Richard Mabry: Medical Error

She pulled out of the faculty garage and started toward home, navigating on automatic pilot. Maybe she'd stop at Blockbuster for a movie to get her mind offher problems. Have a quiet dinner in front of the TV, soak in the tub, try to forget for a few blessed minutes. Then a quick mental review of the contents of her refrigerator changed her route. Better stop by the grocery store as well.

Anna wove up and down the aisles of the store with frequent stops to add items, not sure when she'd have time to shop again. Sort of like laying in provisions for a siege, she told herself. On her trip down the second aisle she visited, she noticed the clunking sound and the tendency of the cart to pull to one side like a car with a flat tire. By the time she discovered the malfunction, it seemed easier to battle the balky conveyance than unload her groceries into another one. After all, what was one more inconvenience on top of what had already happened? Surely things couldn't get any worse. At least, she hoped that was the case.

When she reached the head of the checkout line, a pimplyfaced clerk with a faint smile on his face but none in his voice began scanning her items. He met her eyes long enough to say, "May I have your Reward Card, ma'am?"

Anna found her keys, buried as usual in the deepest, darkest corner of her purse. The clerk thumbed through the plastic tags until he found the right one. He swiped it several times and finally tossed the keys back onto the counter. "The tag's too worn. Won't scan. What's your phone number?"

She repeated the number to the clerk while she swept the keys into her purse and transferred the last of the items from her cart onto the moving belt. Whether the clerk's heart was in his work, his hands moved swiftly, and in a moment the items were scanned and bagged. "That's $62.48."

Anna had pulled out her wallet along with her keys and was ready with her MasterCard. She swiped it and watched the screen, waiting to confirm the amount and sign. She was still waiting when the clerk said, "Ma'am, swipe it again. I'm getting an error message."

She complied.

"Ma'am," the clerk said, "there's a problem with your card. Do you want to use another one?"

"I only brought this one. What's the matter with it?"

"This account is over its limit. Do you want to write a check? Pay with cash?"

The impatience in the clerk's voice made Anna glance around. The man behind her was shifting from one foot to the other, and the line was building.

"I don't have my checkbook," she said. "And I don't have that much cash. I… I'll come back."

She didn't even think about the groceries. All she could think about was getting away from the irritable clerk, away from the exasperated looks of the people behind her in line.

She screeched out of the parking lot, impatient to get home and call the credit card company. There was no way her card was over its limit. Somebody owed her an explanation.

Nick put down the phone and massaged his chin, running his fingers over the scratchy stubble as he thought about the information he'd just been given. Both units of blood received by Eric Hatley were totally compatible with the patient's own blood. The lab director herself had done the cross-matches in duplicate. No question about it. The blood wasn't the source of the allergic reaction that had killed the man.

"Still here?" The morgue technician stood in the open doorway and raised his eyebrows as though to ask, "Why?"

"Yeah," Nick replied. "I want to work on some stuff, and it's a lot quieter over here than in my academic office."

"Right. Those folks in the drawers back there don't make much noise, do they?"

Nick frowned. He understood that when you worked around death all day, making jokes about it was a normal defense mechanism. But it still didn't make him like the practice. He kept quiet and eventually the attendant took the hint and left with a cheery, "Well, it's quitting time. I'm out of here."

His unfinished project stared back at Nick from the computer screen, the cursor accusing him with every blink. He really should finish it today. But first he wanted to let Anna know what he'd found out about the blood. There was no question in his mind that talking with her took precedence over making his chairman happy. Wetherington was never happy anyway, so why worry about it?

Nick opened the faculty directory and dialed Dr. Anna McIntyre's office number. Her administrative assistant answered on the first ring.

"This is Dr. Valentine. I'm trying to reach Dr. McIntyre. Is she there?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor. She's left for the day."

"Oh." Nick looked at his watch. A bit after four. Sort of early in the day for Anna to be leaving, but- "Well, what time does she usually get there in the morning?"

The woman cleared her throat. "I've been told that Dr. McIntyre will be on leave for at least two weeks. Could someone else help you?"

That didn't make sense. The likelihood that a junior faculty member in her first year would have two weeks of accrued leave, let alone be permitted to take it in one block, was about the same as a meteor hitting Neiman Marcus at noon tomorrow. Had the chairman suspended her? Was she in trouble over this patient death? If so, that made his call even more important.

The assistant's voice interrupted Nick's thoughts. "Doctor?"

"Sorry. I guess I could page her."

He started to hang up when he heard a rattle of words and brought the receiver back to his ear. "What was that?"

"I said her pager is sitting on her desk. I saw it just a few minutes ago. I really think she doesn't want to be disturbed."

Nick could feel his temper bubbling to the surface. He shoved it down and tried to keep his voice calm. "All right, could you give me her home number?"

"I'm afraid we can't do that. Why don't I transfer your call to the chairman's office? Maybe Dr. Fowler can help you."

"No, don't bother. Thanks." Nick hung up before she could respond. He didn't want to go through Neil Fowler to contact Anna. And he didn't want to leave a message. It was dawning on him that what he wanted was to see Anna McIntyre again.

He swiveled back to his computer and looked at the screen. He sighed and closed the document. Then he logged on to the Internet. It shouldn't be hard to find Anna.

Being home didn't defuse Anna's anger and frustration. She took the time for a quick shower and a change into more casual clothes. Back in her living room, she pulled a folder from her desk drawer, kicked off her loafers, and slumped into an easy chair with a Diet Coke and the cordless phone, ready to do battle with the credit card company.

She flipped through the folder until she found her last MasterCard bill. She dialed the wrong number once, then navigated a maze of electronic commands, entered her account number, and confirmed her mother's maiden name to an operator who seemed only mildly interested in the process. Finally, she was able to speak to someone about her problem.

"How may I help you?" said the slightly accented voice on the other end of the line.

"My card was declined today because I'm supposedly over my credit limit. I have my last statement right here. I made a payment only a week ago, and I should be nowhere near my limit. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"I'm so sorry." The operator's tone didn't match the words, but Anna figured that she'd settle for action instead of sympathy."Let me pull up your account."

Anna took a long gulp of soft drink while she waited.

"Oh, my."

Anna put down her drink can and sat forward in her chair."What's wrong?"

"Well, it appears that we actually tried to get in touch with you today about your account, but there was no answer at your home number."

For the first time, Anna noticed the blinking red light on the answering machine. "What were you calling about?"