Robin Cook - Fever

The elevator stopped and the door folded open. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the gurney out into the quiet hall; visiting hours were long over and, as in most pediatric hospitals, the patients had been put to bed. The first obstacle was the nurses’ station. At that moment there was only one nurse, whose cap could just be seen over the counter top. Charles moved ahead, aware for the first time of the minor cacophony of squeaks emitted by the gurney’s wheels. He tried altering the speed in hopes it would reduce the noise but without success. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the nurse. She didn’t move. Charles passed the station and the intensity of the light diminished as he entered the long hall.

“Excuse me,” called the nurse, her voice shattering the stillness like breaking glass.

Charles felt a jolt of adrenaline shoot into his system, making his fingertips tingle. He turned and the nurse had stood up, leaning on the counter.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse.

Charles fumbled for the form. “Just coming to pick up a patient for an X-ray,” he said, forcing himself to stay calm.

“No X-rays have been ordered,” said the nurse curiously. Charles noticed she’d looked down at the desk and he could hear pages of a book being flipped over.

“An emergency film,” said Charles, beginning to panic.

“But there’s nothing in the order book and nothing was said at report.”

“Here’s the request,” said Charles, abandoning the gurney and approaching the nurse. “It was phoned in by Dr. Keitzman to Dr. Larainen.”

She took the form and read it quickly. She shook her head, obviously confused. “Someone should have phoned us.”

“I agree,” said Charles. “It happens all the time, though.”

“Well, I’ll say something. I’ll ask the day people what happened.”

“Good idea,” said Charles, turning back to the gurney. His hands were moist. He wasn’t trained for this kind of work.

With a deliberate and rapid pace, Charles moved down the corridor, hoping the nurse did not feel obligated to make any confirming calls to either radiology or Dr. Keitzman.

He reached Michelle’s room and, stepping around the front of the gurney, started to push open the door. He caught a glimpse of a seated figure, head resting on the bed. It was Cathryn.

Charles averted his face, backed out of the room, and moved the door to its original position. As quickly as he could he pulled the gurney the length of the corridor, away from the nurses’ station, half expecting Cathryn to appear. He wasn’t sure if she’d seen him or not.

He had not anticipated her being with Michelle at that hour. He tried to think. He had to get Cathryn out of the room. On the spur of the moment he could think of only one method, but it would mean working very quickly.

After waiting a few minutes to be sure Cathryn was not coming out on her own, Charles swiftly retraced his steps back to the treatment room, which was just before the nurses’ station. He found surgical masks and hoods by a scrub sink. He donned one of each and pocketed an extra hood.

Eyeing the nurses’ station, he crossed the corridor to the dark lounge area. In the far corner was a public telephone. He called the switchboard and asked for Anderson 6. In a few moments he could hear the phone ringing in the nurses’ station.

A woman answered the phone, and Charles asked for Mrs. Martel, saying that it was an emergency. The nurse told him to hold the line.

Quickly he put down the receiver and moved to the doorway of the lounge. Looking back at the nurses’ station, he could see the charge nurse come into the corridor with an LPN. She pointed up the hall. Charles immediately left the lounge and scurried back down the hall, passing Michelle’s room. In the shadow at the end of the hall, Charles waited. He could see the LPN walk directly toward him, then turn into Michelle’s room. Within ten seconds she reappeared and Cathryn, rubbing her eyes, stumbled after her into the hall. As soon as the two women turned toward the nurses’ station, Charles ran the gurney down to Michelle’s room and pushed it through the half-open door.

Flipping on the wall switch, Charles pushed the gurney over to the bed. Only then did he look down at his daughter. After twenty-four hours he could see she was perceptibly worse. Gently he shook her shoulder. She didn’t respond. He shook her again but the child did not move. What would he do if she were in a coma?

“Michelle?” called Charles.

Slowly Michelle’s eyes opened.

“It’s me! Please wake up,” Charles shook her again. Time was limited.

Finally Michelle woke. With great effort she lifted her arms and put them around her father’s neck. “I knew you’d come,” she said.

“Listen,” said Charles anxiously, putting his face close to hers. “I want to ask you something. I know you are very sick and they are trying to take care of you here at the hospital. But you are not getting well here. Your sickness is stronger than their strongest medicines. I want to take you away with me. Your doctors would not like it so I have to take you right now if you want to go. You have to tell me.”

The question surprised Michelle. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear. She examined her father’s face. “Cathryn said you were not feeling well,” said Michelle.

“I feel fine,” said Charles. “Especially when I’m with you. But we haven’t much time. Will you come with me?”

Michelle looked into her father’s eyes. There was nothing she wanted more. “Take me with you, Daddy, please!”

Charles hugged her, then set to work. He turned off the cardiac monitor and detached the leads from her. He pulled out her IV and yanked down the covers. With a hand under her shoulders and another beneath her knees, Charles lifted his daughter into his arms. He was surprised at how little she weighed. As gently as he could, he lowered Michelle into the gurney and covered her. From the closet he retrieved her clothes and hid them beneath the sheet. Then, just prior to pushing the gurney out into the hall, he put a surgical hood over Michelle’s head, tucking in what was left of her hair.

As he walked down toward the nurses’ station he was terrified Cathryn would appear. It was a long shot, but under the circumstances he could not think of any safer alternatives. He had to force himself to walk at a normal pace rather than run to the elevator.

Cathryn had been sound asleep when the LPN touched her shoulder. All she had heard was that she was wanted on the telephone and that it was an emergency. Her first thought had been that something had happened to Charles.

When she got to the nurses’ station the LPN had already disappeared. Not knowing what phone to use, Cathryn asked the charge nurse about her call. The woman looked up from her paperwork and, remembering the call, told Cathryn she could pick up the phone in the chart room.

Cathryn said hello three times, each time louder than the last. But no one answered. She had waited and repeated several hellos, but with no response. Depressing the disconnect button rapidly had no effect until she held it down for an instant. When she released it, she was talking to the hospital operator.

The operator didn’t know anything about a call to Anderson 6 for Mrs. Martel. Cathryn hung up and walked to the doorway leading to the nurses’ station. The nurse was at the desk, bent over a chart. Cathryn was about to call out when she saw a vague figure in white, complete with surgical mask and hood, push a patient across the dimly lit area in front of the elevators. Cathryn, as sensitized as she was, felt a wave of sympathy for the poor child being taken to surgery at such a late hour. She knew that it had to be an emergency.