The wooden floor was freezing as I inched around in the dark for my slippers. Not wanting to waken Marcia further I waited until I got downstairs to put on a light. I peered out the window framing the front door and identified the intruder as a hospital colleague. I unlocked the door and motioned him in. “Charlie, what’s the matter?”
“The matter? Nothing’s the matter. I was in the neighborhood and I just thought I’d drop by and consult with you about a case I saw today.” (His use of the word “case” instead of something more personal typified his lack of empathy for his patients.)
"How inappropriate was his response," I thought. And that wasn’t all that was inappropriate. His necktie was hanging out of a jacket pocket and his shirt looked as though it hadn’t seen an iron since it was washed. The usual compulsively accurate part in his hair was awry.
"How inappropriate was his response," I thought. And that wasn’t all that was inappropriate. His necktie was hanging out of a jacket pocket and his shirt looked as though it hadn’t seen an iron since it was washed. The usual compulsively accurate part in his hair was awry.
“Charlie, you look awful.”
He once had criticized me for being too confrontative during a patient interview. His expression at this point registered the same disapproval. Apparently I hadn’t given him enough time to compose an answer for his mouth tensed until it finally offered an answer, not the answer, I was certain. “I had a flat tire on my way. When is the last time you changed a tire?” “Not good enough,” I said to myself.
“C’mon in the kitchen while I make us some coffee.”
“C’mon in the kitchen while I make us some coffee.”
“No, thanks. I just changed my mind. I can talk to you tomorrow. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I didn’t realize how late it was.” As he opened the front door he lowered his gaze and said, “Don’t hesitate to tell anyone who asks that I spent time with you tonight.” Not risking any probing from me, he rushed away. I knew that I was being used and was infuriated at the thought.
When I got back in bed, Marcia mumbled, “I heard Charlie’s voice. What did he want?”
“Oh, I think he just lost track of time after changing a tire.” Marcia was asleep before I finished. But for me, sleep was slow in coming. “What a jerk! What a transparent subterfuge he had designed! I wonder what really happened tonight?”
Charlie was about fifty years old, tall and all-American in appearance, married to a D.A.R. They had two sons and three daughters. A family doctor, whom I would rate as a five on a scale of one to ten, he wasn't that smug not to recognize when he needed a consultant. The nurses deprecated his patient management and rapport while nevertheless flirting openly with him and therefore, I assumed, harmlessly. When we were at staff parties, I was uncomfortable with his display of affection for his wife. Marcia had once commented that Charlie’s grip on her while dancing was “problematic.” “So,” I asked myself, “was he with another man’s wife tonight and had to make a hasty retreat from her house? Or were the police after him for a criminal offence?” Already I imagined myself in the witness chair. Fortunately I was asleep before contemplating perjuring myself.
I can’t attest to Charlie having a strong moral character. A couple of years before, there had been a house party for doctors, all-male, that is, except for three very attractive young women who appeared to be “the life of the party.” Within an hour the women were nowhere to be seen but soon after, it became obvious that one after another some of my colleagues were retiring to the upstairs bedrooms. I was flabbergasted and angry to be corralled into such debauchery. I do believe that the hosts' parent were of the philosophy that "boys will be boys." During my hasty departure with two fellow dupes I noted Charlie walking down the stairs, buckling his trousers belt.
Nor was Charlie among the stalwarts whose vote for enforcing professional standards could be taken for granted. He alone had voted against a resolution mandating that a particular staff member undergo an educational program even when dismissal from the staff would have been more appropriate. The interpretation by some was the fear that maybe he's be next.
In the morning I was making rounds on my patients in the Critical Care Unit when the Head Nurse informed me that a surgeon had written a consultation request to me. “Any urgency?” I asked the nurse.
“No. The patient is stable but she does have chest pain, most likely from rib fractures. A fractured femur has already been casted. I’d better check her now.” Perusing her chart moments later, my knees became weak as I read the initial entry by the Emergency Room doctor. “This twenty-eight-year-old woman is a victim of a hit-and-run driver.” I noted the time of arrival, “1:45 AM .” The courtroom scene flashed before my eyes. “Guilty!” With such thoughts could I be an objective doctor for this patient? Apparently I assumed I could. My secret information was irrelevant. And any responsibility would cease once I ruled out internal injuries, in particular, injury to her heart. I subsequently did my best to avoid emotional involvement with the patient, which probably wasn’t noticed by her as she lay under moderate sedation.
Of course the police visited her and, during varying degrees of somnolence, she was questioned for details about the accident. “Can you identify the car? Did you get a look at the driver?” She shook her head from side to side with each question. The police presumably interrogated the attending surgeon but fortunately not a word to me.
On the second day of the patient’s hospitalization Charles walked right past me without so much as a nod. I noted that he also walked past his victim’s room without any sideward glance. "Was there any doubt? A cool character,” I reasoned.
In three days I was able to sign off her case and in another day or two she was discharged with a walking leg cast and a chest binder to diminish the pain from fractured ribs.
I slept fitfully the first couple of nights. What course of action should I take? Didn’t I have a responsibility to report my suspicions? Wasn’t it almost as though I had witnessed the accident? Finally on day three during lunchtime, I called Charlie and asked if we could meet in the hospital parking lot. “Sure. What’s up?” He didn’t sound defensive.
As soon as he got into my car, I lashed out. “What went on the other night?”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, Charlie. You came to my house soon after the hit-and-run woman was admitted and you looked like hell. Were you or were you not the driver? ‘Cause I have to decide … .”
Charlie stopped me with boisterous laughter. “Boy, have you got it all wrong? My favorite square doctor and so naïve. I thought my reason for barging in at your home was pretty obvious but now you accuse me of being a criminal? Shame on you.”
“So, set me straight.”
“Well, you know this gorgeous blond nightshift nurse … .”
“Well, you know this gorgeous blond nightshift nurse … .”
“Spare me her identity.”
“We were going at it in the linen closet, fortunately with the lights out, when in came a janitor. He heard a flurry of our repairs and backed out. So, what’s the problem? My wife has had me on a sort of probation. If she got wind of the incident, I’m out on the street. When I got home that night and she asked, ‘Where were you?’ it was easy. ‘Oh, I was at Dave Chamovitz’s house reviewing a couple of patient records that had been pulled by the Quality Care Committee’.”
“But maybe you hit the woman as you sped from the hospital.”
“On my word, Dave. You have reason to think I’m a scoundrel but I would never do that. If you don’t believe me, I’m willing to have my car checked by the police.”
“Suit yourself, Charlie but I guess I buy your story.”
The next day the police found the guilty youngster who had been driving without a license. I immediately called Charlie. The maid answered and said that he and his wife had just left for a cruise in the Bahamas
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