No, Jeffrey thought vehemently, suicide wasn't an option. Certainly not yet. Jeffrey hated to sound mawkish, but where there was life, there was hope. And what had happened in the aftermath of Chris's suicide? With Chris dead, there was no one to defend or clear his name. For all his despair and developing depression, Jeffrey still was enraged by a system and process that had managed to convict him when he had honestly done no wrong. Could he really rest until he'd done his best to clear his name?
Jeffrey got angry just thinking about his case. To the lawyers involved, even Randolph, all this might be business as usual, but not so to Jeffrey.
This was his life on the line. His career. Everything. The great irony was that the day of the Patty Owen tragedy, Jeffrey had done his utmost to do well by her. He'd only run the IV and taken the paregoric so he could perform the job for which he'd been trained. Dedication was what had motivated him, and this was how he'd been repaid.
If Jeffrey ever was able to return to medicine, he would be afraid of the long-lasting effects this case would have on any medical decisions he would ever make. What kind of care could people come to expect from doctors who were forced to work in the current malpractice milieu and who had to restrain their best instincts and second- guess their every step? How had such a system evolved? Jeffrey wondered. It certainly wasn't eliminating the few 'bad' doctors, since they ironically rarely got sued.
What was happening was that a lot of good doctors were being destroyed.
As Jeffrey washed before descending to the kitchen, his mind dredged up another memory that he had unconsciously repressed. One of the best and most dedicated internists he'd ever met had killed himself five years ago on the same night he'd received a summons for malpractice. Shot himself through the mouth with a hunting rifle. He hadn't even waited for the discovery process to begin, much less the trial. At the time Jeffrey had been disturbingly mystified, since everyone, knew the suit had been baseless. In fact the doctor had, ironically, saved the man's life. Jeffrey now had some idea of the source of the man's despair.
Finished in the bathroom, Jeffrey returned to his bedroom and changed into clean slacks and shirt. Opening his door, he smelled the food Carol had prepared. He still wasn't hungry, but he'd make an effort. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he vowed to fight the depressive thoughts he was bound to experience until this current episode had run its course. With that commitment in mind he started for the kitchen.
TUESDAY,
MAY 16,1989
9:12 A.M.
Jeffrey woke up with a start and was amazed at the time. He'd first awakened around five A.M., surprised to find himself sitting in the wing chair by the window. Stiffly, he had removed his clothes and gotten into bed, thinking he would never be able to fall back asleep. But obviously he had.
He took a quick shower. Emerging from his room, he looked for Carol. Having recovered to an extent from the depressive depths of the previous day, he wanted some h1iman contact and a bit of sympathy. He hoped that Carol had not left for work without talking to him. He wanted to apologize for his lack of appreciation for her efforts the night before. It was a good thing, he now realized, that she'd interrupted him, and that she'd gotten him irritated. Unknowingly she'd saved him from committing suicide. For the first time in his life, getting angry had had a positive effect.
But Carol was long gone. A note was leaning against a shredded wheat box on the kitchen table. It said that she'd not wanted to disturb him since she was sure he needed rest. She had to get to work early. She hoped he'd understand.
Jeffrey filled a bowl with cereal and got the milk from the refrigerator.
He envied Carol her job. He wished he had a job to go to. It would keep his mind occupied if nothing else. He would have liked to have made himself useful. It might have helped his self-esteem. He'd never realized quite how much his work defined his persona.
Back in his room, Jeffrey disposed of the IV paraphernalia by wrapping it in old newspapers and carrying it out to the trash barrels in the garage.
He didn't want Carol to find it. He felt strange handling the material. It gave him a tremendous uneasiness to have been knowingly and voluntarily so close to death.
The idea of suicide had occurred to Jeffrey in the past, but always in a metaphorical context, and usually more as a retribution fantasy to get back at someone who he believed had wronged him in some emotional way, like when his girlfriend in the eighth grade had capriciously switched her affections to Jeffrey's best friend. But last night it had been different, and to think that he'd come within a hair's breadth of doing it made his legs feel weak.
Returning to the house, Jeffrey considered what effects his suicide would have had on his friends and family. It probably would have come as a relief to Carol. She wouldn't have had to go through with the divorce. He wondered if anyone would have missed him. Probably not...
'For Pete's sake,' Jeffrey exclaimed, realizing the ridiculousness of this line of thought and remembering his vow to resist depressive thoughts.
Would his thinking thrive on his low selfesteem for the rest of his days?
But the subject of suicide was hard to shake from his mind. He wondered again about Chris Everson. Had his suicide been the product of an acute depression that had struck like a sudden storm, like Jeffrey had felt the night before? Or had he planned it for some time? Either way, his death was a terrible loss for everyone-his family, the public, even the profession of medicine.
Jeffrey stopped en route to his room and stared out the livingroom window with unseeing eyes. His situation was no less a waste. From the point of view of his productivity, the loss of his medical license and his going to prison was no less a waste than if he'd succeeded in committing suicide.
'Damn!' he shouted as he grabbed one of the pillows from the couch and punched it repeatedly with his fist. 'Damn, damn, damn!'
Jeffrey quickly wore himself out and replaced the pillow. Then he sat himself down dejectedly with his knees jutting up in front of him. He interwound his fingers and rested his elbows on his knees and tried to think of himself in prison. It was a horrid thought. What a travesty of justice! The malpractice stuff had been more than enough to seriously disrupt and alter his life, but this criminal nonsense was a quantum leap worse, like throwing salt into a mortal wound.
Jeffrey thought about his colleagues at the hospital and other physician friends. They had all been supportive at first, at least until the criminal indictment had been handed down. Then they had avoided Jeffrey as if he'd had some kind of infectious dis-
ease. Jeffrey felt isolated and alone. And more than anything, he felt angry.
..It's just not fair!' he said through clenched teeth.
Completely out of character, Jeffrey snatched up a piece of Carol's crystal bric-a-brac from a side table and in a moment of sheer frustration threw it with deadly accuracy at the glassfronted sideboard that he could see through- the arch leading to the dining room. There was a resounding shatter of glass that made him wince.
'~Uh-ohl' Jeffrey said as he realized what he'd done. He got up and went for the dustpan and broom. By the time he'd picked up the mess, he'd come to a momentous conclusion: he wasn't going to prisonl No way. Screw the appeal process. He had as much confidence in the legal system as he did in fairy tales.
The decision was made with a suddenness and resolve that left Jeffrey feeling exhilarated. He checked his watch. The bank would be open soon.
Excitedly he went to his room and found his passport. He was lucky the court hadn't made him surrender it at the same time they'd increased his bail. Then he called Pan Am. He learned that he could shuttle to New York, bus to Kennedy, and then fly on to Rio. Considering all the carriers serving the market, he had a wide range of flights from which to choose, including one that left at 11:45 P.m. and made a few stops in exotic locations.
With his pulse racing in anticipation, Jeffrey called the bank and got
Dudley on the line. He did his best to sound controlled. He asked about the progress on the loan.
'No problem,' Dudley said proudly. 'Pulling a few strings, I got it approved like that.' Jeffrey could hear the man snap his fingers for his benefit. 'When will you be coming in?' Dudley continued. 'I'd like to be sure I'm here.'
'I'll be in shortly,' Jeffrey said, planning his schedule. Timing would be key. 'I have one other request. I'd like to have the money in cash.'
