Every Fifteen Minutes (14 page)

“No, no, no! Go away!” Perino backed up against the reinforced windows. He raised his meaty arms as if warding off a blow, his gaze so wild-eyed and unfocused that Eric wasn't sure Perino recognized him.

“Donald, it's Dr. Parrish, and I need you to sit down in the brown chair.” Eric pointed to the chair, having been trained that simple commands would help him regain control of the situation. He couldn't let Perino hurt himself, the staff, or his fellow patients. “Please, sit down and tell me what's happening. I need to see that wound on your head.”

“No, no! ARGGGHHHH!” Perino bellowed, throwing back his head, baring his teeth, and roaring like a raging animal. Blood poured down his face, a horrifying sight.

Eric stood his ground. Security still wasn't here. Perino was going from bad to worse. Eric didn't move or do anything that could be misinterpreted as aggressive. Paranoia among schizophrenics typically caused combativeness, and Perino had a history of childhood aggression and disturbing behavior, like starting fires.

“No, no, no!” Perino started shouting again. “I know who you are! You don't fool me! Don't you come near me! Don't come near me!”

“Donald, I'm Dr. Parrish. Please sit in the chair and tell me what's going on.”

“You're not Dr. Parrish! You're a liar!” Perino hollered, spitting the blood that ran past his lips. Veins bulged in his neck.

“I am Dr. Parrish.” Eric pointed to the chair again. He didn't know what was taking security so long. “Please sit in the chair. I need you to sit down. I've been treating you here. I remember that your wife Linda brought you in. You had stopped taking your medication, do you remember? You said it made you feel lethargic. You gained weight, almost thirty pounds?”

“You're a liar! You're with the CIA! You all are! So's that blonde! She said she's a nurse but she's a liar! She's trying to take the thoughts out of my mind! You give me pills! You poison my blood! You
make
me crazy!”

Eric glanced at the doorway. Jack's expression was oddly impassive, but David's young face looked stricken and flushed. Security was nowhere in sight. Amaka had returned and was passing the syringes to Sam, who held them discreetly in his left hand, waiting to slip them to Eric. But Eric couldn't subdue Perino and administer two injections without security to hold Perino down.

“That's why I'm here!” Perino took a threatening step toward Eric, advancing on him. “You make me angry! You make me want to kill somebody!”

“Donald, please sit down in the chair.” Eric edged backwards toward the door, hiding his hand behind him so Sam could pass him the syringes. In the next moment, Eric felt a syringe in his palm, but it was only one, not two. Sam was sending him a signal. “Donald, please, sit down in the brown chair.”

“No, no!” Perino kept coming, his face a blood-soaked mask. “You're
making
me a killer! You want me to kill for the CIA! Get out of my way! I have to get out of here, right now!”

“I can't do that, Donald. You need to stay here and talk to me.” Eric stood in front of the door. He couldn't let Perino out of the room to harm his staff or other patients. He braced himself for a takedown. He couldn't wait for security. “Please sit down in the—”

“No, no, NO!” Perino screamed in Eric's face. “If you don't let me out of here, I'm going to
kill you
!”

“Donald, stop—”

“Move!” Perino lunged for Eric, and Eric reacted instantly, grabbing Perino's burly right arm at the wrist, forcing it down abruptly, then quickly stepping backwards, yanking Perino off-balance and simultaneously injecting him with the sedative.

“No, no, don't!” Perino howled, as Sam charged from behind, wrapping his left arm around Perino's beefy chest, injecting him and continuing to pull him backwards.

“Donald, it's Dr. Parrish and Dr. Ward, we're here to help you.” Eric and Sam sandwiched Perino, taking him down in a controlled fall, with Sam protecting Perino's head with his hand so it didn't hit the floor.

“No!” Perino hollered, pinwheeling his arms, kicking his legs, and trying to get up, as Sam scooted from underneath him.

“Donald, please relax.” Eric straddled Perino and held him down with a hand on each shoulder. Blood bubbled from Perino's head wound, dripping sideways onto the floor. “Be still. Calm down. You're going to feel the sedative starting to work.”

Perino shook his head, his eyelids fluttering, already starting to lose consciousness. A commotion came from the hallway, and in the next moment, three security guards burst into the room, led by their captain, Jed Barneston. Grant, a security guard, rushed to Eric's side, the other helped Sam to his feet, and a third went to restrain Perino.

“Chief!” Jed called out in alarm. “You okay?”

“Fine, thanks.” Eric got off of Perino. “He's out now. Let's get him into bed.”

“Doc, we have to clear the threat zone.” Jed shooed Eric and Sam out of the room, per procedure. Security guards hurried back in to help secure Perino, who would be treated for his head wound later, after it was safe.

“Thanks, buddy.” Eric exhaled, smiling at Sam. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

“Nah, you couldn't have done it without haloperidol,” Sam shot back.

And behind him, grinning at Eric with evident relief, stood Kristine.

 

Chapter Fifteen

An hour later, Eric was trying to catch up on his paperwork when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up from his desk to see Amaka, with a slight frown. “Something up?” he asked.

“Chief, can you come with me a minute? I need to show you something, right away.”

“Sure, is there a problem?” Eric rose, crossed to the door, and they left together. He felt concerned because she wasn't the type to exaggerate. “What is it?”

“It's personal. I need to discuss it with you in private.” Amaka took his elbow and whisked them down the hallway, toward the conference rooms. They reached the conference room, where she opened the door and went inside, with Eric following her.

“Congratulations, Chief!” everybody shouted.

“Whoa,
what
?” Eric gasped, astonished. His staff filled the conference room, and everyone was grinning—Sam, Jack, David, the medical students including Kristine, nurses, nurse's aides, psych techs, social workers, occupational and art therapists, even the dietitian. Cupcakes, muffins, a sheet cake, cups, paper plates, and cans of soda covered the conference table, and in front of it like a banquet manager, stood their stout hospital administrator, Jason Kittredge, who was beaming at Eric.

“Congratulations, Chief!” Jason clapped him on the arm. “We're number two!”

“We're number two!” “We're number two!” “We're number two!” Everyone chanted, clapping their hands, and Eric realized he'd been so busy with Hannah and Max over the weekend that he hadn't even realized it was that time of the year.

“We're
number two
?” Eric asked, astounded. “We're getting ranked number two?”

“Yes, we are!” Jason practically shouted with happiness. “Our psychiatry service,
your
psychiatry service, just got ranked number two in the nation by
U.S. Medical Report
! It's still confidential. I got word through back channels.”

“You're kidding.” Eric could never have hoped as much. The highest ranking they'd ever had was eleven, and he'd been trying to break the top ten.

“Congratulations!” Jason applauded, and everybody joined in, clapping.

“Wait, quiet, everybody.” Eric waved for the clapping to stop. “What about Mass General? They've been number two forever.”

“We knocked them out of second place. Like that old car commercial, we try harder!”

“Are you
serious
? They own second place.” Eric shook his head in disbelief.

“Not anymore! We scored a 29.6, almost a perfect 30. It put us ahead of every psychiatric service in the country but one, McLean. We came from behind! We're the dark horse, the underdog!” Jason's grayish eyes lit up behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Thanks to you, your leadership, and your long-range planning. The changes that you've made over the past few years have come to fruition.”

“No, it was all of us.” Eric collected his thoughts, motioning around the room. “Congratulations, everybody. I'm so proud for all of you, and I appreciate everything you did to make this happen. We pulled together and it looks like—”

“We're number two!” Kristine shouted, stepping front and center, and Eric got the distinct impression that she was trying to get his attention, as everybody joined in, chanting again, “We're number two!” “We're number two!”

“Chief!” Jack pushed Eric playfully. “Come on, Jason's right. Take the credit. I've seen the changes you instituted—the formation of treatment-teams, the full multidisciplinary approach, especially liaising with the geriatric unit—they're all working.”

Jason pumped his head, retaking the floor. “The other hospitals, they've been watching us, hoping we'll fall on our faces, but we proved them wrong. We proved them
all wrong.
”

Eric couldn't help but smile. “Jason, that's a negative worldview. You might need a shrink.”

Everybody laughed, including Jason, but he wasn't about to shut up. He turned to the medical students, with Kristine in front. “There are sixteen hospital specialties that are data-dependent for their rankings, but four specialties are ranked according to reputation only, psychiatry among them. That means that our ranking came from a reputational survey of physicians, who were asked to name the hospitals they consider the best in the specialty for difficult cases.”

“Woohoo!” Kristine cheered, louder than the others. Eric thought she was more dolled-up than usual this morning, with brighter lipstick and her long, dark hair blown-dry, which he knew was a big deal, from Caitlin.

Jason added, “That means it's even
harder
to get because in certain respects, it's somewhat subjective.”

Eric snorted. “
Somewhat
subjective? It's completely subjective.”

Jack waved him off. “Chief, if somebody throws you a rose, don't bitch about the thorns.”

Eric laughed, and so did everybody else.

“Not only that,” Jason interjected, “we made the Honor Roll. We never made the Honor Roll before.”

“Honor Roll?” Eric felt like the parent of a gifted overachiever. “How did that happen? Did we get the extra credit questions right?”

Everybody laughed except Jason. “Joke all you want to, but it's only for hospitals that rank high enough in at least six specialties. The Board is over the moon. They extend their special congratulations to you, Chief.”

“Jason, enough. So what happens next? You promote it out the wazoo?” Eric knew that medicine had become about marketing.

“The sky's the limit.” Jason's enthusiasm bubbled over. “We have to wait to press-release it, but we can start priming the pump. There will be TV commercials, billboards, banners, radio ads, and targeted online ads on Facebook and Twitter, too.”

Eric smiled. “Don't forget about the swag. We need pens that say We Try Harder, plus T-shirts.”

David burst into laughter. “How about bottles of hand sanitizer? And beach towels?”

“Yes!” Jack clapped his hands. “Travel mugs!”

“Beer coolers!” yelled one of the nurses.

Kristine caught Eric's eye, saying, “Condoms!”

Everybody laughed harder as Eric looked away from Kristine, breaking eye contact. He didn't want to encourage her.

Jason waved off the laughter. “Okay, I know you're having fun, but this is a wonderful achievement, and it's because of Eric and your hard work. It will redound to the hospital's benefit for years to come.”

Eric nodded, then he realized he had come in this morning thinking that he might quit his hospital job over the custody issue, but he didn't know if he could do that now. He'd never felt more a part of the team than he did at this very moment, when he realized he would have to leave it behind. But he couldn't say any of these things, so he pasted a smile on his face, and said:

“Jason, please thank the Board, on our behalf.”

 

Chapter Sixteen

Eric shut his office door behind him, walked to his desk, and sank into his chair. He'd been crazy busy—a running joke on the psych unit—because the number-two ranking had thrown the hospital into a tizzy. He'd fielded phone calls and congratulations from administration all day, then he had treatment rounds. Donald Perino had stabilized, though his forehead had taken three stitches.

Eric checked his desk clock, a clinician's habit, which read 5:15; it made him think of Max, who was undoubtedly looking at the clock somewhere across town, then tapping his head. Eric worried about how he could help him, then about Ren
é
e Bevilacqua. Eric thought of what Arthur had said, that OCD patients rarely become aggressive, so he put it out of his mind, or tried to, as he swiveled to face his computer, palmed the mouse, and logged onto his email. He wanted to check it before he left to have drinks with the staff, most of whom had already gone to celebrate their number-two ranking.

He watched his email pile onto the screen, skimmed the senders and subject lines, and determined that none of it required an immediate answer. His gaze strayed to the late-day sun that struggled to make its way through the window, which had a view of approaching thunderstorms and the Medevac helicopters that rushed emergency cases to the rooftop landing pad. His was the best office on the floor, but even so, was a medium-sized box, barely big enough for an institutional desk of indeterminate wood across from two brown pleather chairs and a matching couch, on the side. The rug was a tweedy gray-green and the walls were painted a soothing green pastel, a color he thought of as Managed-Care Mint. His diplomas, board certifications, and professional awards blanketed them, although Eric wasn't the show-off type. Caitlin had made him frame everything, showing off for him by proxy.