Читать книгу Endings - Barbara Bergin - Страница 10

The phone rang at eight o’clock sharp as planned. Leslie answered it after the first ring. She was instantly wide awake. Answering the phone quickly was a habit. Calls at night were usually emergencies and required thoughtful attention. She always felt that she had to sound as if she were not asleep when she answered. Responding quickly made it seem as if she were sitting by the phone, waiting for the call. And extra rings usually woke up everyone in the house, even though it didn’t matter now.

“Hello.” Expectant voice, with only a touch of morning scratchiness.

“Dr. Cohen?”

“Yes.” Now the voice was tested, and adjustments made to erase all remnants of sleep.

“Hey, Terryl Wells here. We weren’t sure you were going to make it in last night, with the rain and all! Did you have a good trip over from Louisiana?”

“Do you want to know the truth or would just a ‘yeah, no problems,’ do?”

“Wait a minute, you weren’t by any chance involved in that truck and trailer deal out on thirty-six last night, were you?”

“Okay, so you want the truth. How did you know about it?”

“Well, the emergency room folks got a whiff of it through EMS, even though nothing materialized, in terms of, you know, ER admits. This is a small community and word gets around. Man, I can’t believe it was you. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you what. Aren’t we supposed to get together today to go over things at the hospital?”

“We are.”

“So, why don’t we talk about it over coffee?”

“Sure, sure, sorry. How much time you need?”

“Give me forty-five minutes. I’ll need a ride.”

“No problem.”

“And actually, we better make it an hour so I can call the rental company and get them started on delivering another car.”

“An hour for a lady to get dressed, after having a wreck and just waking up. Can you talk to my wife?”

“I was already awake.” She lied unnecessarily.

“Uh huh. Well, I tell you what. Why don’t we meet at that restaurant out front of your hotel? It’s pretty good. Good breakfast. That way, if you’re running a little late, I’ll just wait for you.”

“Sounds good. See you in an hour.” She hung up and looked at the clock. 8:10. How did that happen? She overslept. Not that she cared. It’s just that her inner clock always woke her up at about six o’clock in the morning. She must have been tired. Setting an alarm was something she almost never did anymore.

Leslie swung her feet over the side of the bed and it hit her. That delayed soreness after an accident. It’s the same soreness some accident victims can’t ever shake off and just attribute to getting tossed around. Nothing’s broken. It’ll get better. As Leslie stretched, she smiled, thinking about the tendency to call an attorney versus a doctor.

“Bet there’s the phone number of one conveniently located on the shiny back page of my telephone book.” It was the universal back page of every phone book, in almost any community she’d been to. “What the hell do they do in places where they don’t have trial lawyers? Go to a doctor? Hey, that’s a good idea. How about just wait and see if it gets better on its own.”

She picked up the phone book to look up the local rental car agency. Couldn’t resist the urge to confirm her theory. Sure enough. If a town can support an orthopedic surgeon, it can support a trial lawyer. Ed Sayers. Specializing in negligence of all sorts. Nursing homes, accidents, medical, workman’s comp.

Thumbing from back to front, auto sales, repair, rentals. Hertz. Out of the Abilene Regional Airport. She called the number and made arrangements for a new Taurus to be delivered. Gave them the information on the accident. No big deal. Too easy. She remembered that guy’s comment. “Let the insurance companies handle it.”

She got up and headed to the bathroom. Only had thirty minutes. No time to spare. She got in the shower letting the warm water hit her very sore traps and neck. The ankle was swollen. There was a little bruising along the outside. Maybe she would try to find a brace today. That shouldn’t be a problem. Being an orthopedic surgeon was handy.

Shower, shave. Towel dry her hair, massage in the anti-frizz product du jour, get dressed and go. Life with curly hair meant a never ending search for the right products and stay the hell away from blow dryers. She put on some basic black wool pants, a pullover sweater, practical shoes. Ready to go meet the Taylor County Regional Hospital administrator for breakfast at the twice recommended restaurant out front of the hotel. Does it even have a name? She walked through the door, looking at her watch. Only two minutes late, thank you very much, she thought to herself.

Terryl was four minutes early and was already working on the first of four cups of coffee, served in the little brown crock coffee cups typical of just about all country restaurants. If you could call a restaurant out front of a brand new Holiday Inn Express in Abilene, Texas, a country restaurant. He stood up and yelled to her across the dining room.

“Dr. Cohen, over here!” Just about everyone in the place turned to look at her. She was embarrassed. She didn’t like to call attention to her degree in public. People have preconceived notions regarding doctors, good or bad, and she preferred anonymity. Still, in places like Abilene, people generally respected and liked doctors. As she walked between the tables toward Mr. Wells, people smiled, tilted their heads in greeting. One old fellow touched his index finger knuckle to his ball cap bill, a salute, in his day, to the noble profession. Most likely, a doctor had saved the life of someone dear to him. Just the administration of penicillin, perhaps, no more.

“Hey, you weren’t kidding when you said you’d be ready in an hour! Terryl Wells, doc, nice to meet ya.”

“Same here.”

“You hungry?” He looked across the restaurant and signaled a waitress before Leslie had a chance to respond. A young woman came over to the table.

“Coffee, ma’am?” Now that was the second time she had been called ma’am on this assignment. She was going to have to get used to it all over again.

“Please.” There was already a little stainless steel pot of cream on the table and a box of blue and pink stuff. She was set, breakfast or no. Terryl was drinking his black and he watched her fix hers. Tons of half and half along with one blue and one pink.

“Whoa doc, have a little coffee with your cream. Okay, so tell me about this accident. Are you all right? Do you need to have a consultation with Doc Hawley before he goes under the knife?” Terryl laughed at his own joke. “Now, wouldn’t that be rich? You come here to take over his practice while he has his cancer surgery, but instead you have an accident and he has to take care of you!”

“You don’t know how close it came to being just that.” She told him the details of the accident.

“Did you wreck into a local?”

“Yes. Some guy named Regan Wakeman.”

“You’re kidding! Regan Wakeman? Big guy? Terryl held his hand about four inches above his head. “Taller than me?”

“You know him?”

“Sure, everyone around here knows Regan. Comes from an old Abilene family. Went to school here. Abilene Christian College. Played high school ball, you know, just a guy everyone knows. Good guy. Has a place about ten, fifteen miles south of here. Runs a big construction company. Can’t believe you had a wreck with him. Well anyway, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks. So what’s the deal with Doctor Hawley? The agency didn’t give me much detail. They just tell me when and where to show up for the most part. Usually it’s just a week or so, while someone takes a vacation or something.”

“Well, this is a little different. Doc Hawley, and that’s what everyone around here calls him, just so you know. Anyway, Doc’s come down with some kind of colon cancer. Okay, now he’s taking it real good. Keeps practicing, because it’s what he does. His patients just will not let him quit, and he’s not about to quit. Hawley’s like Wakeman. Born and raised here. Went to as much school as he could in Abilene, and then took off to medical school and residency. Came back after he was done and set up his practice. He’s real popular. His practice is huge. There’s other guys in town, but he’s definitely numero uno. He’s got a couple of nurses that work with him,” Terryl turned his palms up and shrugged his shoulders, “but they can’t take over his practice while he’s out.”

“Does he have partners?”

“Nope. He’s pretty much a loner. Doesn’t even share call with the other guys in town.”

“Really.” Not in the tone of a question or doubt, just amazement that a busy orthopod could do it on his own. Never having a weekend off. Even when she had two partners, every third night on call had been rigorous.

Doc Hawley had been practicing for about twenty-five years, getting locum tenens doctors like Leslie, to cover him for extended vacations and asking the local guys to cover him for shorter periods of time. He got along well with his peers in town and they respected him. There was plenty of business to go around. No one felt threatened by his success because they were all eating too. He just didn’t want to deal with partners and their needs. His wife ran his business and did a good job of it, according to Wells. While Doc was out, she was going to keep things going from that end.

He had a general orthopedic practice, as did most of the surgeons in Abilene. There weren’t a lot of specialists in this community. He did a smattering of sports medicine, knee scopes, anterior cruciate reconstructions and so on. He did the bulk of total knee and hip replacements in town. All the athletes he took care of in the beginning were now coming back to him to get their joints replaced, bringing their wives and children with them. These were the signs of a long standing referral base which also included his extended family and all the people who called themselves his friends. He worked long hours and weekends. If you wanted to see Doc Hawley, you could. Once his son went off to school, there was nothing to keep him and Brenda from working hard. He did back surgery and trauma, two things a lot of guys just didn’t want to do. Too much risk of being sued. No one ever sued Doc Hawley. Probably wouldn’t unless they were planning on leaving town. Doc Hawley was an old fashioned “saw bones.” Definitely a dying breed. Leslie pictured a gracefully graying, elegant man in a seersucker suit.

“So Brenda talked Doc into getting his first colonoscopy a few years ago and they found some polyps or something like that. He was supposed to get a follow-up regularly but put it off. Then the next go around they found the cancer. Now he’s got to have surgery and chemo. You know better than me.” She didn’t. Not her line of work, but nodded her head in the affirmative. “He wants to get back to work ASAP, but they’re saying at least two to four weeks, and even then, who knows? I guess we’ve got you on line for a month or so.

“Right.”

It didn’t really matter to her one way or the other. Some places she went for a weekend, some for a week, depending on the circumstances. There were still a number of guys out there trying to hang on to solo practices. When they went on vacation, they needed someone to cover them. There were some guys in small communities who just couldn’t get partners or other orthopedists to take care of their patients while they were out. More recently, there was a growing need for orthopedic surgeons to cover emergency room call in larger cities where the local docs couldn’t tolerate the load on their practices or just didn’t want the liability. The hospitals were forced to try to recruit surgeons to come build a practice in their community, basically paying them to use the hospital and cover call in the ER. When that failed, hire a locum tenens doc. Agencies had developed to provide these doctors. It worked for Leslie. No commitments. No extended stays. No relationships.

This assignment was a little different. A month was a long time for her. Can’t let things get too complicated. This was enough time to get complicated if she wasn’t careful. Get to know people and they ask you for email addresses. They want something from you. They want to give you something. Extended weekend assignments were the best.

“So basically you’ll be taking over his practice and let me tell you Ozzy Osbourne could be taking over his practice and the patients would go for it. Whatever is good with Doc Hawley is good with them. Occasionally some will see the other orthopods in town, but not many. It never makes a dent in his business.”

“But he’s never been out like this before.”

“Sure, but nobody’s gonna leave him now, not with the cancer and all. Besides Brenda is still there and she’s part of the deal. Knows all his patients. Probably could treat them herself if it were legal. Doc’s plan is to come to the office whenever he can, even if it’s just to sit around.”

“That’ll be interesting.”

“Well, that’s pretty much it in a nutshell. Probably more than you want to know, but it’s kind of an odd case. You probably thought someone was just going on an African safari or something.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Leslie signaled the waitress for a refill on her coffee.

“So what’s the schedule?”

“Okay, so Doc is doing cases this week and trust me, they’re lining up like there’s no tomorrow. And they know you’ll be following them, taking out their stitches and stuff. He’s going to spend the rest of this week getting you up to speed and then next Monday, he’s having his own surgery in Lubbock.”

“Surely there are guys here in town that can do his surgery.”

“Yea, but Doc doesn’t want anyone here messing with his hind end business.” Terryl nodded his head up and down. “So, then you’re on your own.”

She laughed, thinking about Doc Hawley’s hind end business, but also remembering YOYO, you’re-on-your-own. When she was a resident, one of her chief residents would say YOYO when walking out of a difficult patient’s room. That was followed by the development of a litany of acronyms such as AMF (adios mother fucker), saved for only the most egregious of patients, and BYE, which simply meant – bye. That kind of irreverent disrespect was left behind in residency, where sick humor was sometimes the only way to make the hard work tolerable. Of course, no patient was ever witness to these outbursts. A good laugh went a long way in the middle of the night. And what better source of sick humor than the human condition. She hadn’t thought of YOYO in a long time.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny, but it’s typical Doc Hawley. So after he recovers in Lubbock he’ll be back to help you out, even if just in spirit. I think you’ll be fine and probably enjoy it. Doc’s got a great staff. Efficient, nice to patients, they know all the rules, and they’ll do all the coding and paperwork for you.”

“Nice.” Coding and paperwork she could definitely do without.

They ordered. She got a western omelet, the edges of which were slightly crispy. It came with grits and salsa, two biscuits. They talked about hospital policies, the status of her hospital privileges, orthopedic emergency room call. She put real butter on a biscuit. It melted in her mouth. Terryl Wells’ southern accent and affability were appealing. He finally finished his fourth cup of coffee, she, her second, and they were ready to go.

“Are you ready to go tour the hospital, or do you want to wait until tomorrow? Doc is operating all day today. I wanted you to get a chance to meet him before we get together tonight, but if you’ve got stuff to do…”

“I really need to get this accident stuff in order. I’ve got to contact my insurance company and wait for my new rental. It should be here this afternoon.”

“Why don’t you call me after you get all that taken care of and we’ll go see if we can catch up with Doc.” He handed her his card. She saw he was the GEO of the hospital. In a place like this, he might do just about everything there was to do at the Taylor County Regional Hospital. Hiring, firing, coordinating peer review and making sure there was toilet paper stocked in the restrooms.

“Then I guess tonight Brenda’s invited you to dinner, if you feel up to going. My wife, Selma, and I will be coming. Brenda can coo-ook.” A two syllable word meant it must be good. “You know, in all the time I’ve been here, they’ve never sent us a female locums. Ought to be interesting.”

She thought of a female locums. She wondered if it had eight legs and an exoskeleton, and a pussy. Shi-it.

“Okay, I’ll call you. Then you can tell me where to meet you.” They shook hands. Terryl paid the bill and she walked back to the hotel.

Behind the desk was a tiny Indian woman wearing a bright pink, Americanized version of the sari. Kala.

“Good morning, Dr. Cohen. Was everything good in your room last night?”

“Just fine thank you…Kala?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Kala, I’m expecting delivery of a rental car this afternoon. I’ll be in my room if they call.”

“Very good, thank you.”

Leslie finished her calls regarding the accident. There were no surprises. Apparently her account of the accident was in line with Regan’s story and so there were no glitches. No need for further investigation. No tickets given. She had always wondered if the extra insurance she signed up for every other time would really pay off and indeed it had. Her agent said she was totally covered and thanked her for it. Leslie thought, so now you know.

The new rental, a light blue Ford Taurus, was delivered that afternoon and she was in business. She did not like accepting rides from people. Too much time for talking without distractions. No way to leave. She didn’t like to depend on people. Leslie scanned the outside of the Taurus, then signed the form that said everything was okay and the car had a full tank of gas. She always rented the basic mid-sized car, usually a Taurus. She found that any other car was associated with some kind of preconceived notion about her personality, whether it be sporty, well-to-do or family plan depending on if she rented SUVs, foreign cars or vans. Renting a Taurus was neutral, no preconceptions. Just a rented car. No Jaguars or Hummers even when there was a promotional rental price on them. She didn’t want people to know she had lots of money.

Leslie had a successful orthopedic practice in New York prior to the accident. Chris had stock options from his company and a large pension. They owned a big house in New Paltz and a desirable bungalow on the coast in Maine. After the accident, she made her plans and sold everything. Even had an estate sale at the house and all their things were sold off to strangers and antique dealers. Anything that didn’t sell was given to the Salvation Army. She kept her rings and the two little silver boxes containing her children’s first cut locks of hair. She put all her photo albums, film, letters and mementos in a temperature controlled storage unit on the outskirts of New Paltz. She left town. An automatic draw from her bank paid for the storage forever, or at least for the rest of her life. After that, who cared?

Then there was the life insurance policy. Something she never thought about receiving. The policies were supposed to be for the kids, not for themselves. There was a lot of money. She wouldn’t have to work another day in her life if she didn’t want to. But a life of leisure was not for Leslie. She was trying to decide between joining the armed services or some volunteer organization like Doctors Without Walls or the Peace Corps, when the idea of locum tenens work came up and she realized that in doing temporary work she could live anonymously and never again establish roots.

Leslie found an agency and went to work. They kept her very busy. Locum tenens docs were in big demand. She went from one job to another, flying or driving, depending on the accessibility of each location to an airport and the amount of time between jobs. She stayed in the local hotels with inside corridors and rented mid-sized cars. She stocked the mini-fridge with Diet A & W root beer, yogurt and baby carrots. She did her job, got paid, moved on. There was always work, and in fact Dr. Cohen was in big demand. She may have made more than she had as a physician in private practice and there were less hassles. Locum tenens work was inconsistent with a normal family life. The people who did it were usually single or retired and didn’t have kids to look after. There were also guys out there who just couldn’t handle working in a practice with all the relationships and commitments that came along with it. Locums work was ideal for that sort.

Leslie fit in there somewhere. She was single and couldn’t handle private practice any more. She sent letters to all her patients. She turned her practice over to her partners after she had, for the most part, finished caring for all of her post-operative patients. That had taken about four months.

The whole process of divesting herself of everything she and Chris had taken fifteen years to build took all of about six months. Done. She left the storage room and the five urns containing the ashes of her mom and dad, Chris, Victor and Vivian Cohen in a New Paltz mausoleum. Then she headed off to her first assignment in Bolivar, Missouri where a local orthopod needed a well deserved vacation with his family after two years of working without a break.