Toxin (10 page)

No sooner had these last words escaped from Monica's lips than the familiar sound of an arriving ambulance could be heard.

“In fact, I'd wager that's them now,” Monica said as she got to her feet. She moved over to an intercom and pressed a button. Talking to someone in one of the trauma rooms she informed them to get ready. Then she herself disappeared back into the depths of the ER.

With little satisfaction for his latest efforts, Kim headed back to the waiting room. As he passed by the main entrance doors, a team of EMT's rushed in with the shooting victim on a gurney. The patient had an oxygen mask strapped over his face and an IV running. His color was ashen.

“Well?” Tracy asked as Kim reclaimed his seat.

“They said they'd see her as soon as they could,” Kim said. He was embarrassed to relate the rest of the conversation. He noticed that Becky had curled up in her seat as best she could and had her eyes closed.

“That's pretty vague,” Tracy said. “What does it mean? Fifteen minutes, an hour, tomorrow morning?”

“It means exactly as soon as they can,” Kim snapped. “A shooting victim just came in and victims from an auto accident came in a few minutes ago. It's a busy night.”

Tracy sighed and shook her head in frustration.

“How's Becky doing?” Kim asked.

“She just had another bout of cramps,” Tracy said. “So you guess. You're the doctor.”

Kim looked away, gritting his teeth. It was hard not to lose his temper. And on top of everything else, he was hungry.

For the next hour Kim was sullenly silent. He was busy brooding over this ridiculous ER experience and eager to complain to his colleagues about it. They would understand. Tracy and Becky seemed more resigned to the wait.

Every time one of the nurses or residents came to the waiting-room threshold to call out a name, Kim expected it to be Rebecca Reggis. But it never was. Finally Kim looked at his watch.

“It's been two and a half freaking hours.” He stood up. “I truly can't believe this. If I were the slightest bit paranoid, I'd think it was some kind of screwy conspiracy. This time I'm going to make something happen. I'll be right back.”

Tracy glanced up at her former husband. Under more normal circumstances, she'd be concerned about Kim's temper, but after having been kept waiting so long, she didn't care. She wanted Becky seen. She didn't comment as Kim stalked off.

Kim marched directly back to the nurses' desk. A number of the ER staff was scattered about the station, engaged in desultory conversation punctuated by laughter.

Upon reaching the counter, Kim scanned the group for a recognizable face. No one looked familiar and none seemed to recognize him. In fact, the only person to notice his presence was the clerk, a young college-aged boy who was most likely a student at the university.

“I'm Doctor Reggis,” Kim said. “What's happening?” He motioned to all the people.

“They're just taking a breather,” the clerk said. “The shooting victim and the last car-accident patients just went up to surgery.”

“Who's the acting head of the emergency department for the evening shift?” Kim asked.

“That would be Dr. David Washington,” the clerk said.

“Is he here at the moment?” Kim asked.

The clerk glanced around the area to be sure. “No,” he said. “I believe he's back with an orthopedic case.”

“How about a head nurse or nurse supervisor?” Kim asked.

“That would be Nora Labat,” the clerk said. “She's with a psych patient.”

“I see,” Kim said. “Thanks.”

Kim proceeded down the counter until he was at the very center. Raising his hand, he called out: “Excuse me, everybody! Hello!”

No one acknowledged Kim's voice or gesture.

For another moment he glanced around, trying to make eye contact with anyone. It was impossible. Instead he reached across the counter and lifted a metallic in-and-out basket from the desk top. Holding it above his head for a moment, he thought someone might notice. They didn't.

Kim brought the metal basket down to crash onto the Formica counter. He smashed it down twice again, each time with more force until the basket became distorted to the shape of a three-dimensional parallelogram.

That got everyone's attention. Conversations stopped in midsentence. Residents, nurses, and orderlies all stared at Kim. A security man who'd been standing over near the bank of elevators came running over, his hand holding the clutch of keys attached to his belt.

Having worked himself up to a fury, Kim's voice was tremulous. “I know you all are busy, but you certainly don't look busy at the moment. I've been waiting here for two and a half hours with my daughter. As a professional man myself, my time could be spent in much more valuable ways.”

“Excuse me, sir,” the security man said. He took hold of Kim's arm.

Kim yanked his arm free and spun around on the man. “Don't you touch me,” Kim snarled. The security man wisely stepped back while he grappled for his two-way radio. Kim was not only a half a foot taller but also significantly more muscled.

“No need to contact anyone,” Kim said. He pulled out his hospital ID and held it up to the security man's face. “I'm on the staff here, even though no one here in the emergency department seems willing to concede it.”

The security man's eyes narrowed as he read Kim's ID card. “Sorry, Doctor,” he said.

“That's quite all right,” Kim said with a controlled voice. He turned back to the desk. Monica Hoskins had stepped forward.

“I'd like to talk with Dr. David Washington,” Kim said.

“I'm sorry you've had to wait,” Monica said. “We're doing the best we can.”

“Nonetheless I'd like to speak to the acting head of the department,” Kim said.

“Dr. Washington is tied up with a pneumothorax,” Molly explained.

“I want to see him now,” Kim said evenly. “I'm sure there must be at least one resident competent to handle a pneumothorax.”

“Just a moment,” Monica said. She stepped back, and
out of earshot from Kim, conferred with Molly and several of the other staff. In less than a minute, she returned to Kim. In the background one of the nurses she'd been talking with picked up a phone.

“We'll have someone here in authority to talk with you momentarily,” Monica said.

“It's about time,” Kim remarked.

Kim's mini-tantrum had unnerved the staff and most of them vacated the nurses' desk for the interior of the ER. Monica took the in-and-out basket Kim had bent and tried to bend it back. She was unsuccessful.

Kim's pulse was racing. A sudden commotion behind him made him turn around. A teenage girl was being escorted by a vanguard of EMT's. She was sobbing. Both wrists were bound with bloody dishtowels: a clear suicide attempt, no doubt in this young woman's case a desperate cry for help.

Kim looked expectantly into the ER depths after the teenager was taken in. He expected to see the doctor-in-charge appear at any moment. Instead he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Turning around, he was surprised to see Tracy.

“Where's Becky?” Kim asked.

“In the restroom,” Tracy answered. “It's a routine visit this time, but I have to get right back. I just came in here to beg you not to have one of your narcissistic rages. When you stood up in the waiting room to come in here, I didn't think I cared whether you got into a furor or not, but I do. I'm convinced it won't improve an already bad situation. In fact it might cause Becky to have to wait even longer.”

“Spare me your psychobabble,” Kim spat. “All I'm planning on is a sane but pointed conversation with the man who runs this place. I mean, this is unacceptable. Plain and simple.”

“Just try to control yourself,” Tracy said icily. “When you're done, you'll know where to find us.” Tracy turned around and walked back toward the waiting room.

Kim drummed his fingers impatiently on the counter. After a while he looked at his watch. Another five minutes had passed. Once again he leaned out into the corridor to peer back into the ER depths. He saw plenty of staff but no one came striding in his direction. Kim's eyes met the clerk's who immediately averted his gaze. The rest of the ER staff avoided looking at Kim, instead busying themselves with paperwork.

A muffled bell sounded to herald the arrival of an elevator. Kim looked over to see a hefty man dressed in a conservative gray business suit disembark. To Kim's surprise, he came directly up to him.

“Dr. Reggis?” the man inquired. His voice was robust and commanding.

“I'm Dr. Reggis,” Kim agreed.

“I'm Barclay Bradford,” the man said stiffly. “I'm a vice president of the hospital and the acting chief administrator for the evening shift.”

“How convenient,” Kim said. “What I'd advise you to do is to go back into the ER, locate the asshole acting head of the department, and drag him out here. He and I have something to talk about. You see, I've been waiting for two and a half hours to have my daughter seen.”

“Dr. Reggis,” Barclay began as if Kim had not even spoken. “As a member of our professional staff, particularly a surgeon, you of all people know that triage is necessary in a busy ER. Life-threatening problems have to take precedence over simple juvenile diarrhea.”

“Of course I understand triage,” Kim shot back. “I've worked in ER's all through my training. But let me tell you something. When I walked in here ten minutes ago,
there had to be a dozen ER staff hanging out behind this counter drinking coffee and chitchatting.”

“Appearances never tell the whole story,” Barclay commented condescendingly. He fluttered his eyelids. “They were probably conferring with each other over particularly difficult cases. But regardless, your childish behavior of pounding a letter box on a countertop cannot be tolerated. It's entirely inappropriate for you to demand special treatment.”

“Special treatment!” Kim sputtered. “Childish behavior!” His face reddened and his eyes bulged. The administrator in front of him suddenly embodied his frustrations about the present emergency-room experience, the hospital merger, AmeriCare, and modern medicine in general. With a sudden fit of fury and losing all semblance of control, Kim struck the administrator with a lightning blow to the chin.

Kim shook his hand and clasped it with his other in response to the sudden pain in his knuckle. At the same time, Barclay rocked back on his heels, teetered, then fell heavily to the floor. Kim was stunned by his violent reaction. Taking a step forward, he looked down at Barclay and felt an impulse to help the man up.

A collective gasp arose from the staff behind the desk. The security guard came running. The clerk grabbed the intercom to announce: “Mayday at the nurses' desk.”

From the depths of the ER, residents, nurses, and orderlies came streaming out. Even Tracy appeared after hearing the announcement. A crowd gathered around Kim and Barclay. The hospital VP had pushed himself up to a sitting position. He touched a hand to his lip. It was bleeding.

“Damn it, Kim!” Tracy said. “I warned you!”

“This is totally unacceptable,” Monica said. She turned to the clerk. “Call the police!”

“Hold up, don't call anybody!” a deep, resonant voice called. The crowd parted. A powerfully built, handsome African-American man appeared. He snapped latex gloves from his hands as he walked into the center of the ring. The name tag pinned to his scrub top read:
DR
.
DAVID WASHINGTON
,
ACTING CHIEF EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT
. His eyes went from Kim down to Barclay. “What's going on here?”

“Mr. Bradford was just struck by this man,” Monica said, pointing at Kim. “And that was after he destroyed a letter box by bashing it against the counter.”

“Believe it or not, he's a doctor on the hospital staff,” Molly added.

David put out a hand and got Barclay to his feet. David glanced at the man's split lip and palpated along the line of his jaw.

“Are you all right?” David asked the administrator.

“I think so,” Barclay said. He got out a handkerchief and dabbed at his bloodied lip.

David turned to Monica. “Take Mr. Bradford back and get him cleaned up. And have Dr. Krugger take a look at him to see if we should get an X-ray.”

“Sure,” Monica said. She grasped Barclay's arm above the elbow to guide him through the crowd. Barclay glared at Kim before allowing himself to be led away.

“Everyone else, back to work,” David said, with a wave of his hand. Then he turned to Kim, who'd recovered his senses.

“What is your name?” David asked.

“Dr. Kim Reggis.”

“Did you really hit Mr. Bradford?” David asked incredulously.

“I'm afraid so,” Kim said.

“What on earth could have provoked you?” David asked.