Richard Mabry - Code Blue

Cathy unfolded the sheaf of papers and let her eyes run down the first page of legalese-"In the matter of Milton Vernon Nix" and "Plaintiff" and "Defendant"- Someone else could interpret the exact language for her later, but there was no doubt in her mind about the meaning of the document. Milton Nix was suing her for malpractice.

She fingered the edges of Nix's file, edges that were already frayed. She knew she hadn't committed an act of medical negligence. But now she had to prove it.

Cathy could picture Arthur Harshman's face growing redder with every word. He kept his voice low, but even over the phone it was obvious that anger bubbled beneath the surface.

"Doctor, I'm happy to see Mrs. Gladstone as a patient. I thank you for your courtesy in calling to inform me of her problem and in offering to provide copies of her records. I'd appreciate receiving them as soon as possible." He took a breath and exhaled so forcefully that it sounded like a gale blowing across the phone's mouthpiece. "But-"Another breath, another gale. "But I resent being held hostage by a patient's demand that I allow an untrained physician to assist me in doing a Wertheim procedure."

Cathy tried to pour oil on the troubled waters. "Dr. Harshman, I recognize your frustration. I can see your position. Frankly, I tried to talk Mrs. Gladstone out of her request-"

"You mean demand, don't you?"

"I prefer request, but yes, she was adamant. If it makes you feel any better, during my residency I scrubbed on three radical hysterectomies as second assistant."

Harshman grunted. "So you've seen three of them. Well, bully for you. But second assistant is another name for observer. The first assistant is a different matter altogether."

Cathy decided to make one more stab at civility. "Dr. Harshman, I can assure you that I'll study like a third-year medical student before the surgery. I'll help you, not hinder you."

"You'd better. My secretary will be in touch when we have the procedure scheduled." He slammed down the phone.

Cathy hung up, swiveled in her chair, and pulled two large books from the shelf behind her. She let them drop with a solid thud onto her desk next to Milton Nix's chart. Her worries seemed to be piling up.

"Charles Ferguson."

The voice on the phone sounded reassuring in Cathy's ear. She leaned forward in her chair and moved Milton Nix's chart into the center of her desk, fingering it like a talisman."Mr. Ferguson, I'm Dr. Cathy Sewell in Dainger, Texas. I'm insured by your company, and I've just been served with a malpractice action."

"Have you spoken with anyone about this?" Still calm… still reassuring.

"After the incident, I spoke with the hospital's chief of staff. It appeared to be a medication error, and I subsequently relinquished care of the patient to one of my colleagues, an internist."

Cathy could hear keys clicking as Ferguson called up her file on his computer. She marveled at how quickly the world had shifted from filing cabinets stuffed with paper to a computer processor small enough to fit into a briefcase, yet with the capacity to hold the information contained in several libraries.

"I have your account here," Ferguson said. "It appears that you are indeed covered by us. Your limits are rather low, though. What is the amount named in the suit?"

Cathy thumbed through the thick document to be certain, although the number was one she was unlikely to forget. "One million dollars plus costs."

"Ummm, that's well above your coverage level. But you practice in Texas and there's a cap on damages. The million is probably a negotiating figure." More clicks. "Tell you what. Please photocopy everything you have and send it to me by express courier. Don't discuss the case with anyone. I'll have our attorneys look it over, and we'll see where we go from here."

"There's one thing you should know. I've seen the original prescription at the pharmacy. It's not the one I wrote. It's been tampered with."

"Can you prove that?"

"Not directly, no. But-"

Ferguson's reply was firm and not nearly so reassuring as his earlier words. "Doctor, we have to base our decisions on things we can prove. And it's not our business to spend our resources investigating shadowy plots against our insured. Frankly, if your case isn't strong and we can negotiate the litigant down to a reasonable sum, it's often prudent to settle these things. We'll simply have to see."

A rush of anger made Cathy's blood boil. "I thought your primary duty was to protect me. That's why I've been paying premiums."

Unlike Cathy, Ferguson didn't raise his voice. She guessed that after he hung up he'd have about a dozen more conversations like this today. Her case wasn't special to him-but it was to her.

"Our primary duty is to stay in business while discharging our obligations. We'll do everything we can to protect you, but that does not involve tilting at windmills, especially if the windmills seem stronger than our lances. Now leave it to us. I'll look forward to receiving your records soon."

"Wait! What if I want my own attorney?"

Ferguson cleared his throat. "You have that right. It would be at your own expense, of course, and we'd expect full cooperation and an open exchange of information with whomever you choose."

"That's fine, so long as it works both ways. I'll send the records."

There was a gentle tap at the door. Cathy hung up the phone and called, "Come in."

Jane stuck her head through the door. "Your first patient is here. Are you ready?"

Cathy took a deep breath. This was something she'd been forced to learn early in her medical training-keeping several balls in the air without dropping one. She couldn't afford any more slipups.

"Be sure his lab reports are on the chart. Put him in a treatment room, get his vital signs, and let him know I'll only be a few minutes." As Jane turned to leave, Cathy added, "Please close the door behind you. I have one more call to make."

Will laid his napkin beside his empty plate, pushed his chair back from the table, and said, "I didn't know you were such a good cook. If I'd known that, I'd have chased you harder and insisted you marry me."

Cathy tried to maintain a poker face while deflecting the compliment. "In medical school, I shared an apartment with two other girls. We took turns cooking, and I learned in selfdefense. Otherwise, they'd have thrown me out."

She rose to clear the table, and Will immediately pitched in. They stacked the dishes in the sink, then moved into the living room.

"You have a nice little apartment here," Will said. "Cozy. Decorated in early packing boxes, with accents by Home Depot."

Cathy laughed. "I'm embarrassed. I've been here more than two months, but so far I've only unpacked enough to get me by." She pointed to the coffee table in front of the sofa where they were sitting. "But I did take your advice and dig that out."

Will picked the Bible offthe table and opened it to the flyleaf. "Your parents gave you this Bible. It must be a nice reminder of them."

"Not really. My folks went to church as a matter of course, and they took me along, also as a matter of course. But we were never really what you'd call religious."

Will thumbed through the pages. "You know, since I was raised as a preacher's kid, I had no real choice about attending church. When I went offto college, I let church and religion slide. I guess a lot of kids do. But I eventually realized an important part of my life had gone missing. That's when I came back to the church, back to God." He laid the Bible gently on the table. "I hope you can do the same. It would help during the tough times."

Cathy drew a deep breath. "Speaking of tough times…"

She took him through the story of Milton Nix's neardeath, how she'd been able to save him, only to find that the cause of the problem was an overdose of the medication she'd prescribed. Cathy told him about being served with papers for a malpractice suit and about her conversation with her malpractice carrier. "But I finally got Jacob Collins to let me see the prescription that he has in his files. And it's not the one I wrote!"