Robin Cook - Mindbend

Pulling out into the street, Adam realized that Jennifer was right on two counts: he wasn’t a doctor and he knew nothing about obstetrics. He realized that if he hoped to change Jennifer’s mind, he’d better study up on the subject.

There were no parking places within blocks of the university hospital, so Adam pulled the Buick into the hospital parking garage. After he’d found a space, he went down to the medical center. The Irish fellow at the information booth recognized him and lent him a white jacket.

In the library, he selected several recent textbooks on obstetrics and began looking up both morning sickness and amniocentesis. When he was finished, he turned to a chapter on fetoscopy-the visualization of the fetus within the uterus-and stared in wonder at the photos of what his child must look like at this stage in its development.

Returning the books to the desk, Adam made his way to the hospital. After the soft carpets and gleaming paint at the Julian, the university medical center looked like a set for Dante’s Inferno. It was uniformly drab with peeling paint and stained floors. The nurses and staff appeared rushed, and their expressions indicated that their patients’ psychological well-being was not high priority.

Adam took the main elevator to Neurology on the tenth floor. Pretending that he was still a student, he marched to the nurses’ station and positioned himself squarely in front of the chart rack. There were three nurses, two ward clerks, and a resident standing about talking, but none of them so much as looked at Adam.

Dr. Stuart Smyth’s chart was in the slot for room 1066. After a furtive glance at the nurses, Adam grasped the metal-backed record, pulled it out of the rack, and stepped back into the relative quiet of the chart room. There was a doctor there, but he was on the phone making a tennis date. Adam sat down at the desk.

Curiously, Smyth was diagnosed as having tardive dyskinesia. Reading over the history, Adam learned that Dr. Smyth had no past record of psychotropic drugs. The cause of his illness was still listed as unknown, and most of the workup involved sophisticated attempts to isolate a virus.

The only positive test Adam found was the EEG, but the resident had written that the results, though slightly abnormal, were nonspecific. In short, Dr. Smyth had been poked, prodded, and bled for a myriad of tests, yet the source of his troubles still had not been discovered. He’d been in and out of the hospital for two and a half months. On a happier note, he had started to improve, though no one knew why.

Adam returned the chart and walked down the hall to room 1066. Unlike the other rooms, the door was shut. Adam knocked. After hearing what sounded like “Come in,” he pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

Stuart Smyth was seated near the window, surrounded by books and periodicals. As Adam entered, he looked up and adjusted rimless glasses.

Adam immediately saw that Christine’s observation that he and Smyth looked alike was true, and it pleased Adam because Stuart was a handsome man.

Adam introduced himself as a medical student, and Smyth, whose face was periodically contorted by a grimace, asked Adam to sit down and explained that he was making the best of his confinement by reviewing the entire field of OB-GYN. His speech was difficult to understand because his lips and tongue were also affected by distorting spasms.

Despite his impediment, Dr. Smyth was eager for company and not at all shy about his illness. Adam waited patiently as he slowly recounted the details, most of which Adam had already gleaned from the chart. He did not mention the Arolen cruise, and Adam got around to the subject by first mentioning that Dr. Vandermer was taking care of Jennifer.

“Vandermer is a great obstetrician,” said Dr. Smyth.

“He was recommended by one of the OB residents,” said Adam. “Apparently he handles a lot of the house staff.”

Dr. Smyth nodded.

“I suppose you’ve heard that he’s just returned from an Arolen cruise?”

Dr. Smyth nodded as his face bunched in a spasm.

“Did you ever go on one of the cruises?” asked Adam.

The book Smyth had been reading slid from his lap and thumped on the floor. He reached down and picked it up, but when he started to answer, his tongue wouldn’t cooperate and he ended up just nodding his head.

Adam was afraid of tiring Smyth with more questions, but when he stood to go the doctor waved him back to his seat, making it clear that he wanted to talk.

“The cruises are wonderful,” Smyth managed at last. “I went on one six months ago and was scheduled to go again this week. This time I was invited to stop in Puerto Rico. I was looking forward to it, but obviously I’m not going to make it.”

“When you are discharged,” said Adam, “I’m sure you’ll be able to reschedule.”

“Maybe,” said Smyth. “But it is difficult to get a reservation, especially for Puerto Rico.”

Adam next asked about the Julian Clinic. Smyth offered a few superlatives, but then was taken by a series of contortions so severe he finally motioned Adam to leave.

Adam thought about returning in a few minutes, but was so far behind in his Arolen calls that he decided he’d better get to work. Even if he were suspicious about the drug company, he didn’t want to get fired.

When he got home slightly after six, he found the apartment in the same disorder in which he’d left it. His note, which said “Welcome home. I’m sorry. I love you,” was still on the floor by the door where he’d left it.

Glancing in the refrigerator, he remembered there was nothing in it, and he’d have to go out to eat. Before doing so, he dialed Jennifer’s parents’ number, hoping she’d answer.

Unfortunately, her mother answered the call. “Adam! So nice of you to call,” she said icily.

“Is Jennifer there?” asked Adam as politely as he could.

“She is,” said Mrs. Carson. “She’s been trying to call you since early this morning.”

“I’ve been working,” explained Adam, pleased that she wanted to reach him.

“Good for you,” said Mrs. Carson. “I should tell you that Jennifer had an amniocentesis test this morning. Everything went smoothly.”

Adam almost dropped the phone. “Oh my God, how is she.”

“Fine, no thanks to you.”

“Please put her on the phone,” said Adam.

“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Carson in a voice that suggested she wasn’t sorry at all, “but Jennifer is sleeping at the moment. When she awakens, I’ll mention that you called.”

There was a click as Mrs. Carson hung up.

Adam eyed the receiver for a moment as if it were responsible for his frustration. Controlling himself, he calmly replaced the instrument in its cradle, but the nervousness and fear that he’d felt after leaving the Julian came back in a rush. Why on earth hadn’t Vandermer mentioned Jennifer was in the clinic that morning?

Jennifer never called, and the next morning Adam awoke still filled with anxiety. After shaving, he found himself pacing the bedroom floor. What was going on at the clinic? He was terrified at the thought of the strangely mechanical Vandermer continuing to treat Jennifer but didn’t know how to stop his wife from seeing him. If only he could figure out why the doctors changed so much after the cruises. If only he could go on one himself, maybe he’d be able to figure out a way of persuading Jennifer that Vandermer was dangerous.

Smyth had said his cruise was scheduled to leave from Miami this week. Adam wondered what would happen if he showed up instead.

“They’d tell me to get my ass off the boat,” he said out loud.

Suddenly he stopped pacing, went into the living room, and turned on the computer. By the time he got the phone hooked up to the modem, he was sure he was right.