in the Department of Neurosurgery.”
“You mean, you allowed a doctor in training, a student if you will, to operate on the brain of this young woman, lying defenseless on the table, as she was, her trust entirely with you?”
“This is a teaching hospital, Mr. Tompkins.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that Mary Cash was cannon fodder. Someone for Dr. Robidaux
Unless the hospital came close to his demand, Tompkins promised to take the case to trial and slather on the sympathy for Mary Cash like butter on corn bread. His ace in the hole: Mary Cash was a James Beard Award–winning chef. She needed her sense of smell to work. A chef who couldn’t smell was like an artist who couldn’t see. Cases this strong came along once a decade.
“When I get through with this hospital, people bleeding to death will drive an hour out of the way to avoid Chelsea General,” Tompkins promised the hospital attorney after he filed suit at the Oakland County courthouse. “And forget about the bonuses for the hospital executives. That money’s going to pay off the suit. Remember, the jury isn’t limited to awarding twenty-two million.” A third of twenty-two million dollars, of course, was seven million and change. That was Tompkins’s cut. Like shooting fish in a barrel.
In the conference room, Tompkins paced, barely able to contain his glee. He ran his fingers over the expensive hand-screen-printed wallpaper.
“Now, Dr. Ridgeway, tell me how Mary Cash’s career was destroyed. Walk me through this. How do you go about cutting someone’s olfactory nerve?”
When she was growing up, doctors were revered in the community. They were healers, civic leaders, wise men—and they were mostly men. They didn’t make as much money as many specialists these days, but patients treated their word as the gospel. They didn’t Google their symptoms and arrive at the doctor’s only after the supplements or other pop remedies failed. And if something went wrong, it was God’s will, fate, or simply bad luck. Tina couldn’t remember her father facing a single malpractice suit in his forty-year career.
Tina narrated the operation step by step for the plaintiff’s attorney. She had explained the procedure dozens of times for med students, so it was second nature. After the patient’s head was immobilized, an incision was made on the scalp and the skull was exposed. Then a burr hole was perforated behind Mary Cash’s right eye. The hole allowed a larger hole to be sawed in the young woman’s skull, which gave the surgeon access to the brain. From there, it was a matter of gently cutting away the outer layers of the brain and then resecting the tumor. Because a meningioma can sit so close to the olfactory nerve, there is always the danger of nerve damage.
Tompkins was sitting during Tina’s narration. Now that she had finished, he was standing again.
“Very interesting, Dr. Ridgeway. Fascinating, really. You described it so well, I almost feel as though I can do the surgery myself.”
Tina said nothing.
“Now, when you say, ‘A burr hole was made,’ or ‘The tumor was resected’—who was doing the cutting and resecting on Mary Cash? I’m assuming it was you. After all, you are an attending physician, the surgeon of record, and you wouldn’t want to give this talented, James Beard Award–wining chef second-class treatment.”
Tompkins paused and looked at the hospital attorney. The attorney tried to give Tompkins a what-me-worried look, but he did look a little worried. Tompkins turned back to Tina.
“So, you were performing this surgery, right?”
“No,” Tina answered.
“No?” Tompkins feigned surprise. “All right then, who was operating on this young, talented, attractive chef with a whole career ahead of her, a rising star in the culinary world?”
“Dr. Robidaux.”
“Dr. Robidaux?”
“Yes, Michelle Robidaux. A resident in the Department of Neurosurgery.”
“You mean, you allowed a doctor in training, a student if you will, to operate on the brain of this young woman, lying defenseless on the table, as she was, her trust entirely with you?”
“This is a teaching hospital, Mr. Tompkins.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that Mary Cash was cannon fodder. Someone for Dr. Robidaux
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