Richard Mabry - Lethal Remedy

"Aren't they on the chart?" Rip said. "If they were, I would have seen them. Did you deliver the blood samples?" "Yes, sir. To both the hospital lab and Resnick." "Then get the results, and see that they get onto the ICU chart." "Will do." Ingersoll pushed back his sleeve and consulted a watch that appeared to have every function except the position of the International Space Station. "I'm leaving this afternoon to attend a meeting in Bermuda, where I'll be speaking on Jandramycin. Take care of things while I'm gone. See you Monday." Rip ducked back into Mr. Rankin's room to answer questions the family had apparently been hesitant to ask his chief. He checked the chart, wrote a couple of orders, and decided he'd treat himself to a mocha latte before tracking down the errant lab reports. The Starbucks in the medical center's basement was crowded. Rip had almost decided to sit outside in the courtyard when he saw Carter Resnick at a table for two in the corner. His first inclination was to ignore the research associate, but at the last minute he veered offtoward Resnick. "Mind if I join you?" "Help yourself." Resnick moved his briefcase from the second chair and gestured toward it. "The great one turn you loose long enough to get a cup of coffee?" Rip eased into the vacant chair.

"He's leaving for Bermuda. But there's still plenty of work for both of us to do. What are you doing here?" "I had to get out of the lab for a bit. You can't believe how boring it is, running lab tests on our patients, collating data. I wish Ingersoll would let me have some patient contact." Resnick sipped his drink-he'd also opted for a latte-then swiped at the foam moustache on his upper lip. Rip tasted his coffee, found it too hot to drink, and set it aside, spilling a few drops in the process. "What do you know about the new drug application for Jandramycin?" "Not much. I know Jandra said they wanted a hundred patients before they submit." Rip toyed with his cup, making wet circles on the table. "And how many patients have we collected?" "You know that as well as I do. Thirty-nine." "Ingersoll told me this morning that the NDA has already gone in. Where did all the patients come from?" "There are a couple of investigators in Germany, but they didn't start collecting patients until after we did." "So how did Jandra come up with the volume of data needed for a new drug application?" Resnick finished his drink, this time ignoring the foam moustache. It made his Cheshire cat grin more pronounced.

"It's magic, isn't it?"

John Ramsey had been in the medical center's Faculty Club before, but never as a faculty member. The club wasn't what the name implied-no dark wood, overstuffed furniture, and faculty members sitting around sipping drinks and smoking cigars. It was bright and airy and highly functional. Windows on three sides showed views of Dallas or the buildings of the Southwestern campus. Tables were set for groups of diners from two to ten. Steam tables held several entrees. There was a well-stocked salad bar. But for John, the best thing on the menu, and his lunch of choice, was a Reuben sandwich on pretzel bread, and that was what he now held. "Thanks for meeting me for lunch, Mark." John took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and washed it down with iced tea. "Glad to do it," Dr. Mark Wilcox said.

"Besides, I don't get invited to the Faculty Club at the medical center very often." "You can thank my chairman," John said. "He let me charge this to his account. Part-time faculty members don't get this kind of perk." Mark put down his BLT. "How are you doing? Be honest with me. How long as it been since you lost Beth? Three months?"

"Closer to four. And not a day goes by that I don't miss her. But I'm trying to get my life back together. That's why I begged Don Schaeffer for this job. Unfortunately, I may have gotten myself into trouble before I saw my first patient." John took another swallow of iced tea, then cleared his throat. "That's why I invited you here today. I need some advice." "Ask away, although I doubt there's anything in medicine I know that you don't. I'm a lowly GP who's fresh out of medical school, and you're a wise old internal medicine specialist." "Don't sell yourself short, Mark. When I first met you on ward rounds during your third year of medical school, it didn't take me long to realize that tall, redheaded fellow who asked so many questions was pretty sharp. Then one of your classmates told me you were a practicing lawyer before you applied to medical school. That explained your maturity, I guess, but the fact that you chose to leave a good career to start over in medicine was what really impressed me." "Nothing to it. I just decided I could help people a lot more by trying to cure their ills than by suing doctors who hadn't been able to." Mark frowned at the man who'd become his mentor. "Are you in legal trouble?" "I may be." John related his story in short, unemotional sentences, much as he'd present a case to a consultant. He finished with, "The family says they're going to sue the medical center and everyone involved. So what do you think my exposure will be?" Mark tented his fingers and pursed his lips. Thinking before he talks. No wonder I thought he'd be a good doctor. "I could give you the standard lawyer's disclaimer. I need more facts. I need to read your malpractice insurance policy, including the tail coverage. I need- Never mind. You just want my opinion. My opinion is that you assisted the physician in charge of the activity in trying to save the life of a patient. You may have done more than the average citizen, but you never went beyond your capabilities and training, never breached the standard of care. The medical center's policy aside, you're probably protected under the Good Samaritan Law of the state." John let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "So you think I don't have to worry?" "Oh, we always have to worry, all of us. Doctors might as well have targets painted on their backs, with signs saying 'Sue me.' You definitely could be named in a suit. If so, your lawyer should be able to mount a good defense. That would cost you some legal fees and some time, but you'd have a decent chance of coming out okay." "And if I need a lawyer?" Mark took a bite of his neglected sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. "Lucky for you I'm still licensed to practice law. And I'm running a special right now: defense of one lawsuit in return for lunch. So I guess you've got a free one coming." John only managed to choke down half his sandwich, but Mark seemed to have no difficulty finishing his, following it with a trip to what John had heard his colleagues call the "sin bar"-a table laden with tempting desserts.

Mark returned with a piece of pecan pie. "Sure you don't want something?" he asked. "No, I think I'd better just watch you." John waited while Mark took a bite. "Tell me honestly. Do you miss practicing law? Do you ever wonder if it was a mistake to give that up, go to medical school for four years, and have to start all over again building a practice?" Mark chewed his pie and swallowed.

"Sometimes I think that being a lawyer is sort of like being a member of the Mafia. You know, 'Once in, never out.' As it turns out, I'm sort of melding medicine and law. I have a small family practice, but I also review malpractice cases for insurance companies that cover doctors. I do a little consulting for pharmaceutical companies." He grinned. "And I help out old friends who have legal problems." Mark finished his pie and pushed the plate aside. "Why don't I drop by your clinic next week? You can give me your malpractice policy, and I'll have a chance to see how the faculty operate their private clinics.

Remember, all my medicine clinics were at Parkland." "Honestly, the surroundings may be nicer, but we pretty much practice the same brand of medicine we teach the residents. Anyway, you're welcome to drop by.