William Kienzle - Deathbed

“How so?”

“Well, for instance, I’ve been interviewing staff personnel for possible side-bars. And instead of getting corroborating material I’m collecting bad vibes. Nothing explicit, mind you, but bad vibes anyway.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know if it’s unequivocal enough to put into words. Vibes aren’t admissible in court, you know; they’re just an impression. Now, as far as I can figure it, this Sister Eileen is the next best thing to Mother Teresa. But I don’t get that impression from all the people I’ve interviewed. Some, yes. Some, no. Why? I just don’t exactly know how to react to it.”

“You mean if she were a Mother Teresa, everybody’d love her?”

“Something like that. But there are at least three or four people at the hospital who definitely don’t love her. Again, I can’t get anything explicit from them. A couple are faced with compulsory retirement. A couple are on the verge of getting fired.”

“Hey, that’s the sort of thing that just doesn’t endear employers to employees.”

“Yeah, I know. But with these people there seems to be a feeling of personal bitterness. Like it’s her fault they’re old or not doing their jobs right. And then when she was attacked the other night—”

“What? Attacked! You didn’t tell me—”

“I didn’t learn about it until there wasn’t much news value in it any more. It was all internal, an accident of sorts. A mental patient got loose from the psycho ward. He grabbed her in a hallway but some guard broke it up before any major damage was done. By the time I got the story, it was all over. The patient was back in his ward under restraints and Sister Eileen was back at work. You know what they say: Nothing is as dull as yesterday’s news. Don’t worry, Joe; I’m not trying to hide a legitimate story from you.”

She knew him. That was precisely what he feared.

“Anyway,” she continued, “when I heard about the attack, it sort of intensified the vibes I’d been getting all along. Like maybe Sister actually is in some sort of danger.”

“I don’t know, Pat. That’s a big leap. People are retired and fired every day. I don’t suppose many of them, even the retirees, feel good about it. But that’s no reason to jump all over the boss. They may have a few harsh words. But in the end, they usually just fade away.”

Their dinner was served.

“I suppose you’re right.” Pat finished her sherry. “In fact, just articulating the possibility makes me feel a lot better about it. The talking cure.”

Cox squeezed lemon over his fish. “Have you noticed how warm it is in here? Maybe we can stay here all night. I’m not too eager to go back out in that blizzard. I never should have let you talk me into walking here.”

“The walk’ll do you good, lover. Besides, when we get home, I have a few ideas that may help us feel warm all over.”

From that point, Cox did not exactly wolf down his dinner. But then neither did he dawdle.

9

Most days, Father Koesler did not eat a large lunch. As a rule, he had cold cereal for breakfast, an extremely light midday meal, and a substantial dinner. He had read that this was not the healthiest of regimens. In fact, it was reportedly the reverse of the best. But he didn’t care. All his life he had enjoyed anticipating good things. Indeed, it was part of his creed that anticipation, particularly since it lasted longer, was better than the attainment of whatever was coming.

He also believed there were exceptions to rules.

So this day he juggled a tray holding a cheeseburger, fries, vegetables, salad, milk, coffee, and a sliver of carrot cake. While trying to spill nothing, he searched for a place to sit in the now crowded cafeteria.

“Why don’t you join us, Father? John Haroldson indicated an empty chair at the table where he was sitting with a young doctor.

Haroldson smiled broadly, emphasizing the creases and wrinkles of his lived-in face. Koesler, from experience, did not wholeheartedly trust hail fellows well met. But it would have been awkward to spurn the offer. Besides, there didn’t appear to be any other open space at this moment. So he carefully set down his tray and joined them.

“Actually, you couldn’t have timed this better, Father. Dr. Anderson here was telling me about a medical-moral decision he has to make. Why don’t you ask the good Father, Larry?”

“First, I guess we’d better meet.” Koesler introduced himself to the young doctor, who appeared none too eager to present his problem to the priest. Koesler wondered fleetingly why a doctor would bring a moral dilemma to the chief operating officer. An analogous mystery was why the doctor would hesitate in presenting the puzzle to a priest. But for the moment, Koesler decided to put these brainteasers on the back burner. He tried to look interested while holding together a cheeseburger that wanted to slide apart.

“Well, you see, Father,” Anderson began, “the problem involves a woman who’s had five C-section deliveries. Uh . . . that is, she’s had five previous births by Caesarean section,” he explained needlessly. “I delivered her latest child last year and advised her against getting pregnant again. You see, Father, her uterus is . . . uh . . . all worn out. It’s been traumatized from all those sections. But she checked in yesterday, pregnant. She’s got to have another section and it’s going to be touch-and-go. So I was asking Mr. Haroldson whether it would be morally acceptable to do a hysterectomy on her, after the section.”

Once again, Koesler wondered why the doctor had directed his indecision to the COO for resolution. Also, he had a strong suspicion that such a question would be posed only in a Catholic hospital. Not that other sectarian or public hospital personnel were unconcerned with medical ethics, but Koesler supposed that in most other hospitals this would be a rather easily resolved consideration.

That there was a measure of difficulty here was directly attributable to the Catholic Church’s traditional, as well as officially current, teaching on family planning. In Western civilization, the Catholic Church stood virtually alone in its total condemnation of almost all methods of contraception. The Church’s ordinary magisterium held that there were but two methods of family planning: abstinence from intercourse, or the rhythm method. And to licitly practice rhythm, a couple must willingly consent to limit intercourse to a monthly infertile period; they must be able to do this without the danger of committing some related sins such as adultery or some form of “artificial” birth control; and they must have a positive—not selfish—reason to limit their family.

Koesler knew all this. And he was aware that he was, at best, rusty in this field. But he could see no booby traps in the conversation. So it was full speed ahead.

“As I recall, “ Koesler began, “this is one of those times when the moralist must depend on the medical expert. I mean, if a hysterectomy were performed on a woman with a perfectly healthy uterus, the purpose would seem to be clearly contraceptive. So Catholic theology would oppose that. In this case, I just don’t know how ‘abnormal’ or unwell this particular womb may be. That would be up to the doctor, it would seem.”

“That’s the problem, as I see it, Father,” Dr. Anderson said. “This is not a case of a diseased organ. There’s no CA or anything like that. But this uterus has been so traumatized by past Caesareans that it is unreal to expect this organ to carry another pregnancy even to the point of viability. Another pregnancy can only lead to the death of the fetus and a serious threat to the mother’s life. The womb will rupture. It’s as simple as that.”