Lee.
One beep sounded. I talked quickly: 'Hey, Mr. Blue, no emergency, but some data that might save you some time. Dad was never in the army but mom was-how's that for a switch? Maiden name: Brooks, as in babbling.
She spent her time at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Discharged early, due to a bout of viral pneumonia, she claims. But she blushed and got a little antsy when talking about it, so maybe it's not the whole truth. Maybe she misbehaved and got kicked out. She's twenty-six now, was a senior in high school when she joined up, so that gives you a time range to work with.'
Returning to the car, I drove the rest of the way home thinking about pneumonia, respiratory therapy, and a baby boy lying still and gray in his crib. By the time I arrived, I was feeling short of breath.
I changed into shorts and a T-shirt, reviewed my chat with Cindy.
People must think I'm crazy. Sometimes I think I'm crazy.
Guilt? A veiled confession? Or just tantalizing me?
Waltzing.
She'd been totally cooperative until I'd suggested we leave the room.
The 'overly caring' Munchausen mother? Or simply the reasonable anxiety of a woman who's lost one child and suffered plenty with another?
I recalled the nervous surprise she'd shown when I told her of my plans for a home visit.
Something to hide? Or just surprise-a logical reactionbecause doctors didn't do house calls anymore?
Another risk factor: Her mother-figure, the nurse. A woman who came across, even in Cindy's loving recollection, as something of amartinet.
A nurse who worked for a doctor but fought with him. Who disparaged physicians.
She'd guided Cindy into health care but away from nursing.
Ambivalence about doctors? About the health-care power structure?
Preoccupation with sickness and treatment?
Had all that been communicated to Cindy at a young age?
Then there was the matter of her own illnesses-the flu and pneumonia that had disrupted her career plans.
Everything worked out for the best.
The blush, the yanking at her braid. The discharge was definitely a sensitive topic.
I got on the kitchen phone, obtained the 803 area code for South Carolina and dialed Information there. Fort Jackson turned out to be in Columbia. I wrote down the number and called it.
A drawling female voice answered. I asked for the base's chief medical officer.
'You want the commander of the hospital?'
'Yes, please.'
'One moment.'
A second later: 'Colonel Hedgeworth's office.'
'This is Dr. Delaware, from Los Angeles, California. I'd like to speak with the colonel, please.'
'What was that name, sir?'
'Delaware.' I added my professional title and medical school affiliation.
