on my mother.”
Ahmad paled, but remained silent.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Dr. Kadir is a skilled ICU physician, and I need his assistance in the care of your mother.”
“I don’t give a goddamn...” started Horace, stopped by Jack’s raised hand.
“Here are your choices,” said Jack. “As long as she’s under my care, I will treat her in any way I see fit and use the assistance of any physician I think helpful. You can fire me, find some other physician, or transfer to another hospital. You can choose to do that, but her condition is unstable. I don’t advise such an action.” Jack scanned the family’s faces and saw Lucille jerk her head diagonally. She wanted to talk. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”
When Jack left the room with Ahmad, Lucille followed. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Byrnes. Just last week we received notification that Jesse, our baby brother, was killed in Iraq. It’s what set mother off. Of course I know that Dr. Kadir had nothing to do with this, but...”
“Dr. Kadir is a Palestinian, not from Iraq or Iran. You have no beef with him.”
“Please do what you can for mother. I’ll deal with Horace and Randy.”
When they wheeled Mavis away to the ICU, Lucille remained in heated conversation with her father and brother. The ICU nurses settled Mavis into bed five, right across from the nursing station.
Jack was completing his admission note when Ahmad approached. “Her blood levels are falling. If we can control any heart irregularities, I think she’ll do well.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to watch her closely. Check her mental status every thirty minutes.”
At 9 p.m., the family asked to see her.
“Only two at a time,” said the nurse.
Lucille and her tattoo-covered brother Randy stood by the bedside holding their mother’s hand.
Randy squeezed her hand. “Mom...mom...it’s me and Lucille. We’re here. You’ll be fine.”
Mavis groaned.
Ahmad approached the bed for his next thirty-minute check.
Randy tensed. “What are you doing to her?”
“Nothing,” said Ahmad, “I just need to check her pupils and her mental state.”
As Ahmad shined his penlight into her pupils, he felt himself jerked backwards by a strong arm and thrown against the wall, his head crashing with a blinding thump. He collapsed as the fist smashed into the pit of his stomach and felt the blinding pain as his nose exploded in agony.
Moments later, through blood-blurred eyes, Ahmad saw Brier security guards pulling Randy Smith away. Ahmad’s mind screamed with rage.
Mavis Smith recovered without incident.
Ahmad refused to press charges.
Chapter Twenty
Lola Weizman, after many years of rewarding but exhausting work as a psychotherapist, finally donated her tear-stained couch to The Salvation Army. She missed the best times and the closeness with her patients as well as the intellectual stimulation of the psychotherapeutic process. But being human after all, Lola found herself, on occasion, responding like the computer program Psyche: the ‘I sees’, the ‘what do you thinks’, and her all time favorite, the ‘tell me mores’.
“At least I still have the Berkeley Woman’s Mental Health Clinic to indulge myself and see patients,” she said to Jacob over breakfast.
“Don’t let this go to your head, but you were the smartest, most compassionate therapist I ever knew. They’re lucky to have you, even part-time.”
Lola met Elena, the clinic’s receptionist, with her favorite behaviorist greeting, “You’re fine; how am I?”
Elena smiled, not from the joke, she’d heard it a thousand times before, but from Lola’s warmth—her charisma.
“I’ve never heard that one before, Doctor. You’re getting to be like our Alzheimer’s patients, making new friends every day.”
“That’s an awful cruel thing to say to an old lady.”
Elena smiled. “Report me. She’s waiting for you.”
“Who’s waiting?”
“Sarah
Ahmad paled, but remained silent.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. Dr. Kadir is a skilled ICU physician, and I need his assistance in the care of your mother.”
“I don’t give a goddamn...” started Horace, stopped by Jack’s raised hand.
“Here are your choices,” said Jack. “As long as she’s under my care, I will treat her in any way I see fit and use the assistance of any physician I think helpful. You can fire me, find some other physician, or transfer to another hospital. You can choose to do that, but her condition is unstable. I don’t advise such an action.” Jack scanned the family’s faces and saw Lucille jerk her head diagonally. She wanted to talk. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”
When Jack left the room with Ahmad, Lucille followed. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Byrnes. Just last week we received notification that Jesse, our baby brother, was killed in Iraq. It’s what set mother off. Of course I know that Dr. Kadir had nothing to do with this, but...”
“Dr. Kadir is a Palestinian, not from Iraq or Iran. You have no beef with him.”
“Please do what you can for mother. I’ll deal with Horace and Randy.”
When they wheeled Mavis away to the ICU, Lucille remained in heated conversation with her father and brother. The ICU nurses settled Mavis into bed five, right across from the nursing station.
Jack was completing his admission note when Ahmad approached. “Her blood levels are falling. If we can control any heart irregularities, I think she’ll do well.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to watch her closely. Check her mental status every thirty minutes.”
At 9 p.m., the family asked to see her.
“Only two at a time,” said the nurse.
Lucille and her tattoo-covered brother Randy stood by the bedside holding their mother’s hand.
Randy squeezed her hand. “Mom...mom...it’s me and Lucille. We’re here. You’ll be fine.”
Mavis groaned.
Ahmad approached the bed for his next thirty-minute check.
Randy tensed. “What are you doing to her?”
“Nothing,” said Ahmad, “I just need to check her pupils and her mental state.”
As Ahmad shined his penlight into her pupils, he felt himself jerked backwards by a strong arm and thrown against the wall, his head crashing with a blinding thump. He collapsed as the fist smashed into the pit of his stomach and felt the blinding pain as his nose exploded in agony.
Moments later, through blood-blurred eyes, Ahmad saw Brier security guards pulling Randy Smith away. Ahmad’s mind screamed with rage.
Mavis Smith recovered without incident.
Ahmad refused to press charges.
Chapter Twenty
Lola Weizman, after many years of rewarding but exhausting work as a psychotherapist, finally donated her tear-stained couch to The Salvation Army. She missed the best times and the closeness with her patients as well as the intellectual stimulation of the psychotherapeutic process. But being human after all, Lola found herself, on occasion, responding like the computer program Psyche: the ‘I sees’, the ‘what do you thinks’, and her all time favorite, the ‘tell me mores’.
“At least I still have the Berkeley Woman’s Mental Health Clinic to indulge myself and see patients,” she said to Jacob over breakfast.
“Don’t let this go to your head, but you were the smartest, most compassionate therapist I ever knew. They’re lucky to have you, even part-time.”
Lola met Elena, the clinic’s receptionist, with her favorite behaviorist greeting, “You’re fine; how am I?”
Elena smiled, not from the joke, she’d heard it a thousand times before, but from Lola’s warmth—her charisma.
“I’ve never heard that one before, Doctor. You’re getting to be like our Alzheimer’s patients, making new friends every day.”
“That’s an awful cruel thing to say to an old lady.”
Elena smiled. “Report me. She’s waiting for you.”
“Who’s waiting?”
“Sarah
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