Richard Mabry - Code Blue

"Do you have privileges for this kind of surgery?" Mrs. Gladstone's voice held no trace of irony or guile. Apparently, her husband didn't share all his professional secrets with her.

"No, this is beyond what I normally do. If surgery is required, it would be best for a gynecologist to perform it. Do you want someone here in town?"

"Arthur Harshman is probably the best gyn specialist here. Of course, his manners are terrible, but Ernest says he's extremely capable. What I'd really like, though, is for you to assist him. Maybe we can work on that."

"Mrs. Gladstone, I'm so sorry. If-"

Emma silenced Cathy with an upraised hand and the faintest shake of her head. She reached into her oversized purse and pulled out a small, worn leather volume.

"Please don't worry about me. This matter is in God's hands. There's story after story in here where Jesus tells us that God is in charge; we're all in His hands. I am. You are. So let Him take over. You just do your best."

Cathy sat at her desk, wondering if the air conditioning in the office had failed or the conversation with the pharmacist had triggered the sweat that trickled down her face.

"Lloyd, I really need to see that prescription." She held the phone so tightly that her hand cramped. She switched hands just in time to hear the answer.

"Afraid not, Cath-Dr. Sewell. I don't have the authority to let it out of the store. That would be up to Jacob."

Cathy waited but Lloyd Allen, the other pharmacist at Jacob Collins's pharmacy, didn't offer to help. Same old Lloyd she'd known in high school. If it wasn't to his benefit, forget about asking him.

"Lloyd, I thought you two were partners."

"Nope. Jacob bought the store from my father while I was in Oklahoma. Then he built this new building. Upgraded everything. That was about the time my wife divorced me, so I moved back here and he hired me."

"It must seem strange working for someone else in what was once your dad's place," Cathy said.

"I don't really want to talk about it. And the answer's still the same about the prescription-that's up to Jacob."

"May I speak with him, please?"

There was no answer, just silence, punctuated by mumbling in the background. In a couple of minutes, Cathy heard a series of bumps, probably the receiver hitting the counter as someone dropped it.

She recognized the next voice she heard, even though Cathy had last heard Jacob Collins's distinctive whine in high school. Jacob had been on par with their class academically, but light years behind her and most of her classmates in the social graces. Jacob hadn't fit in with any crowd. He'd asked Cathy out once. It had been all she could do not to laugh. She'd tried to let him down easy, but she had the impression that the hurt lingered for a while.

Whiney or not, Jacob's words were full of conviction. "Dr. Sewell, I can't let you have the prescription. Milton Nix's attorney has already called to warn me about keeping it safe."

Cathy tried to keep her tone steady. So Nix already had an attorney. "Jacob, how about if I come by and look at the prescription there? Would you do that? This is important."

"Okay, come by today, and I'll let you see it, but you can't touch it." Jacob made it sound as though he were letting her see the Dead Sea Scrolls.

"Can you make a photocopy?" Cathy asked.

"Sorry. I'll let you see the prescription, but that's all."

The conversation had nowhere to go after that, but Cathy decided she'd at least try to be pleasant. It couldn't hurt to have this man on her side. "How's your family?"

There was no spark in Jacob's voice as he replied. "Sherri's fine. You remember Sherri Clawson? She was in your class. We have two kids."

Find something to compliment him on. "I drove to the cemetery recently and passed your house. It's really nice."

"Thanks. It could be nicer if- Never mind. You can come by this afternoon, and I'll pull the prescription out of the file."

As Cathy hung up the phone, some long-buried incident from her days in high school niggled at her. It seemed to her as though it was about Jacob. Or was it Lloyd? Was there something-some grudge from the past-that would lead either of them to manipulate one of her prescriptions just to put her in a bad light, even though it might kill a patient?

She was anxious to see the prescription. After that she wanted to talk with the person who filled it. Jacob had made it plain that, with only a two-man crew, they didn't bother to make that notation on the prescription or the bottle. Cathy knew it was good pharmacy practice to keep those records, but she got the impression that Jacob made the rules for Collins Pharmacy.

Persistent rumors. Economic pressure. Delayed hospital privileges. Now a prescription with a mistake a third-year medical student wouldn't make. Was this part of the ongoing campaign to drive her away? Or had her paranoia progressed to the next stage: out of touch with reality?

She stood up to walk out of her office when another thought hit her and she dropped into her chair. What if she had experienced a dissociative reaction when she wrote that prescription? What if she'd thought one thing and wrote another? That would explain the discrepancy between what she'd charted and what was on the prescription. She was no psychiatrist-she'd have to ask Josh about it to be sure- but as she recalled, dissociative reactions were common in patients with schizophrenia.

"That's your last patient," Jane said. "For the day and for the week. What are your plans? Will you promise to relax this weekend?"

Cathy handed the file to Jane and shrugged out of her white coat. "Promise. After I stop by the pharmacy, I'm going home and collapsing into a hot bath. Then tomorrow I think I'll take a drive in the country and get away from everything."

"How about Sunday?"

Cathy's initial impulse to dissemble died quickly. By Monday, everyone would know anyway. "I'm going to church with Will."

"Good. Enjoy your weekend."

Cathy retreated to her office and sat there with her eyes closed. The noises of drawers shutting and doors closing finally died away. She heard Jane call, "Night," before silence settled in.

Cathy decided she needed to talk with Josh about her mistake. She wanted him to evaluate her, assure her that her mind wasn't really slipping. Did it merit a phone call now? No, it could wait until her regular session next week.

She opened her eyes and leaned forward, pressing her hands to her temples to still the pounding. She hoped Josh could help her. She started to run down the list of available antipsychotic drugs.

"Stop it," she said out loud. "Stop thinking you can be your own doctor."

Still, the symptoms paraded through her mind like a marching army: A constant sense that someone was out to get her. Actions that were out of character for her. Emotions that went up and down like a roller coaster. Cathy reached for a tissue and dabbed at the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Now she knew what the writer meant when he referred to the "dark night of the soul." A permanent midnight had descended on her heart and soul. She wished she still believed that God heard and answered prayer. Right now, though, all she could do was cry.

Whoever designed Jacob Collins's drugstore had done a bang-up job: wide aisles, bright lighting, and attractive displays. Judging from the number of people lined up at the two cash registers, the merchandising efforts had paid off. Now Cathy could see how Jacob afforded that big house.

The pharmacy department repeated the modern look of the rest of the store. Despite growing up in a doctor's family, despite being a physician herself, Cathy had never been beyond the mysterious wall of frosted glass and faux marble that blocked out the public. Behind these barriers, men in white or pale blue smocks took prescriptions passed to them by anxious hands and dispensed bottles full of hope in return. Like elves in Santa's toy assembly line, they bustled back and forth, pulling bottles from the hundreds on the shelves and measuring out pills and capsules into little containers before slapping computer-generated labels on them. Now Cathy would step through the looking glass herself.