Read Online Sisterhood by Michael Palmer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Palmer
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smile of acquiescence. “Light, no sugar for me, and for Dr. Shelton …?”
“Black,” David answered. For a split second he had almost said “bleak.”
“Here you go, Doctor,” Huttner said, sliding the chart across to David. “Leaf through it while we’re waiting for coffee.”
Before reading a word, David could tell that Charlotte Thomas was in trouble. Her hospital record was voluminous. He thought back to his residency and a tall, gangly New Yorker named Gerald Fox, who was one year ahead of him. Fox had achieved immortality, at least in White Memorial Hospital by Xeroxing a three-page list of cynical maxims and definitions entitled, “Fox’s Golden Laws of Medicine.” Among his axioms were the definition of Complicated Case (“When the combined diameters of all the tubes going into a patient’s body exceeds his hat size”), Gynecologist (“A spreader of old wives’ tails”), and Fatal Illness (“A hospital chart more than an inch thick”).
Coffee arrived just as David had begun to scan the admission history and physical examination. He heard Huttner say, “Ah, Miss Beall, thank you. You’re an angel of mercy.”
He looked up from the chart. It was not the nurse with whom Huttner had placed their order, but a far younger woman David had never seen, or at least had never noticed before. For several seconds his entire world consisted only of two large, oval, burnt umber eyes. He felt his body flush with warmth. The eyes met his and smiled.
“So, are you with our lady Charlotte again?” Huttner asked, oblivious to the silent meeting that was taking place.
“Huh? Oh, yes.” Christine broke the connection and turned to Huttner. “She’s not looking too well. I asked to bring the coffee in because I wanted to talk to you about …”
“How rude of me,” Huttner interrupted. “Miss Beall this is Dr. David Shelton. Perhaps you two have met?
“No,” Christine said icily. She was well acquainted with Huttner’s lack of regard for the insights and suggestions of nurses. Over the years she had given up even attempting to share hers with him. But Charlotte’s situation was distressing enough for her to try. If Huttner would only agree to let up on his aggressive treatment, to cancel the resuscitation order, she might not intervene even if the Screening Committee approved her proposal. So she had tried, and predictably the man had cut her off—this time with an inane social amenity. Still, she felt determined to speak her mind. It was
his
tube that was sticking into Charlotte’s nose.
His
order to prolong her suffering no matter what. He could play puppet-master with his other patients, but not with Charlotte. He would listen or … or have his strings to her cut. Christine swallowed the bone of anger that had begun sticking in her throat.
Huttner took no note of the chill in her voice. “Dr. Shelton will be covering all my patients, including Mrs. Thomas, for a few days,” he said.
Christine nodded at David and wondered whether he might have the authority to back off on Huttner’s overzealous approach to Charlotte, then realized there was no chance the surgical chief would permit that. “Dr. Huttner,” she said flatly, “I would like to talk to you about Charlotte for a few minutes.”
Huttner glanced at his watch. “That would be fine, Miss Beall,” he said. “Why don’t you let us finish reviewing Charlotte’s case and examining her. Then you can go over things with Dr. Shelton here. He’ll know exactly what I want for this woman.” Huttner looked away before the first of the daggers from her eyes reached him. David shrugged his embarrassment, but Christine had already turned on one heel and left the room.
Huttner took a sip of coffee, then began speaking without so much as a word or gesture toward the nurse who had just left. “Mrs. Thomas is a registered nurse. In her late fifties, I think.” David glanced at the birth-date on the chart. She was nearly sixty-one.
“Black,” David answered. For a split second he had almost said “bleak.”
“Here you go, Doctor,” Huttner said, sliding the chart across to David. “Leaf through it while we’re waiting for coffee.”
Before reading a word, David could tell that Charlotte Thomas was in trouble. Her hospital record was voluminous. He thought back to his residency and a tall, gangly New Yorker named Gerald Fox, who was one year ahead of him. Fox had achieved immortality, at least in White Memorial Hospital by Xeroxing a three-page list of cynical maxims and definitions entitled, “Fox’s Golden Laws of Medicine.” Among his axioms were the definition of Complicated Case (“When the combined diameters of all the tubes going into a patient’s body exceeds his hat size”), Gynecologist (“A spreader of old wives’ tails”), and Fatal Illness (“A hospital chart more than an inch thick”).
Coffee arrived just as David had begun to scan the admission history and physical examination. He heard Huttner say, “Ah, Miss Beall, thank you. You’re an angel of mercy.”
He looked up from the chart. It was not the nurse with whom Huttner had placed their order, but a far younger woman David had never seen, or at least had never noticed before. For several seconds his entire world consisted only of two large, oval, burnt umber eyes. He felt his body flush with warmth. The eyes met his and smiled.
“So, are you with our lady Charlotte again?” Huttner asked, oblivious to the silent meeting that was taking place.
“Huh? Oh, yes.” Christine broke the connection and turned to Huttner. “She’s not looking too well. I asked to bring the coffee in because I wanted to talk to you about …”
“How rude of me,” Huttner interrupted. “Miss Beall this is Dr. David Shelton. Perhaps you two have met?
“No,” Christine said icily. She was well acquainted with Huttner’s lack of regard for the insights and suggestions of nurses. Over the years she had given up even attempting to share hers with him. But Charlotte’s situation was distressing enough for her to try. If Huttner would only agree to let up on his aggressive treatment, to cancel the resuscitation order, she might not intervene even if the Screening Committee approved her proposal. So she had tried, and predictably the man had cut her off—this time with an inane social amenity. Still, she felt determined to speak her mind. It was
his
tube that was sticking into Charlotte’s nose.
His
order to prolong her suffering no matter what. He could play puppet-master with his other patients, but not with Charlotte. He would listen or … or have his strings to her cut. Christine swallowed the bone of anger that had begun sticking in her throat.
Huttner took no note of the chill in her voice. “Dr. Shelton will be covering all my patients, including Mrs. Thomas, for a few days,” he said.
Christine nodded at David and wondered whether he might have the authority to back off on Huttner’s overzealous approach to Charlotte, then realized there was no chance the surgical chief would permit that. “Dr. Huttner,” she said flatly, “I would like to talk to you about Charlotte for a few minutes.”
Huttner glanced at his watch. “That would be fine, Miss Beall,” he said. “Why don’t you let us finish reviewing Charlotte’s case and examining her. Then you can go over things with Dr. Shelton here. He’ll know exactly what I want for this woman.” Huttner looked away before the first of the daggers from her eyes reached him. David shrugged his embarrassment, but Christine had already turned on one heel and left the room.
Huttner took a sip of coffee, then began speaking without so much as a word or gesture toward the nurse who had just left. “Mrs. Thomas is a registered nurse. In her late fifties, I think.” David glanced at the birth-date on the chart. She was nearly sixty-one.
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