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“I’m sorry, Dr. Tollman.”
Dr. Redmond was talking to another member of the surgical staff, so she couldn’t say it to him at the same time, but she didn’t want to wait to say it to Jack now.
“I appreciate that, Les, but you did what you thought was right, and I signed off on it, thinking the same thing. Arnold looked at the notes, and feels the same. The possibility is so rare, and there were no obvious indicators.”
“Maybe because you went by my notes. You may have seen something I didn’t.”
“We trusted your evaluation, which yes, could go two ways.” His serious green eyes met hers. “Maybe we would have seen something, or maybe we would have seen the same thing you did.”
When he turned to answer an admin’s question regarding the slide projector, Dr. Redmond was taking a seat at the table, his conversation done. She offered him the same apology.
His response didn’t differ significantly from Jack’s, though his was brusquer. “You’re here to learn, Les. There’s nothing easy about holding people’s lives in your hands. So get your head out of your guilt, listen and learn today. And keep doing so, from everyone who’s been where you’re going.”
“Yes, sir.”
She understood the logic, the attitudes. But it was still the most horrible thing she’d ever experienced. A child was dead. Would never grow up. Her life, whatever she was going to be, was going to go on. With no official requirement that she make amends, say she was sorry, do…something.
As the conference was called to order, that thought kept rolling through her mind, like a boulder crushing glass. The opening remarks, the presentation of the facts of the case, the slides showing the diagnostics and conclusions about them, didn’t stop the feeling.
She did her best not to go back to that night, to the faces, the voices and images that could overwhelm her. She had the notes in front of her she’d sent Dr. Portland. She didn’t need them, because she’d been through them so often, she knew them all. Not by mindless rote, but because she’d walked through them in her head, over and over.
Llanzo had come to the ER with what his mother thought was a cold virus. However, she was worried enough about it she wanted him evaluated. Les had checked everything she was supposed to check, had listened to his heart. Asked the questions she was supposed to ask. Including questions about honey and home remedies.
She’d confirmed the mother’s suspicion it was likely just a cold. She’d sent her home with the usual advice for treating it, plus the instruction to do a follow up with her pediatrician on Monday. She’d made the notation on the chart to email or fax the visit details to that pediatrician. While not required, she called his office and left a message suggesting they contact the mother on Monday to see how he was doing.
After that, she’d moved on to the next patient.
“The patient was brought back to the ER the next night,” Dr. Redmond said. “He had developed myocarditis from the virus. He went into cardiac shock and succumbed to it.”
Les noticed Beulah and several of her other friends in the back. Their thoughtful but supportive expressions helped when questions started to come in her direction.
What would help them not do what I did? After nearly seven years in an academic mode, she fell into a rhythm of question and response. She thought of what Sully said, and did her best to offer an unembellished report.
Because she’d gone over every step, again and again, the decisions she’d made and could have made, it wasn’t difficult to offer thoughtful responses on the questions that weren’t covered in her notes. Yet she never lost the dull throb under her heart.
Every word represented Llanzo DaCosta, a toddler who’d played with her stethoscope and looked at her with tired eyes. He’d managed a small smile for her.
When they’d left the ER, she’d gripped Llanzo’s fist on his mother’s shoulder. He had his head resting next to it, and Les had touched his hair. “You’ll feel better soon,” she promised him.
Don’t go there. Don’t go there. She divided herself into two people. Every word she spoke as a rational, calm medical professional was a hammer hitting that other person crouched inside her, keening.
While she listened and learned, she hurt and grieved, and wondered if the pain would ever stop. And what it would say about the kind of doctor she was if it ever did.
At the conclusion of the M&M, she made the necessary courtesies, and slipped into the hallway. She saw two things right away.
Beulah, coming out another exit and hurrying her way.
Brick, sitting in a nearby waiting area.
Dismay surged through her, but not because she was mad he was there. She was terrified that seeing him would unleash everything locked down inside her. If he saw how hard her knees were trembling, he might mortify her by picking her up and sweeping her away.
No, he wouldn’t. He knew what she needed right now. He also saw Beulah heading her way, so though he rose, he waited for her friend to reach her first.
He would be there, after. At the bottom of the cliff, to cushion her fall.
“Hey, girl.” Beulah clasped her in a hard hug. “Damn, I’ve missed your narrow ass. You and your encyclopedia brain did great in there. You looked as calm as a still pond. Your voice didn’t even shake.”
That was because all her internal organs had absorbed the vibration. “It was easier once I just focused on the information and didn’t think about…” Les lifted a shoulder.
