Death Rounds Read Online Free PDF Page A

illness? Ignored the symptoms? Not mentioned them to you?”
    I heard a gentle chuckle. “Dr. Garnet, my mother never minimized anything.” His voice relaxed a little; it was lower, less strained. Perhaps having a clinical discussion, even over the phone, was helping him get over his initial shock.
    So I continued with my questions. To be honest, I found myself especially wanting to know the details of what had happened to her after I’d sent her home. That her son had talked to her so many hours after I’d discharged her and she still wasn’t very sick somehow made me feel less guilty. “Last night, did she complain to you about dizziness?”
    “Not really. She said she felt a bit unsteady. But I assumed it was the usual lightheadedness that went with the flu. Why?”
    Careful now, I thought before answering, still not wanting to hang myself legally. “Her prodrome, and this may be off the wall, well, it suggested another not so common but very bad infection.”
    “What are you talking about?” His voice rose sharply.
    Damn! I was upsetting him again, I thought, as I tried once more to calm him. “Mr. Miller, please, it’s all supposition right now. Come over, and we can talk further, right after you see your mother.”
    “What rare and very bad infection?” he demanded, his anger now clearly evident.
    Great choice of words, Garnet, I cursed to myself. “Mr. Miller, I repeat, I have no proof, and ID thinks I’m nuts even bringing it up—”
    “Answer me!” he snapped.
    “It reminded me of Legionnaires’ disease,” I finally admitted.
    “Oh Jesus!” he said, and hung up on what sounded like a sob.
    * * * *
    I’d retreated to my office, a cubby hole located in a back corridor away from ER. My secretary, Carole Lamont, had phoned in sick for me day, so thankfully I was alone.
    I sat at my desk without the lights on and wondered what else I could do wrong. A small window in my outside wall was too grimy to see through, but it let in a little gray illumination. The effect was positively cheery compared to my mood.
    I’d botched Sanders’s first visit. My attempt to comfort her son was worse than a disaster. Instead of reassuring him as I’d hoped, I’d frightened him even more with my questions and talk of Legionnaires’ disease. Why hadn’t I just kept my goddamned mouth shut?
    Because I was increasingly impatient to know everything about this infection that had tricked me.
    Maybe Rossit was right. My guilt was making me overcompensate and screwing up my judgment.
    I’d better warn ICU that Mr. Miller was on his way over, nicely primed, I thought, reaching for my phone. Stewart Deloram, their chief, would have to deal with him personally. If there was any hope of settling him down, Stewart could do it. I’d learned firsthand when I’d once been a patient of his how supportive he could be. Perhaps, despite the mess I’d made of things. Miller could still trust the ICU staff enough to help him cope with what lay ahead for his mother.
    “Dr. Deloram is in the main auditorium attending an administrative meeting,” his secretary announced.
    “Shit!”
    “I beg your pardon!”
    “Sorry. I just remembered where I’m supposed to be. I’ll find him there.”
    I ran out the door and headed for the huge reception hall. The meeting I’d forgotten in my preoccupation with Sanders was a doozy. The boards of St. Paul’s Hospital and University Hospital had decided it would save money if they completely amalgamated the administration of the two institutions. The gathering I was rushing to was a combined assembly of all chiefs to begin the process of naming a common chairperson for each clinical department. It was the political equivalent of sudden death. For weeks now administrators and department heads at every level had been squaring off and vying to keep their turf. There’d be winners and losers, and needless to say, the struggle for ascendancy was sometimes outright nasty.
    I had mixed feelings