directly to the plastic chart binder that was kept in a slot at the foot of the bed. He opened the binder, scanned it briefly, and then slammed it shut.
“Still running a fever, Mrs. Lewton,” the doctor announced.
“Call me Viola. After the things you’ve peeked into, I think we should be on first-name terms.”
Weiss lifted his stethoscope from his shoulders and hooked it into his ears. As if by a prearranged signal, Harry rose out of his chair and gently lifted his mother to an upright sitting position in her bed. He watched silently as Weiss slid the stethoscope under Viola’s gown and moved it around her chest and back.
“I still hear rales at the bases of the lungs,” concluded Weiss, flipping the stethoscope over his shoulders.
“Rolls?” asked Viola.
“ Raaahlls . It’s a sound like wet velcro ripping. It means your pneumonia hasn’t gotten any better. Hopefully, there’ll be some improvement when the new antibiotic has had a chance to work.”
Harry nodded toward the door. “Doctor Weiss, can I speak to you privately?”
“I have to be at Grand Rounds at ten,” said Weiss, glancing at his watch.
“It’ll only take a minute.” Harry directed Weiss toward the hall. At the doorway, he stopped and turned to Viola. “Anything you need, Momma? I’m going to have to step out for a bit.”
Viola shook her head.
“See you, then.” Harry shut the door. Weiss had already gone ahead several paces, but stopped and looked back at Harry.
“Well?” said Weiss.
Harry said nothing until he had caught up to Weiss. Then he looked to either side, and lowered his voice confidentially. “I want to have her transferred to another hospital.”
Weiss arched his eyebrows. “Are you joking?”
“Stroger, Rush, Northwestern—wherever you think best.”
“Are you unhappy with her care?”
“No, not at all.”
“What then? Last night you practically begged me to take her on as a patient. Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Let’s just say, I have personal reasons. I want her transferred and I need it done within the hour.”
The doctor winced. “That’s just not possible, Mr. Lewton. Your mother isn’t stable enough for transfer.”
“She seems lucid.”
“She spiked a fever of 104 during the night. Her breath sounds are worsening. Her white count is alarmingly high. She has a rapidly progressing pneumonia, Mr. Lewton. If the transfer itself didn’t do her irreparable harm, she would have to start out with a whole new medical team, and the interruption in her care could be catastrophic.”
“If what you say is true, then the sooner it’s done, the better.”
“I won’t sign the discharge order.”
“I have a legal right to move her, don’t I?”
“Absolutely. But there’s not an ambulance in the city that will touch her without a discharge order.”
“Who else can sign one?”
Weiss glared at Harry over the top of his spectacles. “Try the Chief of Medicine,” he said in a defiant tone. “No one else would dare go over my head.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor. No disrespect intended. I do thank you for doing your best for her.”
Weiss stalked off. In his wake, Harry saw shock on the faces of the staff who had been within earshot. Understandable. Although his bedside manner stank, David Weiss was said to be one of the three or four best hospitalist-internists in Chicago. And no doubt he was right, medically speaking. But this wasn’t a medical decision. Harry knew that Weiss would have done exactly the same, if it had been his mother, and if he knew that she could be annihilated in a second at the whim of some psychotic bastard. Between a pneumonia bug and a bomb, it was no contest. None at all.
Harry did feel like a rat, evacuating his mother on the sly ahead of everyone else. But, hell, it was his mother. As long as she was in the hospital, he would have divided loyalties, and it could cloud his thinking at the exact moment when he needed things to be crystal clear.
“Still running a fever, Mrs. Lewton,” the doctor announced.
“Call me Viola. After the things you’ve peeked into, I think we should be on first-name terms.”
Weiss lifted his stethoscope from his shoulders and hooked it into his ears. As if by a prearranged signal, Harry rose out of his chair and gently lifted his mother to an upright sitting position in her bed. He watched silently as Weiss slid the stethoscope under Viola’s gown and moved it around her chest and back.
“I still hear rales at the bases of the lungs,” concluded Weiss, flipping the stethoscope over his shoulders.
“Rolls?” asked Viola.
“ Raaahlls . It’s a sound like wet velcro ripping. It means your pneumonia hasn’t gotten any better. Hopefully, there’ll be some improvement when the new antibiotic has had a chance to work.”
Harry nodded toward the door. “Doctor Weiss, can I speak to you privately?”
“I have to be at Grand Rounds at ten,” said Weiss, glancing at his watch.
“It’ll only take a minute.” Harry directed Weiss toward the hall. At the doorway, he stopped and turned to Viola. “Anything you need, Momma? I’m going to have to step out for a bit.”
Viola shook her head.
“See you, then.” Harry shut the door. Weiss had already gone ahead several paces, but stopped and looked back at Harry.
“Well?” said Weiss.
Harry said nothing until he had caught up to Weiss. Then he looked to either side, and lowered his voice confidentially. “I want to have her transferred to another hospital.”
Weiss arched his eyebrows. “Are you joking?”
“Stroger, Rush, Northwestern—wherever you think best.”
“Are you unhappy with her care?”
“No, not at all.”
“What then? Last night you practically begged me to take her on as a patient. Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Let’s just say, I have personal reasons. I want her transferred and I need it done within the hour.”
The doctor winced. “That’s just not possible, Mr. Lewton. Your mother isn’t stable enough for transfer.”
“She seems lucid.”
“She spiked a fever of 104 during the night. Her breath sounds are worsening. Her white count is alarmingly high. She has a rapidly progressing pneumonia, Mr. Lewton. If the transfer itself didn’t do her irreparable harm, she would have to start out with a whole new medical team, and the interruption in her care could be catastrophic.”
“If what you say is true, then the sooner it’s done, the better.”
“I won’t sign the discharge order.”
“I have a legal right to move her, don’t I?”
“Absolutely. But there’s not an ambulance in the city that will touch her without a discharge order.”
“Who else can sign one?”
Weiss glared at Harry over the top of his spectacles. “Try the Chief of Medicine,” he said in a defiant tone. “No one else would dare go over my head.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor. No disrespect intended. I do thank you for doing your best for her.”
Weiss stalked off. In his wake, Harry saw shock on the faces of the staff who had been within earshot. Understandable. Although his bedside manner stank, David Weiss was said to be one of the three or four best hospitalist-internists in Chicago. And no doubt he was right, medically speaking. But this wasn’t a medical decision. Harry knew that Weiss would have done exactly the same, if it had been his mother, and if he knew that she could be annihilated in a second at the whim of some psychotic bastard. Between a pneumonia bug and a bomb, it was no contest. None at all.
Harry did feel like a rat, evacuating his mother on the sly ahead of everyone else. But, hell, it was his mother. As long as she was in the hospital, he would have divided loyalties, and it could cloud his thinking at the exact moment when he needed things to be crystal clear.
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