Richard Mabry - Code Blue

Cathy turned her head a few inches and looked at Ernest Gladstone for a sign, but found none. This was Emma's decision, and he wasn't about to fight her.

"Of course, Mrs. Gladstone," Cathy said. "I'll mention your wishes to Dr. Harshman when I call to tell him about your case." And wouldn't that be fun?

The settlement for her accident had been enough for Cathy to pay offher old car and make a down payment on a small Chevrolet, last year's model that the dealer assured her was absolutely perfect for her needs. In her heart, she wished she'd been able to afford something bigger, sturdier: a Hummer, perhaps, or a Sherman tank. Nowadays, she imagined that every approaching black SUV edged near her car. Today that sense caused her to repeatedly jerk the steering wheel to the right. She figured that if she made it to Fort Worth and back without being pulled over on suspicion of DUI, it would constitute a minor miracle.

Josh called her into his office right on time. She settled into her chair and immediately poured a glass of water from the carafe on the end table. Her mouth may have been dry, but her palms were wet.

"What's the first thing that jumps into your mind today?" As usual, Josh surprised her with his opening remarks. But she didn't have to think long about her answer.

"I don't know if this is good news or bad. I came to you because I was depressed, but I really was worried that I might be showing signs of paranoia, that I might be moving into the schizophrenia that affected my mother. But now I'm pretty sure that I'm not paranoid. I'm convinced there really is someone out there who's out to get me."

If Josh was surprised, he was too experienced to show it."Tell me."

Cathy took a deep breath and the words started pouring out. As she spoke, she felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. She talked about the black SUV, the rumors around town, the altered prescription.

She paused from time to time, hoping Josh would interrupt or ask a question, anything to break the flow of the story and allow her to relax. Instead, he watched with a perfectly neutral expression. His posture gave her no clue as to whether he thought she was a woman pursued or one going mad.

"I don't know which is worse," Cathy concluded. "Thinking I'm going crazy or finding out that I'm a target for someone who apparently hates me enough to try to kill me, then almost kill one of my patients."

"Let's talk about what brought you here," Josh said. "You were having difficulty concentrating and trouble sleeping. You forgot things. It was hard to do your daily tasks. You had no appetite. You found yourself constantly worrying. Right?"

Cathy nodded.

"You were afraid you were becoming mentally ill. Do you know how common such a fear is among physicians?"

Cathy paused to consider it. "I don't know. I guess it's like so much in medicine. We know too much. Every stomach pain is a perforated ulcer. Every bump is a skin cancer. And mental changes make us think we're going crazy."

"Did you ever think about suicide?"

It was like a slap in the face. Cathy had never told anyone about those feelings, even Josh. "After I ended our engagement, I… I actually borrowed sleeping pills from two or three friends so I'd have enough to kill myself." She swallowed hard. "But I couldn't do it."

Josh's face softened. "Cathy, almost four hundred doctors commit suicide each year. And many of those instances are due to depression. Not schizophrenia. Not a psychosis. Just worry, stress, depression. It can be dangerous. But you did the right thing. You sought help."

Cathy started to say something but found that she had no words. She took a sip of water and listened as Josh continued.

"You were afraid that this was the early stage of the same psychosis that your mother had. Do you still think so?"

She ran that through her mind. "No."

"Because you understand what caused your feelings?" Josh said.

"Yes."

"So the depression you were experiencing when you came to see me was probably a reactive depression, not true clinical depression. Right?" Josh leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. "Cathy, you've had enough psychiatric education to make a pretty good guess at what's behind those feelings. You broke up with your fiance and cancelled your wedding. Big loss. You turned down a prime faculty appointment at the medical school where you trained in order to get out of the town where Robert had his practice. Big loss. Since you came back home to Dainger, you've rejected advances from two men, one of whom was your high school sweetheart and the other an eligible professional man. You're scared to make a commitment because you're afraid you'll lose again. Another big loss. And it all started with the death of your father and mother. Think that could explain your feelings?"

"I guess."

"Why were you so afraid that what you were experiencing was more than simple depression?"

"My mother was schizophrenic," she blurted out the word that had been in her mind but hadn't passed her lips until now. "And it drove my father away from her. At least, I think it did." As her thoughts cleared, she spoke faster and faster."And I was afraid that, just like her, I'd driven away the men in my life because I was mentally ill. I truly thought that there'd never be any hope of my having a healthy relationship with a man."

Josh leaned back and tented his fingers. "Let's talk a bit more about your relationships with men."

Cathy looked down and saw that the knuckles of her intertwined hands were white. She made a conscious effort to relax. Finally, she found the courage to speak.

"Dr. Sewell, there's someone in the waiting room to see you. He won't give me his name or state his business. What do you want me to do?" Even though Jane appeared calm, Cathy could read the concern in her nurse's eyes.

"What do you think it's about?"

"He's well-dressed and carrying a little leather portfolio. You know, sort of a mini-briefcase without a handle. He's not loud or insistent. He said he'd sit there until you could see him." Jane ducked her head. "One more thing. He said it would be better if he spoke with you in your office instead of the waiting room."

Cathy had been expecting this. Nevertheless, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears. She put her hand on the edge of her desk to stand, but sat down quickly when the room went into motion.

"Are you all right? Do you want a glass of water?"

"No, I'm fine. Just feeling a bit weak. I shouldn't have skipped breakfast."

"Let me get you some coffee with cream and a couple of sugars. He can wait." Jane hurried offwithout waiting for an answer.

While she waited, Cathy stared at the thin manila folder sitting on the corner of her desk, where it had been for the past three weeks. Marcus Bell had wanted to keep Milton Nix's chart, but Cathy insisted on returning it to her office, compromising with Marcus by allowing photocopies to be made for the hospital files.

Jane returned with the coffee and a worried expression."Why don't I send this guy packing? Or at least make him set up an appointment."

Cathy shook her head. She took her time sipping the coffee, feeling the warmth start to lift the chill that had seeped into the marrow of her bones. Finally, she could not put it offany longer. She buzzed Jane and said, "Please send the gentleman in."

The man closed the door behind him and walked forward until only the desk separated him from Cathy. She didn't stand or extend her hand. No need for pleasantries. She knew what came next.

Cold gray eyes stared into Cathy's. "Dr. Catherine Sewell?"

"Yes."

The man's expression remained perfectly neutral. Cathy thought he might as well have been delivering a deli order or a daily paper. Instead, he produced a thick, folded document from a slightly worn leather portfolio and handed it across the desk. "You've been served." And he left.