hours ago,” she questioned irritably.
“The administration made it clear to me they believe it would be best for everyone, even best for your grandmother’s body, if we got on with it.”
“Well, I’m sorry. My feelings have not changed, especially since I have been so busy that I haven’t had time to think about anything. Furthermore, I don’t want to feel like you are pushing me. I’m coming just as soon as I can.”
“We certainly are not pushing you. We are just recommending what is best for everyone.”
“I don’t consider it the best for me. I hope you people understand, because if I get there and my grandmother’s body has been violated without my consent, I’m going to make a big stink. I’m serious about this, because I can’t believe your laws are that much different than ours in this kind of situation. The body belongs to me as the responsible next of kin.”
“We certainly would not do anything without your expressed approval.”
“Good,” Jennifer said, recovering to a degree yet surprised about the vehemence of her response. It wasn’t lost on her that she was probably experiencing a significant amount of transference with her emotions, blaming the hospital and even Maria. Not only was she sad about her grandmother, she was also mad. It hardly seemed fair that Maria had not confided in her about running off to India, having major surgery, and then getting herself killed.
After terminating the call, Jennifer stood where she was, recognizing it was probably going to take her some time and effort to sort through her psychological issues. But then she realized what time it was and that she had to catch a flight whose departure was not that many hours away. With that in mind, she hustled back through the revolving door and headed for the emergency department.
As per usual, the emergency room was bedlam. Jennifer was looking for Dr. Neil McCulgan, who had risen in rapid fashion from chief emergency-medicine resident to his current position as an assistant emergency-room director in charge of scheduling. Jennifer had met him during her first year, when he was still a resident. As a character unknown on the East Coast, he was entirely unique to her, and she found him intriguing. Neil was a stereotypical Southern California “surfer dude” sans blond hair, which, in his case, was nondescript brown. What Jennifer found so distinctive was his openly friendly laid-back attitude that was in total contrast to his being a closet intellectual and a compulsive studier with a near photographic memory. When she’d first met him she truly couldn’t believe he’d been attracted to a tense, highly demanding medical specialty like emergency medicine.
Although Jennifer was well aware she didn’t share his social graces, she did share his general interest in knowledge for knowledge’s sake and his study habits, and found him a fertile source of all sorts of information. Over a period of a year Neil became the first man with whom she felt she could truly converse, and not only about medicine. As a consequence, they became best friends. Actually, Neil had become her first real boyfriend. She thought she’d had boyfriends before, but after meeting Neil she realized that was not exactly true. Neil had been the first person to whom Jennifer had been willing to confide her most private secrets.
“Excuse me!” Jennifer called out to one of the harried nurses at the chaotic central station. The nurse had just shouted something to a colleague who was leaning out a doorway several rooms down the main corridor. “Can you tell me where Dr. McCulgan is?”
“I haven’t the faintest,” the man said. For some reason he had two, not one, stethoscopes draped around his neck. “Did you try his office?”
Taking that suggestion, Jennifer hurried over to the triage area, where the office was located. Glancing in, she felt lucky. He was sitting at his desk with his back to her, dressed in a starched white coat over green scrubs. Jennifer plopped herself down in the chair squeezed between the desk and the wall. Startled, he looked up momentarily.
“Busy?” Jennifer managed, with a catch in her voice. Her question only elicited a scoffing chuckle from the man, whose attention had returned to the massive ER schedule for the month of November that he was poring over.
Neil had pleasant features, intelligent eyes, and a slight dusting of premature gray along his temples. He also had the broad shoulders and exceptionally narrow waist of a surfer. On his feet he wore white-leather wood-soled clogs. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” she questioned. As she spoke she had to choke back tears.
“If you can make it quick,” he said, but with a smile. “I have to have this schedule ready for the printer in one hour.” He looked up again and only then became aware that she was struggling with her emotions. “What’s wrong?” he said with sudden concern. He put down his pen and leaned toward her.
“I had awful news this morning.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching out and gripping her arm. He didn’t ask what the news was about. He knew her well enough to know that she would tell him if she was inclined but wouldn’t tell him if she wasn’t, despite any amount of cajoling on his part.
“Thank you. It was about my grandmother.” Jennifer pulled her arm free and reached across Neil’s desk to grab a tissue.
“I remember. Maria, right?”
“Yes. She died just a few hours ago. It was even announced, believe it or not, on CNN.”
“Oh, no! Gosh, I’m truly sorry. I know what she meant to you. What happened?”
“I’m told a heart attack, which definitely surprises me.”
“I can understand why. Didn’t the medical department here recently give her a remarkably clean bill of health?”
“They absolutely did. They even gave her a stress test.”
“Are you going to head home, or is that a problem? I mean, didn’t you start your new surgery rotation today?”
“No and yes,” Jennifer said cryptically. “The situation is a bit more complicated.” She then went on to tell Neil the whole story about India, about being needled concerning cremation or embalming, about getting the dean to grant a week’s leave, about a medical-service company paying her expenses, and about leaving in just a few hours.
“Wow,” Neil said. “You’ve had quite a morning. I’m sorry you are going to India for such a sad reason. As I told you last May when I came back, it’s a fascinating country, full of unbelievable contrasts. But I guess this won’t be a pleasure trip.” Neil had been to India five months before to speak at a medical conference in New Delhi.
“I can’t imagine anything about this trip being pleasurable, which brings me to the issue of malaria. What do you think I should do?”
“Ouch,” Neil said, wincing. “I’m sorry to say you should have started something a week ago.”
“Well, there’s no way I could have anticipated this. I’m okay on everything else, even typhoid, from the scare last year with my patient in internal medicine.”
Neil grabbed a prescription pad from his drawer and rapidly wrote one out. He handed it to Jennifer, who looked it over.
“Doxycycline?” Jennifer read out loud.
“It’s not the number-one choice, but the coverage starts immediately. The best part is you probably don’t need it. It’s the south of India where malaria is a true problem.”
Jennifer nodded and put the scrip into her shoulder bag.
“Why did your grandmother go to India for her surgery?”
“Purely cost, I assume. She didn’t have health insurance. And I’m sure my bastard of a father encouraged it big-time.”
“I’ve read about medical tourism to India, but I’ve never known someone who actually did it.”
“I wasn’t even aware of it.”
“Where are they putting you up?”
“A hotel called the Amal Palace.”
“Wow!” Neil said. “That’s supposed to be five-star.” He chuckled, then added, “You’d better be careful; they must be trying to buy you off. Of course I’m kidding. They don’t need to buy you off. One of the negatives about medical tourism is you have no recourse. There’s no such thing as malpractice. Even if they screw up big-time, like taking out the wrong eye or killing someone by mistake or incompetence, there’s not a thing you can do.”
“It’s my guess they’ve negotiated some kind of deal with the Amal Palace. It’s just where they put people up. I mean, it’s not like I’m getting a special deal. Apparently, they pay airfare and hotel for one relative. That’s why I’m getting the trip. My lazy father claimed he couldn’t go.”
