Robin Cook - Critical

"You are not keeping me from anything," Loraine said, guessing the reason for Laurie's hesitation.

"If that's the case, then I suppose I wouldn't mind seeing the OR area, particularly one of the ORs itself."

"We'll have to change into scrubs."

"I do it every day."

As they retraced their steps back toward the elevators, Laurie noticed the paintings lining the walls were real oils and not prints. While they waited for an elevator, Laurie glanced at the nearby nursing station. Behind it was a bank of high-tech flat-screen monitors, enough to serve every room. All were dark. Four nurses and an orderly were relaxing at the station: Three were in desk chairs, the other two sitting on the desk itself. There was intermittent laughter.

"They are acting as if there are no patients on this floor," Laurie said.

"There aren't," Loraine responded. "That's why I brought you here."

"Knowing how expensive it is to run hospitals, I'd hazard that the CFO, whoever he or she is, must be sweating bullets."

"That I don't know. Luckily, it is not my responsibility, and I don't often talk with the bigwigs."

"Has anyone lost their job?"

"I don't believe so. A number of people have taken a voluntary leave of absence, but the administration is counting on the low census turning around immediately. Our ORs are all back online."

"Except the OR David Jeffries was operated on in."

"It wasn't open for today while it's being thoroughly cleaned, but it will be open tomorrow."

Laurie was tempted to ask if the morrow's patients scheduled for that particular OR would be told of David Jeffries's fatal experience, but she didn't. It would have been a provocative question, to which Laurie already knew the answer. Too often, patients were denied information that they had the right to know if the concept of informed consent was to be truly honest.

The decor of the OR floor and the OR suite itself, except for the doctors' lounge, looked to Laurie as she expected a NASA building to look: aseptically functional. It was also like the hall above: all white, with the same composite floor. The walls, however, were tile. In contrast, the doctors' lounge was mostly soothing green, and also in contrast to the rest of the hospital, there was a lot of activity in the OR area, because the day shift was leaving and the evening shift arriving.

The women's locker room was equally lively. Loraine gave Laurie a set of scrubs and directed her to a locker. While both women changed, Laurie overheard a short conversation Loraine had with an acquaintance who was going off duty. Loraine asked her if there'd been many cases that morning.

"It was slim pickings," the woman said. "I'm afraid everyone is getting a bit bored with all the sitting around. We were only running two out of the five rooms."

Five minutes later, Laurie and Loraine pushed into the OR and the double doors swung closed behind them, cutting off the chatter from the surgical lounge.

To Laurie's left was a blank OR scheduling blackboard, which suggested there were no cases under way. To Laurie's right was the OR desk, fronted by a chest-high countertop, behind which Laurie could see just the tops of two hooded heads. Beyond the OR desk was the open doorway into the PACU. The central corridor stretched out approximately eighty feet to a far wall.

Loraine advanced to the desk, and the two women seated behind looked up. "Dr. Sarpoulus!" Loraine said. She was surprised to see her infection-control superior. "I didn't know you were here."

"Is there some reason you should know?" Cynthia questioned, with an edge to her voice.

"Well, no, I suppose not," Loraine responded. She switched her attention to the other woman, whose nametag read: Mrs. Fran Gonzales, OR Supervisor. "Fran, I have a guest here who wanted to take a peek at our OR." Loraine motioned for Laurie to step up to the counter, and Loraine introduced her as a New York City medical examiner.

Before Fran could respond, Cynthia's head popped back up. She'd returned to studying the OR scheduling log, which she and Fran had been busily doing before Laurie and Loraine had appeared. "You are a medical examiner?" she questioned, with even more edge to her voice than when she'd spoken with Loraine.

"I am," Laurie confirmed.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm ah…" Laurie began, but hesitated. She was taken aback by Cynthia's tone and challenging glare. Laurie couldn't help but remember Arnold's description of the woman as not being terribly cooperative, as well as defensive, and essentially telling him to butt out. The last thing Laurie wanted was some sort of a confrontation, knowing she was, to a certain extent, overstepping her bounds by making the site visit. Steve Mariott, the evening PA, had visited the hospital the night before, after Jeffries's death had been called into the OCME.

"Well?" Cynthia questioned impatiently.

"I autopsied a case this morning of a patient who'd been operated on yesterday here at Angels Orthopedic Hospital and who had died of an exceptionally aggressive MRSA infection."

"We are well aware of that, thank you very much," Cynthia snapped.

Laurie glanced briefly at Loraine, who appeared as surprised as Laurie. "When I canvassed my colleagues, I discovered you'd had a number of similar cases. I thought it was appropriate to come over here, and see if I could help."

Cynthia laughed cynically. "And just how did you think you could help? Have you been trained in epidemiology, infection control, or even in infectious diseases?"

"My training is in forensic pathology," Laurie said defensively. "My exposure to epidemiology has not been extensive, but my understanding is that in an outbreak of this sort, one of the first things that should be done is to accurately subtype the organisms."

"I'm board-certified in internal medicine with a subspecialty in infectious diseases and have a Ph.D. in epidemiology. As far as your comment about subtyping, you are correct but only if such information is needed to decide on a targeted method of control. In our situation, it wasn't needed, since our CEO insisted that we use a global control strategy. Our interest was not in saving money by restricting ourselves to a target approach. I spoke with one of your colleagues a number of weeks ago after he'd autopsied one of our MRSA cases. I assured him we were well aware of the problem and aggressively engaged in solving it, and thanked him for the call."

"That's all well and good," Laurie said, with her own dander rising. "Having had the dubious honor to autopsy the unfortunate individual this morning, I can say with some conviction that you have been unsuccessful in your control efforts."

"That might be the case, but we surely don't need interference. Your job is to tell us cause of death and anything else we might not know pathologically. The fact of the matter is that we are well aware of both the cause and mechanism of death, and we are doing everything humanly possible to control this unfortunate outbreak. What is it you wish to accomplish by visiting the operating room? What do you want to see?"

"To be totally honest, I don't know," Laurie said. "But I can assure you that there have been thousands of times that site visits have either helped or been crucial in a forensic investigation. Mr. Jeffries is officially a medical examiner's case, and I am duty-bound to investigate it fully, which in this case means viewing the scene of his proximate cause of death. Odds are, he was exposed to the bacteria that led to his demise in the operating room where he'd had his surgery."

"We'll see about that," Cynthia said, getting to her feet. "I'll have you talk with someone with considerably more authority than I. I insist you wait outside in the surgical lounge. I will be right back."