A Brain Read Online Free PDF Page A

fifty-eight and was not considering retiring. Besides, the Chief of Radiology, Harold Goldblatt, was also a neuroradiologist.Philips had to recognize that his meteoric rise within the department had ground to a halt, not for lack of ability on his part, but because the two positions over him were solidly occupied. For almost a year Philips had reluctantly begun to entertain the idea of leaving the Med Center for another hospital where he would have a shot at the top.
    Martin turned down the corridor leading to surgery. He passed through the double swinging doors, whose sign warned visitors that they were entering a restricted area, and went through another set of swinging doors, to the patient-holding room. Here stood a swarm of gurneys filled with anxious patients awaiting their turn to be dissected. At the end of this large area was a long built-in white Formica desk guarding the entrance to the thirty operating rooms and to the recovery area. Three nurses in green surgical scrub dresses were busy behind the desk making sure the right patient got into the right room so he’d get the right operation. With almost two hundred operations in any twenty-four-hour period, this was a full-time job.
    â€œCan someone tell me about Mannerheim’s case?” asked Philips as he leaned over the desk.
    All three nurses looked up and began to speak at once. Martin, being one of the few eligible doctors, was a welcome visitor to the OR. When the nurses realized what had happened, they laughed and then made an elaborate ceremony of deferring to one another.
    â€œMaybe I should ask someone else,” said Philips, pretending to leave.
    â€œOh, no,” said the blond nurse.
    â€œWe can go back in the linen closet to discuss it,” suggested the brunette. The OR was the one place inthe hospital where inhibitions were relaxed. The atmosphere was totally different from any other service. Philips thought that perhaps it had something to do with everyone wearing the same pajama-like clothing, plus the potential for crisis, where sexual innuendos provided a relief valve. Whatever it was, Philips remembered it very well. He’d been a surgical resident for one year before deciding to go into radiology.
    â€œWhich one of Mannerheim’s cases are you interested in?” asked the blond nurse. “Marino?”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Philips.
    â€œShe’s right behind you,” said the blond nurse.
    Philips turned. About twenty feet away was a gurney supporting the covered figure of a twenty-one-year-old woman. She must have heard her name through the fog of her preoperative medication because her head slowly rolled in Philips’ direction. Her skull was totally shaved in anticipation of her surgery, and the image reminded Philips of a small songbird without its feathers. He’d seen her briefly twice before when she was having her preoperative X rays, and Philips was shocked how different she looked now. He had not realized how small and delicate she was. Her eyes had a pleading quality like an abandoned child, and Philips had all he could do to turn away, directing his attention back to the nurses. One of the reasons he’d switched from surgery to radiology had been a realization he couldn’t control his empathy for certain patients.
    â€œWhy haven’t they started her?” he asked the nurse, angry the patient was being left to her fears.
    â€œMannerheim’s been waiting for special electrodes from Gibson Memorial Hospital,” said the blondnurse. “He wants to make some recordings from the part of the brain he’s going to remove.”
    â€œI see . . .” said Philips, trying to plan his morning. Mannerheim had a way of upsetting everyone’s schedules.
    â€œMannerheim’s got two visitors from Japan,” added the blond nurse, “and he’s been putting on a big show all week. But they’ll be starting in just a couple of