Lethal Experiment

I was beginning to like Dr. Hedgepeth. “So I don’t need a heart cath?”

“I don’t think so. What you probably need is a couple of hours and a bathroom.”

“A bathroom.”

“Your problem could be acute heartburn, a precursor of food poisoning. Did you eat something of questionable origin recently?”

I thought about the beef burrito I’d choked down at the Horse Head Inn a few hours ago. And realized “beef ” didn’t necessarily mean cow.

“Could you have eaten something truly vile and shortly thereafter engaged in some form of physical activity?”

I thought about the Peterson sisters.

“Look,” I said. “I’ve had heartburn before. But this pain was severe, and emanated from the center of my chest.”

“Hey, we can always do the heart cath if you want. I mean, the hospital would love to pick up another thirty grand today. Ten times that, if we manage to poke a hole in your artery while performing the procedure.'

I frowned. 'Is that type of complication likely?'

'How to put this delicately,' Dr. Hedgepeth said. 'Our cath guy seems to be a cardiologist, but according to law he doesn't have to be a surgeon. He's from India and appears very bright, but he's quite young and his experience with heart caths is limited.'

'How limited?'

'You'd be his cherry.'

“Uh huh. Heartburn, you say?'

'Acute heartburn, yes. That, coupled with physical stress, could certainly produce the types of symptoms you’ve experienced.”

I understood why he’d said it, but I’ve always had a cast-iron stomach. In years of testing weapons for the Army, I’ve had to swallow pills that made Horse Head burritos seem like Saltines.

“If the stress test comes back clean, what should I do?' I said.

'Go home and spend some quality time bonding with your toilet.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

Dr. Hedgepeth hesitated. “Do you currently see a psychiatrist?”

I frowned. “You think I’m imagining this pain?”

“I believe the pain is very real. But you appear to be the sort of man who can handle a great deal of pain.”

If you only knew, I thought, wondering if I should tell Hedgepeth that I’d been testing torture weapons for the Army for years. In the end I decided to just say, “I’ve certainly never had a problem handling heartburn in the past.”

“Well, the pain’s coming from someplace,” he said, “and I’m almost certain it’s not the heart. But the heart is what I do, so we’ll test that first. Then the toilet, then the brain.”

“Okay, I’m sold,” I said. “What’s the first step to this Cardiolite thing?”

Dr. Hedgepeth, without the slightest trace of a smirk, said: “We need to get an IV started.”

Then he walked to the doorway and yelled for Dana.

Chapter 5

I was still in the hospital, back in my street clothes, awaiting the results of the stress test. With time on my hands, I decided to break hospital rules and make a call on my cell phone. Kimberly answered on the first ring.

“Daddy!” she squealed.

“You sound almost too happy,” I said.