Trauma by Daniel Palmer Page B

in,’ as they say. And then we’ll put you back on your medication and see how the whole package is working.
    â€œAs you know, Nancy, this is going to take some time,” he added. “I’ll be here checking on other folks for a while. Why don’t you get yourself some coffee?” He turned to Carrie. “My job is to make sure the patients receive the proper dosage of medicine and stimulation. It would be up to you to get those wires precisely where they need to be. And believe me, Dr. Bryant, this is no simple feat.”
    Up to you. Did he mean it? Could she work here?
    *   *   *
    THE VA’S cafeteria, even down to the food, was about what Carrie had expected. “Institutional” was apparently a flavor, as well as a design aesthetic. Still, so far, she was enjoying every minute of her time with Dr. Finley. They had looked in on several more patients, and Dr. Finley suggested they take a coffee break before concluding with Don McCall.
    â€œSo, what did you think?” he asked once they were seated.
    â€œWell, the management of movement disorders is far more nuanced than I appreciated,” Carrie said. “It’s interesting, and really necessary work.”
    Dr. Finley looked pleased. “Let me be very candid with you, Carrie,” he said. “I’ve checked your references, and I know even more about the incident we discussed in my office. Believe me, everyone at Community and White is heartsick over what happened. They really like you, and I know you saved a woman’s life the night before. I’ve got to tell you, Metcalf is still pissed—but he’s all massive ego anyway.”
    Carrie shrank at the mention of Metcalf’s name. “I hope you didn’t ask him for a reference.”
    Dr. Finley laughed. “I don’t think you’ll ever get back into his good graces. But I don’t need his commendation to know talent when I see it.”
    â€œI’m really glad to hear that, but I guess I’m a bit confused,” Carrie said.
    â€œWhy is that?”
    â€œWhen we met in your office you said there were no residency openings available, but you also said my timing was fortuitous. Can you explain that now?”
    A shadow crossed Dr. Finley’s face. He spent a moment stirring the cream in his coffee. When he looked up, his eyes showed strain and more than a hint of sadness.
    â€œA few weeks ago our DBS surgeon, Sam Rockwell, was in a terrible, terrible car accident coming back from his vacation home in Maine. I saw the photos. His car crumpled like a tin can. His condition is too tenuous to MedFlight him to White Memorial, so his family has been keeping vigil at his bedside in a Bangor hospital. He’s in a drug-induced coma with multi-organ failure and sepsis. There’s a good chance he won’t make it. It’s a definite blow to our program.”
    â€œThat’s horrible,” Carrie said, feeling a stab of sadness for Dr. Finley and for Rockwell’s family.
    â€œSam and I were extremely close, and I’m—I’m just devastated. Anyway, there’s no way Sam is coming back here any time soon, and we need someone to take over his responsibilities. I know you would be an excellent replacement. There is some time sensitivity to this offer. I’m afraid we may lose funding for a very special initiative if we don’t get someone into the role posthaste, but I can’t take just anybody. And, as you know, most of the qualified candidates are currently employed. We can’t wait for them to become available to us.”
    Carrie nodded grimly. “I see now why you said my call was fortuitous.” Medicine was a Darwinian world. One doc’s misfortune was another doc’s golden opportunity. Still, it felt ugly to profit from tragedy.
    â€œListen, Carrie, I know this seems wrong, given Sam’s unfortunate circumstance, but a person with your considerable