After the mannequin demonstration, there had been a short question-and-answer session run by the individual responsible for the medical student tour. Lynn had asked why families chose to have their loved ones at the Shapiro in the face of such limited visitation. The answer had been simple. It was because the Shapiro’s record of keeping such patients alive was far superior to any other hospital or clinic. The tour guide had gone on to say that in most institutions, up to 40 percent of patients who were comatose from a variety of causes were dead in the first year, whereas the Shapiro had lost no patients in the first year of operation and had lost only twenty-two patients total after six years.
Lynn remembered that Michael had also posed a question, because the mannequin used in the demonstration was outfitted with what looked very much like a football helmet. As a college player himself, Michael was curious. The answer had been that the helmet was a breakthrough technology developed specifically for the Shapiro Institute and that all their patients were equipped with them. It was described as a wireless unit that monitored brain activity in real time and, more important, was also capable of stimulating portions of the brain.
Now, as Lynn approached the hospital elevators, her panic peaked with all these thoughts swirling in her head. She had to do something. She could not allow Carl to be stashed away in such a callous place with contact with her denied. All at once she impulsively decided, no matter what, she would visit him, and not in the restricted-visitation room, staring at him through a plate-glass window. If Carl was to be transferred, she would figure out a way to see him up close and personal. She would need to know exactly what was happening to him and exactly how he was being cared for. She didn’t know how she would manage it, but she would do it.
28.
Tuesday, April 7, 4:45 P.M.
Geez!” Michael complained. “You scared the hell out of me.” Lynn had come up behind him out of his line of sight in the waiting area of the ophthalmology clinic and without warning roughly yanked him out of earshot of the waiting patients. At the time he had been standing off to the side, busily texting her to find out exactly where she wanted to meet up.
“Carl is going to be transferred to the Shapiro,” Lynn blurted out in a forced whisper. The possibility had devolved to a reality in her mind.
“Okay, okay,” Michael soothed. He could immediately appreciate her panic.
“You know what kind of place that is,” Lynn pleaded. Now that she was talking with Michael, the emotion that she had held in check with Erikson threatened to take over.
A quick glance told Michael that a number of patients, who were still waiting to be seen, were taking notice of a young black man talking to a young, distressed white woman. Southern eyebrows of both whites and blacks rose.
“Come with me!” Michael said in a voice that did not brook dissent. He took Lynn by the arm and quickly led her back to an empty exam room and away from prying eyes. Since the clinic was almost over, there were lots of such rooms available. He shut the door.
“You gotta be easy, girl,” he urged. He put his hands on Lynn’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “You know what I’m saying? You can’t jump the couch now. We got a meeting to go to where we need to be on our game. I don’t know why the dean wants to see us but it sure ain’t to pat us on the back.”
“But...” Lynn started.
“No buts! Pull yourself together. After the meeting we’ll hash out this Shapiro business. But now we gotta get our shit together and be cool.”
“You’re right,” Lynn said, wiping her eyes with a knuckle. “You’re always right, you bastard.”
“Now, that sounds like the Lynn I know. Listen! We gotta have some sort of a plan.”
“What do you think she is going to say to us?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Chances are she heard from our new buddy, Benton Rhodes, and knows that we talked to Sandra Wykoff about the Vandermeer case. That’s at a minimum. It stands to reason, considering the time frame.”
“Do you think she is going to accuse us of a HIPAA violation?”
“I hope not, at least not yet. That’s why we need a way to explain how we heard the details about Carl’s anesthesia disaster.”
Lynn nodded. She knew Michael was right and was thankful he was being levelheaded, even if she wasn’t. There had to be a way for them to have heard of the details without violating HIPAA. Obviously the anesthesia ruse wouldn’t hold water with the dean. From the text both of them had received, it was obvious she knew they were on the fourth-year specialties rotation and not taking an anesthesia elective.
“Does the dean know you and Carl were an item?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Lynn said. “I suppose it’s possible, since the dean of students certainly knew.”
“Yeah, but they are such different people. The dean of students is so personable and the dean of the school is so aloof and detached. It’s like they’re from different planets.”
“I have an idea,” Lynn said suddenly. “I could just say that one of the neurology residents told me about the case to show me the doll’s eye reflex. It’s not a lie, just not the whole story. But it rings true. I mean, this is a teaching hospital.”
“That’s a little weak,” Michael said. “Especially if she knows you and Carl were tight. It also begs the question of why you were talking to a neurology resident. But no matter. At least it’s a plan the dean might buy.” He looked at his watch. “The reality is we’re running out of time. This is not the kind of a meeting we should be late to. You got your act together?”
“I think so,” Lynn said. She took a tissue from a dispenser on the exam room countertop and blew her nose. “Let’s get it over with.”
The two students quickly used the connector to get into the main hospital building. The administration offices, including the dean’s offices, were on the first floor. As quickly as they could navigate the crowded main hallway, they entered the administration area through a door with a cut-glass insert. The atmosphere changed abruptly. It was serene, with a carpeted floor and framed original oil paintings on the walls. They passed the hospital administration offices and arrived in the academic area. Here the furnishings were not quite so opulent.
After giving their names to a staid secretary, they took seats. It was three minutes before five.
“We made it,” Lynn said in a whisper.
They ended up having to wait for a quarter of an hour. They didn’t talk after sitting down. The atmosphere was appropriately funereal to fan their fears. Both Lynn and Michael knew the dean of students well but not the dean of the medical school, whom neither had even met.
Lynn tried to relax as Michael appeared to be, but couldn’t for a variety of reasons, mostly centered around the disturbing idea of Carl’s being transferred to the Shapiro and the uncertainty of what they were facing with Dr. English.
“The dean will see you now,” the secretary finally said, gesturing toward the closed door that led into the office beyond. The two students approached the door, with Lynn slightly in the lead. They shared a glance. Both shrugged. Michael made a fist and pretended to knock in the air. Lynn actually did it. They heard a voice tell them to come in.
In keeping with the general decor in the immediate outer area, Dr. Janet English’s office was attractive but not as over the top as everyone knew the hospital president’s was. There was no mahogany paneling and the artwork was framed prints, not oil paintings. There was a desk and a sitting area for informal meetings. The students approached the desk. There were several chairs, but without being advised otherwise Lynn and Michael remained standing. The dean was finishing signing a stack of papers. After a moment, she looked up. It was obvious from her expression she was annoyed. She didn’t suggest they sit down.