When Straus announced to his “confidence team” that Ward C would be opening again, he had little fear that news would spread.
“Our patient is coming to us from a hospital in Chicago where the doctors there are unable to care for the baby,” Straus started.
“A baby?” Michelle Pettingall, Straus’s favorite nurse to look at asked. “Ward C isn’t set up to care for an infant. Wouldn’t the patient be better cared for in the pediatric wing?”
“In most cases, yes, Michelle,” Straus smiled. “But this patient, according to the report I received via telephone, has some very unique healthcare concerns.”
“Something contagious?” asked Jacob Curtis, a psychologist who was better at kissing Straus’s ass than at treating patients.
“Unknown but doubtful.”
“Can you share the ‘unique concerns’ with us?” asked Brian Lucietta. Brian was five years out of medical school and shared Straus’s interest in “alternate means of treatment.”
“Speculation at this point, Brian. What I was told seems too difficult to believe. I think it best that we each examine the patient independently and share our findings as a team.”
“When will the patient arrive?” asked Jacob Curtis.
“Two doctors from Chicago, my old friend Peter Adams and a surgeon named Stanley Mix left Chicago very late last night. I expect them to be here within the hour.”
Straus found no reason to extend the meeting any longer. He had to make sure that Ward C was ready and that his team fully understood how important confidentiality and complete focus to the patient would be.
“We have plenty of things to complete and not much time to do so. Michelle,” he said as he moved as close to her as he felt she would allow. “Have you moved the necessary items to Ward C like I asked?”
“Yes, Doctor Straus. Everything you asked for.”
“Good. And Jacob, did you ensure that the recording and video devices are fully functional in each room?”
“Tested them three times, sir. If a pin drops in any of the rooms, we’ll hear it.”
“Excellent,” Straus said before turning to Brian. “Lastly, has all the lab equipment I requested been reserved and moved to the Ward?”
“Everything,” Brian replied.
“Perfect. Again, I understand that we have some employees here who are more interested in other people’s concerns than they are with their own. That is an unavoidable problem. However, the way they view us is of no concern, at least it shouldn’t be. That being said, I feel compelled to remind each of you that until we know exactly what this patient brings us, that your conversations about this patient are held with the strictest degree of confidentiality. Do I have everyone’s commitment?”
“Yes, Doctor Straus.”
Michelle Pettingall hated her job almost as much as she hated Doctor Straus and his unwelcomed advances, arrogant nature, and the superior attitude he always displayed. Had she the courage or the bank account, she would tell Straus to go “screw himself” right before having a sit-down with a New York State representative to “spill the beans” on what was really going on at Hilburn.
Courage, she had. Money, she didn’t.
Her husband, Kenneth Pettingall, was killed while fighting a fire over three years ago. Michelle thought that since Ken had been a full-fledged firefighter for NYFD that the city would pay her his life insurance and pension. However, after the investigation showed that Ken was not only off-duty when the warehouse fire erupted but also that his blood alcohol level was 1.3, the city needed to make an example out of someone.
“We are very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pettingall, and wish there was something that the city could do. However, rewarding behaviors like those that the report proves your husband was doing, sends a message to every firefighter in the city. We are sorry for your loss.”
For the last three years, Michelle had put up with Straus, the horrible working conditions at Hilburn, and the loneliness of losing the only man she had ever loved. She put up with it all without the support of friends or family. Her parents were divorced when Michelle was seven, and while she maintained somewhat of a relationship with her mother who lived in Maine, her father had drunk himself to death over eight years ago. As for friends, all of those were the wives of other firefighters that were stationed with Ken. When Ken died, so did the friendships.
When Straus dismissed the team, Michelle turned to walk back up the two flights of dusty stairs to Ward C to make sure nothing was missed. She was no more than ten steps away when she heard Straus call her name.
“It will certainly be nice working so closely with you, Michelle. It will certainly be nice.”
She turned and only offered the briefest of smiles before hurrying her pace towards the assumed security of the stairwell.
“Bastard,” she whispered, being sure that no one could hear, but then double-checking over her shoulder to be absolutely certain that Straus hadn’t heard her whisper.
Straus was still standing in the hallway, admiring the view of her backside as she was walking away from him. Still standing there with a smug smile of ignorant expectation when she reached the stairs.
“Bastard,” she said again, in an even quieter whisper.
Ward C wasn’t a ward at all, at least not in the typical sense. The ward was comprised of only four rooms and a bathroom. The most important room was called “the hub.” It was a semi-circular room with two-way mirrors affording the room’s occupant a clear and private view into the three adjoining rooms. To the east was a small, 15 by 15 foot bedroom. The room was sparsely furnished, and nothing hung from the walls. The only furniture in the room was a 1950’s style baby crib, three fold-up metal chairs, a small, well-worn coffee table, and a large cabinet filled with medical supplies.
To the north, the hub looked into a dimly lit room, much longer than wider, that contained one long, white table. On the table were strewn several notebooks, empty blood vials, several syringes – some in and some outside of their packaging, a coffee pot in dire need of cleaning, and three microscopes. Towards the far end of the room, a small, squared off area contained the only restroom in Ward C.
The room that could be seen when looking westward from the hub was a well-lighted lounge. The couch, four reclining chairs, and solid oak end and coffee tables seemed out of place for an institution struggling to get sufficient funds to improve patient care. This was the only room of the four that was carpeted, clean, and comfortable.