to Sarah.
'So, what brings you down here, Doctor?' he asked. 'Is this man having some gynecological problems on top of everything else?'
One nurse laughed out loud. Sarah kept her cool by reminding herself that she cared too little for the man to allow him to upset her in any way.
'I thought you might be a little tired and in need of a little extra help,' she said. 'I knew you were, um, resting in room 421. I was at my locker when you went in. That's how the page operator knew where to find you.'
Truscott's face paled. The corners of his mouth twitched.
'Thank you for that,' he managed. 'You certainly have been kind to me lately.'
'Think nothing of it,' Sarah responded, her eyes fixed steadily on his.
The team had finished loading the old man onto the litter. Truscott motioned them to the OR with a flick of one hand. In seconds the room was empty, save for Sarah and one nurse. The floor, littered with bloody pads and gauze wrap, needle guards, rubber gloves, IV tubing boxes, and the like, looked like a war zone. Sarah gloved and began picking up some of the litter.
'I'll take care of this,' the nurse said.
'Why, are you more trained for this job than I am?'
The nurse smiled. 'Thanks,' she said.
At that moment, the phlebotomist raced into the room carrying a computer printout.
'Where is everyone?' she asked breathlessly.
'Gone to the OR. Why?'
The technician handed over the printout.
'His magnesium level is zero point four,' she said. 'The supervisor said to tell you they've run it twice and-'
Sarah was no longer paying attention. She glanced at the phone, thought better of it, and then raced from the room. A magnesium level of 0.4, far below normal, would explain the clinical picture entirely. It was life-threatening in any circumstance, but would be fatal if not corrected before surgery. The cause, she guessed, might be the old man's intolerance to the vigorous diuretic treatment that was being used to correct his heart failure.
IATROGENIC: ILLNESS OR INJURY CAUSED BY THE WORDS OR ACTIONS OF A PHYSICIAN.
Sarah flashed on the sign that once hung over Peter Ettinger's desk. There was every reason to believe that the patient's striking turn for the worse was due to his treatment, not his disease-to the diuretics, not the aneurysm. She reached the operating suite doors just as the litter was being wheeled into one of the ORs.
'Andrew, wait!' she cried out.
It took less than half an hour for the old man to respond to his magnesium infusion and wake up. Until his retirement a year before, Terence Cooper had been a boatbuilder of some note. He had a cackling laugh and a wonderful, toothless smile. And upon meeting Sarah, he immediately asked her out on a date, assuring her that his wife wouldn't mind all that much.
'Mrs. Cooper keeps telling me to try out new things,' he said.
Sarah let him squeeze her hand and then turned to leave. Until that moment, Andrew had said very little to her. Now he stepped between her and the door.
'I can explain about room four twenty-one,' he said softly.
'I couldn't care less,' she responded. 'Except that you should have been more alert after you got down here. If you hadn't been… sleeping, I suspect you would have checked those chems before you took him to the OR.'
'I suspect you're right.'
'Good,' Sarah said, easing past him and into the hallway. 'I love being right.'
'Thanks for saving my bacon,' he called out after her. 'You're a hell of a doctor.'
Sarah considered some sort of response, then just shook her head and continued on. Her pager sounded just as she reached the OB/Gyn floor. She responded, expecting to hear Andrew, anxious to continue mending fences. Instead, the voice on the line was Annalee Ettinger's.
Sarah sat on the edge of the bed in the small resident's call room, listening sadly to Annalee's account of what had transpired with her father.
'I couldn't tell what upset him more,' Annalee said, 'my going to see any M.D. at all, or my going to see you in particular.'
'I'm the least important factor in this equation. I know an obstetrician in Worcester who would be happy to do a home birth for you.'
'Peter's insisting on no M.D.s. Midwives only. He's even talking about flying some in from Mali.'
'How do you feel about all this?'
'I feel sorry for you for what's being written in the papers. But that stuff hasn't influenced me one way or the other.'
'Good.'
'And even the things Peter promised-the money, and the recording chance for Taylor and all. But no matter how hard I try, I can't get past all the things Peter's done for me-from the very beginning.'
'I understand.'
'I know he's not perfect, but-'
'Annalee, you don't have to explain. I understand. Besides, you're a healthy young woman in great shape. I have no reason to think there'll be any problems. I'll send you the name of the obstetrician in Worcester, just in case you want his help in any way.'
'Thanks for not making this any harder for me, Sarah.'
'Nonsense.'
There was a prolonged, uncomfortable silence.
'Sarah, there's something else,' Annalee said finally. 'Peter insisted I sit in on part of a meeting in his office.'
'Go on.'
'Four men and Peter. They want to hire him to check into the composition of that herbal supplement of yours and to check up on someone named Kwang or Kwok or something. Do you know who that is?'
Sarah was beginning to feel queasy.
'Yes, I know who that is,' she said. 'Who were the men?'
'Two were suits from New York-lawyers. They were there with this guy, Willis Grayson, the father of the girl you saved. The dude must be big stuff, because Peter was like a puppy around him. He acted as if I was supposed to know who he was, too, but I didn't.'
'Who was the other man?' Sarah asked. Her hands felt like ice around the receiver.
'Another lawyer. Oilier than the others, if you know what I mean. His name's Mallon.'
'Unfortunately, I know him, too.'
'Sarah, Peter said some pretty unkind things about you. I think that's what he wanted me to hear. He said you were never as good an herbalist or acupuncturist as you liked to believe. I was on the edge of telling him to stop, or just walking out, but I just couldn't do either one. I'm-I'm sorry.'
'Annalee, don't be sorry,' Sarah said. 'Just do what feels right, and don't lose touch with me. I appreciate your calling me like this.'
'I'm sorry,' Annalee said again.
Sarah hung up without another reply. She felt there was a chance that if she tried to speak, she would begin to cry. And Annalee did not deserve that sort of additional stress. How crazy. When they were together-at work and as lovers-Peter had told her and anyone else who would listen that she was one of the finest American herbal therapists and acupuncturists he had ever known. Now, suddenly, she was an inept fraud.
Sarah bunched the pillow beneath her head and stared wearily at the ceiling. The truth was that in becoming an M.D., in trying to blend the best of eastern and western medicine, she had become a threat to practitioners on both sides. That Andrew and Peter, the two practitioners attacking her now, both happened to be male may or may not have had significance. But she suspected it did.
For a time, blanketed by a pall of loneliness and isolation, she wept. Soon, though, she felt her spirit begin to regroup within a nidus of anger. Beyond tweaking two bulbous egos, she had done nothing wrong. If it was a fight
