Read Online Patient One by Leonard Goldberg - Free Book Online

personnel. At the far end, Wells spotted the two agents and signaled them with a rapid rotary gesture to hurry up.
    “Where do you want the President?” Carolyn asked.
    “In the room farthest away from the elevator,” Wells answered and listened to another message coming over his earphone. “And I want the First Lady directly across from him. Put the Secretary of State and his wife between the President and the Russians.”
    “Do you want the windows covered?”
    “We’ll take care of that.”
    They ran down the hall at full speed, racing past the treatment room and the lounge. At the nurses’ station Kate Blanchard, the clerk, and two interns were seated around the desk, chatting with one another.
    Carolyn yelled over, “Everybody on their feet for the President!”
    The group quickly stood, their postures ramrod straight. The ward clerk placed his hand over his heart.
    All eyes went to the elevator panel and watched the floor numbers flash by. 6 … 7 … 8 … 9 …
    The elevator jerked to a stop and the door opened.
    Two Secret Service agents quickly stepped out into the corridor and made sure the way was clear, then signaled back to David and Warren before moving aside.
    David pulled the front of the gurney out of the elevator and swung it around. The fluid in the suction bottle draining the President’s stomach was now colored bright red, and fresh blood was coming out of his nose and mouth.
    “Call the blood bank and tell them we need two units of whole blood up here stat!” David cried out.
    The President groaned and gagged.
    More fresh blood poured out of his mouth and nose.

Six
    The President continued to ooze blood around his nasogastric tube. It was bright red and coming mainly from his mouth. With effort he turned on his side and hacked up enough blood to cover the bottom of a small basin.
    “Why am I bleeding so much?” Merrill gasped.
    “In all likelihood, whatever caused your food poisoning has eroded away some of your esophageal lining,” Warren answered. “And we think the lining was already weakened by your acid reflux disease. That would explain why you bled and the others didn’t. Dr. Ballineau has also raised the possibility that you might have Mallory-Weiss syndrome.”
    Merrill’s eyebrows went up. “What the hell is that?”
    “It’s bleeding due to a tear in mucosa of the esophagus caused by strenuous retching,” Warren described.
    Merrill looked over to David. “Does it require surgery?”
    “Not if it’s a small tear, Mr. President,” David said.
    “You keep using the word if ,” Merrill complained.
    “That’s because I want to be totally forthright,” David said. “Until we can confirm what’s going on inside your gastrointestinal tract.”
    “So these are all mere guesses, aren’t they?” Merrill asked irritably.
    “Yes, Mr. President,” Warren had to concede. “The only way to be sure of the diagnosis is for you to undergo endoscopy.”
    “I hate those damn things,” Merrill growled his displeasure. He could still remember the last time an endoscope was passed into his stomach. His throat had stayed sore for a week and he had developed widespread hives from the anesthetic that lasted off and on for a month. “It’s absolutely necessary?”
    Warren nodded firmly. “Not only will it give us an accurate diagnosis, it might also reveal a localized bleeding site. And if that’s the case, we can cauterize the area and stop the bleeding immediately.”
    Merrill thought for a moment, then slowly nodded back. “Where will it be done?”
    “Here,” Warren replied.
    David stepped forward and suggested, “It might be best to do it in the endoscopy unit. They have the setup for it, with the necessary drugs and equipment and cameras.”
    Warren promptly shook his head. “We’ll do it here on the Pavilion, where we can protect the President.”
    David considered the matter briefly before saying, “I guess we could do it in the treatment room. But it’ll be