He had a galloping case of medical hubris. The doctor is God,or at least His vicar on earth, complete with Papal infallibility. Oh, hell.
“Hold it right there, Doctor!” I wheeled my chair over to thedoor and opened it, awkward, I’d never had practice in one of the damnedthings. “Colonel, Lieutenant, could you come in here? I need some witnesses.This medical asshole says he’s going to ignore Sergeant Cash’s written and oralinstructions on treatment.”
The two uniforms looked startled and then settled into asteely-jawed RCMP pose that was a credit to the force. I swear you could haveused the colonel’s glare to cut glass.
I never got a chance to find out what they’d say, though,because the doctor closed the door in their faces, shook his head, andshrugged. “So be it. You’ll have to sign release forms, witnessed by staff sothat they are all covered by medical privacy. You are requiring treatment thatgoes against my judgment as a doctor. Any liability will be yours.”
Victory. Sort of. I might regret it in an hour or five, so Itook no joy from it. I thought I wasfollowing Nef’s wishes. That’s the best I could do. If I had to live with herdying under the knife, well, that wouldn’t be much worse than sending Maggie tojail.
I could see the Colonel glaring through the view panel of thewaiting-room door. I waved him off. He nodded, still looking like he could chewhis way straight through the heavy wood and diamond-wired safety glass if heneeded to. Nef had found herself a good boss.
Paperwork. The bastards ran about a dozen forms under my nose,all boilerplate that they had lawyered out in advance, tells you that this sortof bullshit came up much too often. I signed away Nef’s life at least fivetimes, my own about as many, and indemnified the whole surgical staff, the ERstaff, the hospital association, and both Santa Claus and the Easter Bunnyagainst any and all allegations of malpractice. I even promised to pay theirlegal costs.
All, as the guy said, witnessed by various white and green andpale blue hospital uniforms. Also one in bright pink and yellow flowers withcartoon bluebirds, they must have dragged her in from pediatrics. I don’t knowwhy they needed so many different witnesses, except that the process took thegood part of an hour. An hour while Nef lay in some kind of pre-surgical limbo.Probably cussing.
Then I talked to the surgeon, and I finally ended up meetingthe anesthesiologist. She was not anasshole. She knew about witches and wizards. She knew what drugs to use, whatdosages to use. She understood the symptoms she’d seen, now that she had theproper context. She just had never considered that, because Nef didn’t fit the physical profile for a witch — herlean distance-runner’s body.
Before the anesthesiologist left, I had one other thing totell her. I didn’t know, couldn’tknow, much too soon, but I needed to say it.
“Also, I think Sergeant Cash may have been trying to getpregnant. Put that on her chart. Choose any drugs with that in mind.”
She made a note. Whether it was a note about Nef’s possiblepregnancy or about scheduling sanity hearings for both of us, I can’t tell you.
Anyway, that was that. I briefed the two officers, the parts Iwanted them to know anyway. They didn’t look happy, but both agreed that mydecision fit what they knew of Nef. I phoned Sandy and got her answeringmachine, warned her about Kratz, told her I would live and that Cash might, butI did not tell her which hospital outof five choices we were in. That would be the last thing I needed, Sandy mixedup in this, Sandy hovering, Sandy throwing a fit at me or the staff. If anymore fits needed to be thrown, I thought I could handle it.
The colonel went back to pacing the halls. Some angel in anurse’s uniform brought my shirt and coat and stuff to me and scrounged a baggypair of size XL sweatpants that I could fit over the leg and cast, so I got outof that damned humiliating bare-ass gown that hospitals give you to keep you inyour place.
And we waited. And we waited. And we waited.
And waited some more.
The surgeon had told me that the operation would take severalhours, exact length depending on exactly what they found once he startedcutting and patching. He thought the ankle would be straightforward. The foot,not so. Lots of fiddly little bones in a foot, lots of tendons, touchy to fittogether right. Those aren’t the technical terms he used, just myinterpretation.
That’s even without the “crushing” injury thing.
I’d made sure he understood that Cash was a running addict,that she’d be putting a lot of strain and impact on that foot even if he warnedher not to, even if it hurt. I toldhim that if pure grit and hard work could make the difference on rehab, she’dmatch anyone. He said that he did sports surgery, and did understand.
The surgeon didn’t come across as an asshole, either. Iwondered why they had the first guy out front and meeting with the public.Maybe he served as a filter. You had to prove yourself worthy before you couldmeet the saints and angels?
Or maybe he was a useless shit as a doctor, so they handed hima clipboard. Yeah, I still carry a grudge.
I caught up on my praying.
The meds, the rightmeds that the ER staff had added to the cocktail the ambulance crew had used onme when I wasn’t home, were wearing off. I thought it was a damned shame thegood stuff didn’t have the staying power of the bad, because that meant I stillfelt the side-effects as well as the pain. No, I can’t give you names, eitherproprietary or generic. I don’t know that stuff. I may be Dr. Patterson, but that’s one reason I don’t use the title. Thatway people don’t give me details on their hives and hemorrhoids over martinisat a cocktail party.
Pain is funny stuff. My left arm
