The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [27]
“Dr. Huttner, what the hell is going on here?” Thomas lashed out. “You told me there would be no more tubes and I get here to find a red rubber hose coming out of my wife’s nose attached to some goddamn machine.”
“Now, Professor Thomas, just calm down for a minute,” Huttner said evenly. “I tried to call you last night to let you know what was going on, but there was no answer. Let’s go down to the visitors’ lounge, and I’ll be happy to go over the whole thing with you.”
Thomas was not a bit mollified. “No, we’ll have this whole business out here and now with these people as witnesses.” He gestured at the gallery. “I came to you with Charlotte because our family doctor told us you were the best. To me the best meant not only that you would be the best in the operating room, but that you would be the best at treating my wife—as a human being, not just as some unfeeling piece of … of carrion.”
The intensity and pain in Peter Thomas’s voice was startling. Behind the nurses’ station, Christine Beall cautiously turned her head toward Janet Poulos, the evening nursing supervisor. Poulos met her gaze impassively, then responded with an almost imperceptible nod. She was a slender woman, a decade older than Christine. Her coal-black hair was coiled in a tight bun, accentuating her narrow features and dark, feline eyes. A thin scar paralleling her nose gave even her warmest smile a slight sneer and undoubtedly contributed to her reputation among the nursing staff as being uncompromising and humorless.
Christine saw her in a far different light, for it was Janet who had supervised her initiation into The Sisterhood of Life. The secrecy of the movement was such that Janet remained the only Sisterhood member whom she knew by name and face. The nod acknowledged that Poulos, too, was assessing the drama unfolding before them.
“All right, Professor,” Huttner said, a thin edge appearing in his voice. “If it is what you wish, we shall discuss matters right here. Do you have more to say or do you want to know exactly what is happening with Charlotte?”
“Go on,” Thomas said, relaxing his fists and leaning one elbow on the high counter in front of a totally bewildered ward secretary.
With the condescending patience of one who has learned that sooner or later he will carry the day, Huttner systematically reviewed the developments that had led to his decision to insert an intestinal drainage tube in Charlotte Thomas. Then, more gently, he said, “It may not be obvious to you right now, but I believe that our treatments are starting to take hold. Charlotte could turn the corner any time now.”
Peter Thomas looked down and retreated half a step. At that moment it seemed to David as if Huttner had, in fact, won the man over. Then, as though in slow motion, Thomas brought his head up, shaking it back and forth as he spoke. “Dr. Huttner, I believe my wife is dying. I believe it and I even accept it. I also believe that because of what you call treatment, she is dying by inches, without so much as a flicker of dignity. I want those tubes pulled out.”
Behind the counter, a nurse whispered something to the woman next to her. Huttner silenced her with a look that could have frozen a volcano.
With an instantaneous, almost theatrical change in expression, he turned back, smiling calmly, to Peter Thomas. “Professor, please know that I understand how you’re feeling, I really do,” he reasoned. “But you must understand my position and my responsibility in this thing. We talked about it when you first brought Charlotte into my office, and you agreed that I was to be in complete charge. I offered to arrange for a second opinion, but you felt back then that none was necessary. Now here you are questioning my judgment. I’ll tell you what. We have a built-in second opinion right here.” Huttner motioned David over. “This is Dr. Shelton. He’s an excellent young surgeon who was chief resident in surgery at White Memorial. We’ve just examined Charlotte in great detail because Dr. Shelton will be covering my patients for the next few days. David, this is Peter