Читать книгу Bad Blood - James Baehler - Страница 9

Dr. Sanjay Madhava was a board-certified anesthesiologist. He was bright, energetic, dedicated and considered to be an excellent anesthesiologist. He was approaching forty years old and was no taller than five foot six. He had a full head of thick black hair, and a cherubic face slightly pockmarked by a childhood case of smallpox. He was sitting at home in the evening watching television when the front door bell rang. Standing there was a middle-aged man. “Are you Dr. Madhava?”

“Yes?”

“This is for you, doctor.” He handed him a paper document and even before the last word was out of his mouth he turned, went to his car parked at the curb and sped away. A process server had just served a subpoena to Dr. Madhava.

Anesthesiologists are frequently involved in malpractice suits, but Dr. Madhava was a rare exception. He had never been sued. When he saw the patient’s name on the suit, along with his co-defendants, Dr. Clifford Harris, and Barrington Community Hospital, he screamed in Hindi. He was surprised and angry. He happened to be on call that night only because he had switched calls with another anesthesiologist who had a wedding to go to. Such is fate. As if the specialty of anesthesiology wasn’t stressful enough, a study done once on doctors during their work found anesthesiologists to have the highest pulse rate.

When he saw the amount on the summons he was stunned. Fifty million dollars! Might as well be a billion he thought. This was forty-nine million more than the individual malpractice coverage his anesthesia group provided for each member. If he lost the suit, he could very well be driven into bankruptcy! Madhava shuddered at the thought and wondered how he would inform his wife of the potential disaster they faced. His hands shaking, he sat down and thought about what to do next. He managed to compose himself after a while with the knowledge that it was now up to his insurance carrier, with his fate in their hands. He would report the lawsuit to his malpractice carrier in the morning. From talking with other doctors who had been sued, he knew what they’d say. ‘Send us the subpoena. You’ll hear from us about your assigned law firm. Make an appointment to see them soon. Don’t talk to anyone including others named in the suit.’ From this moment on, he was to follow implicitly the instructions of the law firm who would be defending his case.

Dr. Harris was in his office. It was three PM and only three postoperative follow up patients remained. It looked as if he would finish in time to have dinner with his wife. That happy thought changed when the same process server showed up in front of the reception desk and asked to see Dr. Harris. The receptionist innocently paged Dr. Harris and when he arrived at the front desk the process server repeated his practiced monologue and handed the legal document to Cliff. The three patients sitting in the waiting room could not help but notice.

Dr. Harris looked at the subpoena, saw the name of the plaintiff, and his shoulders sagged. This would be his first malpractice case. His neighbor, no less. When he noted the amount he shook his head and laughed. He knew he would have to report this to the malpractice carrier. Those instructions were drilled into every doctor. He called immediately and was told that they would get back to him with the law firm that would handle his case and then he should meet with his attorneys. “Don’t say anything to anyone” was the advice they passed on.

When he arrived home he said to his wife, “Laurel, make me a martini, please.”

“You’re kidding,” she said. “What’s the occasion? The only time you have a drink is if we go out to dinner or a party, and God knows that doesn’t happen very often.”

“I’m celebrating an occasion,” he replied in a tone she had not heard before.

“You are? Am I a part of this illustrious event.”

“Only indirectly.”

“Do I get three guesses?”

“Definitely.”

She opened her eyes widely and they sparkled as she said, “You’ve been named chief of surgery.”

“No. Thank God. The last thing I need is to worry about that administrative stuff.”

She put her right index finger on her high cheekbone and she said, “You’re going to go academic instead of this rat race.”

“Nope, anyhow I like this rat race. I’m independent and no one tells me what to do.”

“I see.” She pressed her body into his as she hugged him tightly. Whispering in his ear she said, “You’ve been named Husband of the Year.”

He kissed her ear as he whispered, “You got it.”

“And what did you do to warrant that high honor,” she whispered back.

“I developed a system for continuously pleasing a wife.”

“You deserve the award,” she said.

“A little later on, I may have to do some more research on the subject.”

“Do you have any volunteers?”

“I was hoping to sign you up. I promise a full informed consent.”

“It’s a deal. Let’s have that drink first,” she said. “And if you have any other news will you tell me then?

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When the kids are asleep.”

They had a nice family dinner undisturbed by any calls from the hospital. After the children were in bed he said suddenly, “I received my first malpractice suit.”

The smile on her face turned to a frown and she said, “Some surprise. I bet I can guess who it was”

“You can?”

“Yes. Do I get another three guesses?”

“It’s only fair.”

“I only need one. That bastard, the next door neighbor.”

“You’re right. You amaze me.”

“I thought of that possibility when you told me he died. I don’t have to tell you how much I hated that man. What about the fact that he raped me after I fell asleep when he drove me home after you were called away from the party last year for that ruptured appendix?”

“Or the fact that I beat the hell out of him when I got home that night? Yeah, it crossed my mind too, but it should never really come up in the malpractice suit.”

“God, I hope you’re right.”

“Well, anyhow, he’s not the one doing the suing you know.”

“Funny. How much is she suing for?”

“That’s the good news. It’s only fifty million.”

“Thank God. I thought we were talking serious money here. Do you mean it? You’re not kidding?”

“No, I’m not kidding, but what’s fifty million when you’re married to a rich woman.”

“Very funny. You’re making light of this.”

“Might as well. There’s nothing I can do to change it.”

“Anyone else named?”

“Sanjay and the hospital.”

“I think that you’ve done very well. I don’t know any other surgeons who have gone ten years without a suit.”

“The law of averages has caught up to me, and when it caught up it did it in a big way.”

“Wasn’t it Sanjay who said that it’s a part of doing business.”

“You’ve got a good memory.”

“Yes I do and I’ve got a good idea too,” she said flirtatiously.

“What.”

“Well, as long as I’ve been recruited for your medical research why don’t we get on with it. Let’s go to bed.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You’ve got too much on your mind. I think I’ll make you forget.”

As it turned out that was the perfect way to forget a malpractice suit and he so told his wife, but the reality is he would have to live with it until some decision was made and there would be constant reminders of it on a daily basis. Dr. Harris went back to work as if nothing had happened, but he felt that he now reached a certain milestone in medicine, a right of passage so to speak. There were approximately one thousand malpractice suits filed per month in Cook County alone. So it was the rare physician who would remain exempt.

Three days later Cliff received a call from Williams, Harrelson, and Davis, a large law firm on LaSalle Street in Chicago. He scheduled an appointment. He would have to get some coverage on his schedule with one of the other solo surgeons at the hospital and fortunately there were enough to help in a pinch. They sometimes covered for each other on weekends. The meeting was scheduled at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning and when he arrived he was ushered into the offices of Betty Wu, a fifteen-year veteran of malpractice defense. She was short and slender, with straight black hair, and a look of determination and confidence. Her features were accentuated by just the right amount of makeup. Behind her desk was a picture of two beautiful children, a girl and a boy of estimated age, ten and eight. She greeted him warmly. “Good morning Dr. Harris. Let’s please sit at this table.”

“Sure, Mrs. Wu. Those are your children, I presume.”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled.

“They’re very handsome indeed.”

“Thank you so much. First thing, please start calling me Betty. We’re going to get to know each other quite well so we might as well be on a first name basis.”

“Then I’m Cliff.”

“Good, Cliff. Coffee?”

“Never touch it.”

“Probably a wise move for a surgeon. Tea, juice?”

“Orange juice would be great.”

“So let’s get down to business. I’ve got a copy of the medical record here, and at first read I can say I’m impressed with your documentation and what looks to me like excellent and prompt medical care.”

“I believe it was.”

“We’ll go into some details, but I will want a copy of your curriculum vitae and we’ll give you some forms that you may take home and fill out, and send back to us. Also it will help to have you sit down some day and reconstruct this case from day one in writing, and submit a copy to us.”

“Lots of work I see.”

“To say the least. The best thing you can do for yourself is to try and forget it on a daily basis. We’ll handle all the details. We’ll let you know when we need you. The first contact you’ll have with the plaintiff attorneys is when they depose you. At that point we’ll coach you in great detail. Have you ever been deposed?”

“No.”

“Has there ever been a malpractice suit filed against you”

“Never.”

“Okay.” Attorney Wu was taking notes on a legal pad as they spoke. “You know it’s important not to discuss this case with anyone.”

“So I’ve heard. Why is that?”

“Well for one thing, the first question you may be asked in a deposition is, have you spoken about this case with anyone? If you answer yes you can count on a grilling, and that person you name may be called to testify. If there is a discrepancy in what you said, it can be used against you, and trust me if there isn’t a discrepancy the plaintiff’s attorney will still manage to make the jury think there is one.”

“I’ve already seen the anesthesiologist named in the suit, and not a word passed between us.”

“Good. What about hospital administration?”

“I’ve not said a word to them, nor them to me.”

“Perfect. You’ll learn that it’s every man for himself. Everyone protects his own turf. All of you have different law firms. You’re our job. We zero in on you while we keep an eye on the other defendants. Another thing, it’s my duty to tell you that since the lawsuit is filed for much more malpractice coverage then you have, you should consider hiring your own lawyer to protect you against the excess. As attorneys hired by your insurance company we can only protect you up to your two million dollar limit.”

“You’re it, Betty. I rise or fall with you. I do well financially, relatively speaking, but in these days of declining physician income and increasing expenses there’s no way I could afford to hire my own attorney without mortgaging my house and my children’s college education.”

“I know Cliff, but I’m duty bound to give you that advice.”

“I understand.”

“Okay. I’d like to get down to some medical details. In the fifteen years that I’ve been doing this kind of work, this is the first time I’ve been involved with a case of DIC. People tell me laughingly that I know more then most doctors, but you forced me to the medical books to read up on it. To say the least, it’s a complicated issue. What amazes me is that you showed what I interpret as real expertise in handling this extremely rare condition.”

“Thank you.”

“As I see it now, the case will hinge on what experts say about your treatment. I suspect I’ll need a hematologist. Do you agree?”

“Yes, as far as the details of the diagnosis and the basic physiology of the coagulation cascade is concerned, and the patho-physiology of DIC, and the use of heparin. If there is an academician who specializes in coagulation problems, that would be a good idea as well. I would also think that an experienced general surgeon would be important to have on my side.”

“You’re right, but don’t think of it in terms of one side or the other. A consultant is supposed to review the case, and speak only to its medical merits with no consideration to the defendant or the plaintiff.”

“I would agree with that, but that’s not what I hear happens with some hired guns.”

“Sad, but true, Cliff. Do you have any suggestions of a hematologist we can use?”

“We have a good hematology group in the hospital where I practice, but I’m wondering if it would be better to go outside to academia and get someone who doesn’t know me.”

“That’s good thinking for one inexperienced in the legal system. Any recommendations?”

“Locally?”

“Preferable.”

Dr. Harris thought for a few seconds and then offered, “Doctor Glen Drossman, chief of hematology at Loyola University. I heard him lecture once on heparin use in surgery.”

“Good, he may be perfect. What about a general surgeon? We’ve used Dr. John Velusi, chief of surgery at Michael Reese.”

“Yes, I know him.”

“How well?”

“I met him once at a surgical conference where he was on a surgical panel. I was introduced to him and we shook hands. I doubt he would even remember me.”

“That’s good. He’s a superb expert witness, passionate about any case he believes in. I’ll get in touch with both of these gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Betty. That gives me a little more confidence.”

“What I’d like to do is send them your records. In the meantime I’ve got more boning up to do on your case and its details. I’ll interview the experts one at a time and then you and I will get together. In that way I’ll be more thoroughly prepared to have a good discussion with you and get your viewpoint and tell you what the experts have to say.”

“That makes sense. I appreciate that.”

“So when I’m ready, I’ll call you and we’ll meet again.”

“Yes, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. Thank you.”

Dr. Harris went down to the lobby of the large high-rise office building. Laurel was there. They had driven down town together, and she had gone shopping while he had his interview.

“How’d it go,” Laurel asked as they walked across the street to the La Salle Pub.

“Good. I had a long talk with the attorney. She seems very experienced and knowledgeable.”

“She?”

“Yeah. Good looking too.”

“Better looking than me?”

“Impossible.”

“I bet you tell that to all the girls.”

They sat down and ordered lunch. Laurel asked, “How are you doing?

“Good, why?”

“Well, since we first heard about this case, and we had that great research project that first evening, you’ve changed. I think reality has set in. You’re different. Quieter. A little withdrawn. Are you worried?”

“It doesn’t leave my mind, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He reached for her hand and grasped it tightly. “If I should lose, we’re bankrupt.”

“You won’t lose,” she said confidently.

“That’s a relief,” Cliff said with a laugh.

With a warm smile, Laurel said, “I won’t let you get jumpy. You need to learn how to relax. We’ll have to do more research.”

“We will? Then I hope I have more malpractice suits if that’s what it takes. You’re one class act, lady. I still can’t get my eyes off you just like when I bumped into you at the U. of I.”

“You can bump into me again any time.”

Cliff and Laurel finished their brunch making jovial small talk, beneath which, lay their unspoken fears about the outcome of the malpractice suit.