hear a soft voice on the hospital public-address system. “Dr. Reubens. Dr. Reubens.” After a moment the phone buzzed. Tomaselli lifted the receiver and listened. Then he passed it to O’Donnell.
“Reub? It’s Kent O’Donnell.”
“What can I do for you?” O’Donnell could hear the thin, precise voice of Reubens, one of the senior surgeons, at the other end of the line.
“Do you have a patient”—he looked at Tomaselli’s notes which the administrator had pushed toward him—“a Mrs. Bryan?”
“That’s right. What’s the matter? Has her husband been complaining?”
“You know about it then?”
“Of course I know about it.” Reubens sounded annoyed. “Personally I think he has good reason to complain.”
“What’s the story, Reub?”
“The story is that I admitted Mrs. Bryan for possible carcinoma of the breast. I removed a tumor. It turned out to be benign.”
“Then why keep her here for three weeks?” As he asked, O’Donnell remembered that you always had to go through this question-and-answer performance with Reubens. The other man seldom volunteered information.
Now he answered, “You’d better ask Joe Pearson that!”
“Be simpler if you told me, Reub.” O’Donnell was quietly insistent. “After all, she’s your patient.”
There was a silence. Then the thin, clipped voice said, “All right. I told you the tumor was benign. But it was two and a half weeks before I found out. That’s how long it took Pearson to get it under his microscope.”
“Did you remind him about it?”
“If I called him once I called him half a dozen times. He’d probably have been longer if I hadn’t kept after it.”
“And that’s why you kept Mrs. Bryan in—for three weeks?”
“Naturally.” The voice on the phone took on a note of sarcasm. “Or are you suggesting I should have discharged her?”
There was reason for Reubens to be sour on the subject, O’Donnell thought. Unquestionably he had been put in a difficult position. If he had discharged the patient, he might have had to call her back for more surgery, as had happened to Bill Rufus. On the other hand, every additional day in hospital meant an extra financial burden for the family. He answered noncommittally, “I’m not suggesting anything, Reub. Just making some inquiries.”
The thing had obviously been on Reubens’ mind. “Then you’d better talk to some of the other men,” he said. “I’m not the only one this has happened to. You know about Bill Rufus?”
“Yes, I know. Frankly, I thought things had been improving a little.”
“If they have, it’s not so’s you’d notice it. What do you propose to do about Bryan’s bill?”
“I doubt if we can do anything. After all, his wife was here for three weeks. Hospital money is tight, you know.” O’Donnell wondered what Reubens’ reaction would be when he heard he was being asked to give six thousand dollars himself to the hospital building fund.
“It’s too bad. Husband’s a decent little guy—a carpenter or something like that, works for himself. He didn’t have any insurance. This’ll set ’em back for a long time.” O’Donnell made no answer. His mind was already running ahead, thinking of what came next. Again the thin voice on the phone: “Well, is that all?”
“Yes, Reub; that’s all. Thanks.” He handed the telephone back to Harry Tomaselli.
“Harry, I want a meeting this afternoon.” O’Donnell had made up his mind what had to be done. “Let’s try to get half a dozen of the senior people on staff. We’ll meet here, if that’s convenient, and I’d like you to be here too.”
Tomaselli nodded. “Can do.”
O’Donnell was checking over names in his mind. “We’ll want Harvey Chandler, of course, as chief of medicine. Better have Bill Rufus, and Reubens should be included, I think.” He paused. “Oh yes, and Charlie Dornberger. He might be useful. How many is that?”
The administrator checked the names he had
“Reub? It’s Kent O’Donnell.”
“What can I do for you?” O’Donnell could hear the thin, precise voice of Reubens, one of the senior surgeons, at the other end of the line.
“Do you have a patient”—he looked at Tomaselli’s notes which the administrator had pushed toward him—“a Mrs. Bryan?”
“That’s right. What’s the matter? Has her husband been complaining?”
“You know about it then?”
“Of course I know about it.” Reubens sounded annoyed. “Personally I think he has good reason to complain.”
“What’s the story, Reub?”
“The story is that I admitted Mrs. Bryan for possible carcinoma of the breast. I removed a tumor. It turned out to be benign.”
“Then why keep her here for three weeks?” As he asked, O’Donnell remembered that you always had to go through this question-and-answer performance with Reubens. The other man seldom volunteered information.
Now he answered, “You’d better ask Joe Pearson that!”
“Be simpler if you told me, Reub.” O’Donnell was quietly insistent. “After all, she’s your patient.”
There was a silence. Then the thin, clipped voice said, “All right. I told you the tumor was benign. But it was two and a half weeks before I found out. That’s how long it took Pearson to get it under his microscope.”
“Did you remind him about it?”
“If I called him once I called him half a dozen times. He’d probably have been longer if I hadn’t kept after it.”
“And that’s why you kept Mrs. Bryan in—for three weeks?”
“Naturally.” The voice on the phone took on a note of sarcasm. “Or are you suggesting I should have discharged her?”
There was reason for Reubens to be sour on the subject, O’Donnell thought. Unquestionably he had been put in a difficult position. If he had discharged the patient, he might have had to call her back for more surgery, as had happened to Bill Rufus. On the other hand, every additional day in hospital meant an extra financial burden for the family. He answered noncommittally, “I’m not suggesting anything, Reub. Just making some inquiries.”
The thing had obviously been on Reubens’ mind. “Then you’d better talk to some of the other men,” he said. “I’m not the only one this has happened to. You know about Bill Rufus?”
“Yes, I know. Frankly, I thought things had been improving a little.”
“If they have, it’s not so’s you’d notice it. What do you propose to do about Bryan’s bill?”
“I doubt if we can do anything. After all, his wife was here for three weeks. Hospital money is tight, you know.” O’Donnell wondered what Reubens’ reaction would be when he heard he was being asked to give six thousand dollars himself to the hospital building fund.
“It’s too bad. Husband’s a decent little guy—a carpenter or something like that, works for himself. He didn’t have any insurance. This’ll set ’em back for a long time.” O’Donnell made no answer. His mind was already running ahead, thinking of what came next. Again the thin voice on the phone: “Well, is that all?”
“Yes, Reub; that’s all. Thanks.” He handed the telephone back to Harry Tomaselli.
“Harry, I want a meeting this afternoon.” O’Donnell had made up his mind what had to be done. “Let’s try to get half a dozen of the senior people on staff. We’ll meet here, if that’s convenient, and I’d like you to be here too.”
Tomaselli nodded. “Can do.”
O’Donnell was checking over names in his mind. “We’ll want Harvey Chandler, of course, as chief of medicine. Better have Bill Rufus, and Reubens should be included, I think.” He paused. “Oh yes, and Charlie Dornberger. He might be useful. How many is that?”
The administrator checked the names he had
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