view of the cavity. 'I need deflation. Just for a sec.'
'You got it,' said the anaesthesiologist.
Abby plunged her hand deep into the thorax, following the inner curve of the ribs. As Mark gently retracted the right lung, Abby clamped the forceps tips around the metal fragment and carefully withdrew it from the cavity.
The bullet, a flattened twenty-two, clattered into the metal basin. 'No bleeding. Looks like we can close,' said Abby.
'This is one lucky guy,' Mark said, eyeing the probable trajectory. 'Entry hole just right of the sternum. Rib must have deflected it or something. And it tumbled free along the pleural space. All he gets is a pneumothorax.'
'Hope he learned his lesson,' said Abby.
'What lesson?'
'Never piss off your wife.'
'She was the shooter?'
'Hey, we've come a long way, baby.'
They were closing the chest now, working together with the companionable ease of two people who know each other well. It was 4 p.m. Abby had been on duty since seven that morning. Already her calves ached from standing all day, and she had another twenty-four hours on duty to go. But she was on a high right now, buoyed by the success of this operation — and by the chance to operate with Mark. This was exactly how she'd pictured their future together: working hand in hand, confident of themselves and each other. Mark was a superb surgeon, swift yet meticulous. From the very first day she'd scrubbed in with him, Abby had been impressed by the comfortable atmosphere in his OR. Mark never lost his cool, never yelled at a nurse, never even raised his voice. She'd decided then that if she ever had to go under the knife, Mark Hodell was the one surgeon she'd want to be holding the scalpel.
Now she was working right beside him, her gloved hand brushing against his, their heads bent close. This was the man she loved, the work she loved. Just for this moment, she could forget Victor Voss and the crisis shadowing her career. Perhaps the crisis was over. No axe had yet fallen, no ominous message had been issued from Parr's office. In fact, ColinWettig had taken her aside this morning to tell her, in his usual gruff way, that she'd received outstanding evaluations for trauma rotation.
It will all work out, she thought as she watched the patient wheeled out to Recovery. Somehow, this will all turn out just fine.
'Excellent job, DiMatteo,' said Mark, stripping off his OR gown. 'I bet you say that to all the residents.'
'Here's something I never say to the other residents.' He leaned towards her and whispered: 'Meet me in the call room.'
'Uh… Dr. DiMatteo?'
Abby and Mark, both flushing, turned and looked at the circulating nurse, who'd just poked her head in the door.
'There's a call for you from Mr Parr's secretary. They want to see you in Administration.'
'Now?'
'They're waiting for you,' said the nurse, and she left.
Abby shot Mark a look of apprehension. 'Oh God. Now what?'
'Don't let 'em rattle you. I'm sure it'll be OK. Want me to come with you?'
She thought it over a moment, then shook her head. 'I'm a big girl. I should be able to handle this.'
'If there's any problem, page me. I'll be right there.' He gave her hand a squeeze. 'That's a promise.'
She managed to return the thinnest of smiles. Then she pushed through the OR door and headed grimly for the elevator.
With the same feeling of dread she'd felt last night, she stepped off onto the second floor and headed up the carpeted hall to Jeremiah Parr's office. Parr's secretary directed her around the corner to the meeting room. Abby knocked on the door.
'Come in,' she heard Parr say.
Taking a shaky breath, she stepped inside.
Parr rose from his seat at the conference table. Also in the room were Colin Wetfig and a woman whom Abby did not recognize, a fortyish brunette in a nicely tailored blue suit. Nothing she saw in those faces gave Abby the slightest clue as to the purpose of this meeting, but every instinct told her this session would not be a pleasant one.
'Dr. DiMatteo,' said Parr, 'Let me introduce you to Susan Casado, the hospital's corporate attorney.'
An attorney? This is not good.
The two women shook hands. Ms Casado's grip felt unnaturally warm against Abby's icy skin.
Abby took a chair next to Wetfig. There was a brief silence, punctuated by the lawyer's rattling of papers and Wettig's gruff throat-clearing.
Then Parr said, 'Dr. DiMatteo, perhaps you could tell us what you recall about your role in the care of a Mrs Karen Terrio.'
Abby frowned. This was not at all what she'd expected. 'I performed the initial evaluation on Mrs Terrio,' she said. 'Then I referred her to Neurosurgery. They took over her case.'
'So how long was she under your care?'
'Officially? About two hours. More or less.'
'And during those two hours, what did you do, exactly?'
'I stabilized her. Ordered the necessary labs. It would be in the medical record.'
'Yes, we have a copy,' said Susan Casado. She patted the chart lying on the table.
'You'll find it all documented in there,' said Abby. 'My admitting notes and orders.'
'Everything you did?' said Susan.
'Yes. Everything.'
'Do you remember anything you did that might have negatively affected the patient's course?'
'No.'
'Anything you should have done? In retrospect?'
'No.'
'I understand the patient expired.'
'She'd suffered massive head trauma. A motor vehicle accident.
She was declared brain dead.'
'After you cared for her.'
In frustration, Abby glanced around the table. 'Could someone please tell me what's going on?'
'What's going on,' said Parr, 'is that our insurance carrier, Vanguard Mutual — that's your carrier as well — received written notification just a few hours ago. It was hand-delivered and signed by an attorney from Hawkes, Craig and Sussman. I'm sorry to tell you this, Dr. DiMatteo, but it appears as if you — and Bayside — are about to be sued for malpractice.'
The air went out of Abby's lungs in a sickening rush. She found herself gripping the table, fighting the sudden nausea rising in her stomach. She knew they were waiting for her to respond, but all she could manage was a shocked look and a disbelieving shake of her head.
'I take it you weren't expecting this,' said Susan Casado. 'I…' Abby swallowed. 'No. No.'
'It's only the preliminary notification,' said Susan Casado. 'You understand, of course, that there are a number of formalities that lead up to any actual trial. First, the case will be reviewed by a state screening panel to determine whether or not this is, in fact, malpractice. If the panel decides there was none, this whole thing may stop right there. But the plaintiff still has the right to proceed to trial, regardless.'
'The plaintiff,' murmured Abby. 'Who is the plaintiff?.'
'The husband. Joseph Terrio.'
'There has to be a mistake. A misunderstanding-'
'Damn right there's a misunderstanding,' said Wettig. Everyone looked at the General, who had, until then, sat in stony silence. 'I've reviewed the record myself. Every page of it. There's no malpractice there. Dr. DiMatteo did everything she should have done.'
