Richard Mabry: Lethal Remedy

Ingersoll craned his neck to look at the rear of the aircraft in time to see the lead flight attendant replacing the AED in its case, and the EMT spreading a blanket over a form stretched out in the aisle.

Good thing he hadn't volunteered his services. He probably couldn't have done more than the emergency medical technician, and undoubtedly the paperwork at Las Vegas would be a nightmare. He just hoped he wasn't going to be delayed too long. Then again, he supposed a night in Las Vegas wouldn't be all that bad.

Sara scanned the numbers on Chelsea's chart. Fever coming down.

Blood pressure holding stable now. Twenty-four hours since adding the additional antibiotics to the girl's treatment regimen, and Sara could hardly believe how much improvement she saw. Had they made a good guess in choosing empiric therapy, or was EpAm848 making a definite difference in the septic shock, as well as the Staph luciferus infection? "How are you feeling?" Sara put her hand to Chelsea's forehead and was gratified to note that it was much cooler. "Okay, I guess." Was Chelsea's voice stronger, or did Sara imagine it because she wanted to see signs of recovery? No, she definitely seemed better.

As usual, Mrs. Ferguson was at her daughter's bedside. "Whatever that new medicine is, I think it's helped. She seems stronger. And she actually ate a little this morning." She forced out what was probably her best effort at a smile. "How's the patient this morning?" Sara made room for Rip at Chelsea's bedside and handed him the chart.

"Seems better," she said. "Check out her temp and vital signs." He nodded his approval. "Looking good." With a promise to return that afternoon, the two doctors stepped outside and settled into chairs at the nurses' station. Rip said, "I need to get some follow-up labs."

"What do you want? I'll order them," Sara said. "Nope, I've got to draw them myself. That way, I'll know the blood gets to the right places." "Places?" Sara asked. "Where will it go besides the hospital lab?" "Some of it goes to Ingersoll's lab. Those tests are part of the study, and apparently part of his deal with Jandra is that they fund his own private research lab." "Where is it? I thought I knew where everything was in the internal medicine department." Rip gestured vaguely to the north. "He negotiated for some space in the Parkland Hospital building. Nobody is allowed in but Carter Resnick and the one tech that works there. I have to call over and let them know I'm coming. Then I knock, hand over the tubes of blood, and have the door slammed in my face." "Why all the secrecy?" "Sara, you know Jack Ingersoll as well as I do-probably better. What's his first priority?"

Sara didn't even have to think about it. "Jack Ingersoll." "Right. And the fewer people who know about his research, the more secure he feels. I maintain the case log, but all I do is chart the patient responses and enter the lab results I'm given." Sara pondered that for a moment. "That makes me wonder. If Jack wanted to keep any data hidden…" "No, there are two parallel studies going on in Europe.

Jandra sends updates to Ingersoll on a regular basis. The results are pretty much the same as the ones we're seeing. Almost identical, in fact." "But you don't correspond with those investigators?" "Don't even know their names. Jandra is keeping all that under wraps." Sara decided not to pursue the matter. For now, it was probably enough that Chelsea was improving. There might be a firestorm when Ingersoll returned and discovered that two antibiotics had been added to his patient's treatment regimen, but she'd deal with that when it happened. She'd handled Jack's tantrums before. As for the secrecy..

. well, if Jack was hiding anything, it certainly wasn't preventing the EpAm848 from working yet another miracle, this time for her patient. And for now, that was enough.

Sara was deep in thought as she emerged from the medical center library. The force of the collision made her head snap up, and she found herself looking into kindly gray eyes that the lenses of wire-rimmed glasses couldn't hide. The hair was a little grayer, a little sparser. But the smile was still there, the one that had calmed her when the world seemed ready to crumble around her. "Dr. Ramsey.

I'm so… I mean, I… What are you doing here?" "Are you all right?" John Ramsey asked. "I'm sorry I collided with you. I guess I'm sort of preoccupied." "I'm fine." She paused a beat. "Do you remember me?" "Of course. Sara Miles. Or is it Ingersoll now? How have you been?" She flinched inwardly. "It's Miles. I kept my maiden name.

Which made it easier when Jack-" She hurried on before he could ask about that. "Never mind. I'm fine. After I finished my residency here, I was invited to stay on as a faculty member. I'm an Assistant Professor in Internal Medicine." "Wonderful. Then we'll be colleagues.

I'm retired, but I'll be joining the faculty part-time, working in the General Internal Medicine clinic." "That's where I spend most of my time. And I look forward to working with you." As she watched Ramsey's retreat down the hall, Sara was transported back to her senior year in medical school, to a time when she sat in Ramsey's private office and cried until she thought there couldn't possibly be any more tears in the world. "I didn't get the residency I wanted," she snuffled. "I thought my interview in New York went really well. My grades are top 10 percent of the class. My letters of recommendation were perfect.

Why didn't I get it?" Ramsey had leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. "Sara, you matched here at Parkland. That's a fantastic internal medicine residency, and I suspect there are about a hundred medical students who'd give their right arm for the opportunity you now have." "But I had my heart set on Mount Sinai. That's where Brett's going to do his surgery residency. We had it all planned out."

"If you and Brett are really in love, you'll make the longdistance relationship work. If not, this is the way you'll find out." Ramsey leaned forward across his desk. "God has a plan. It may not always be the one we have in mind, and generally it's not on our schedule, but He's in control." He'd been right, of course. It had taken Brett six months to become engaged to a socialite in New York, and Sara had met and married Jack halfway through her residency. Now her old mentor would be working with her, and at a time when it appeared that she might need some support. Funny how things work out. Just like you said, Dr. Ramsey. Just like you said.

John Ramsey tried to concentrate on what Kim was saying, but his mind wandered. The office he sat in was a marked contrast to the one occupied by Dr. Schaeffer. If the administrator worked in such a small, plain space, why did the Chairman have an office big enough to garage a fleet of cars? John had always pictured working at the medical school as something that was first class all the way.

Apparently, that condition was sort of like the spring showers in North Texas-present in one spot and absent in another. And he suspected that the staff sometimes resided in the dry area. The salary on the sheet Kim handed John was decent, although nothing like what he'd made in private practice. On the one hand, he had no overhead, no personnel decisions. Of course, neither did he have benefits- not as a part-time faculty member-but that could change. He found himself wondering if this would morph into a full-time position. What was it Schaeffer said? "If it works for both of us." In other words, it's a two-way street, brother, and if you don't produce, I'll hire someone else. Welcome to academia. Kim paused, apparently through with what John had already decided was a canned presentation memorized through many repetitions. She looked at him and raised her eyebrows. "Any questions?" He'd tuned out most of her spiel, but John figured he hadn't missed anything that wasn't in the packet she'd given him. "Not right now, but I'll call you if I think of any." He got to his feet.