Dr. Marsteller Chapter 19
19
Rays slit
through the clouds like strands of caramel swirled in ice cream and reflected
off leaves jerking in the breeze as Dr. Marsteller’s car whooshed down the road
to the hospital. On the horizon, the
neon mango soup buzzed and burned and turned like a chameleon carnation in a
blue glass store. June reminded him of
the backend of work, when the reward came.
He could spend all winter running experiments and all spring deciphering
data, but the breakthrough was always in June.
And the weather in the winter was like a cold stone slab in a cave but
cozy curled under a blanket kissing the rouge on cheeks of lovely nymphs in
your dreams or your wife in reality or, when you were young, post pubescent
girls aching for comfort. And spring lurched
into being like an aching young man out of prison. The scars of winter returning with brief
thuds of cold snaps and wind swashing the earth violently and the light playful
nature of a jaunty snowfall deliquesces into a slicing rain smacking your skin
and reverberating through your limbs and toes and bones. But after a day off on memorial day, at a
barbeque with friends, you choose to wear a t-shirt and the glow of the sun
warms your arms and the grass smells like it was cut and the blue sky might be halved
by a clear jet stream and inspiration grows in your brain and heart like a
blueberry. And you notice it and eat it
and feel it until the 4th of July.
The consolation of these thoughts on his
drive to the hospital strengthened Dr. Marsteller’s nerve and he believed the
feeling was good and his thoughts were tough and something wonderful could come
out of the surgery. The sun still hadn’t
gone down when he arrived. Most of the
staff was gone as the second shift was winding down for the night. Dr. Marsteller confidently strolled down to Dr.
Reicher’s office. He kept the retroviral
therapy in a small case with dry ice.
When he arrived, Dr. Reicher was laughing nervously with a thin Indian
man. Dr. Marsteller suspicions arose and
he worried the man was in a position of power in the hospital and the surgery
had been called off. He hoped not, as he
told Nichola he was going to be at a conference overnight. He’d have to go sleep in a hotel if they
weren’t going to perform the surgery
-Sly, how are you?
-Not bad.
Let me introduce you to Dr. Ramaswamy, the anesthesiologist.
Dr. Marsteller looked the man up and
down. He seemed pleasant but meticulous
and held his hand out for Dr. Marsteller to shake it. The look in his eyes was friendly and not malicious
so Dr. Marsteller set his case down and extended his hand and shook.
-I wasn’t under the impression that
another person would be involved.
-I’m not an anesthesiologist, Dr.
Marsteller, and knew that he would be necessary. It has been cleared with Mrs. Viscane. He will also sign a confidentiality agreement
and be paid from the sum allotted to me.
Dr. Reicher’s hands shook as he situated
his things on his desk in preparation for the surgery. He was obviously nervous. The turn of events made Dr. Marsteller
uneasy. He did not want another person
involved and he didn’t like the look on Dr. Reicher’s face. Dr. Marsteller hoped Dr. Reicher possessed
the constitution to complete the task.
Dr. Reicher felt Dr. Marsteller’s eyes on him and understood why they
were silent.
-I’m sorry I seem a little nervous; I’ve
never done a relatively unassisted surgery before.
-I think you’ll find me quite capable,
said Dr. Marsteller
-Sterility is of the utmost
importance. If she gets an infection
with a surgery of this type, it could be fatal.
Another man
entered the room wearing scrubs. His sun
burnt skin reminded Dr. Marsteller of fishing with his uncle.
-Dr.
Marsteller, this is Bob Coveleski, the pump tech.
-The what?
-Dr.
Marsteller, I’m not sure how you do this surgery on mice, but I assure you, if
we’re going to stop the heart and inject the therapy, we’re going to need the
heart – lung machine. We’re already a
couple people short and you’ll have to serve as the scrub.
-Oh yes, of
course.
Now they
looked at Dr. Marsteller with suspicion.
-Let me
show you the room we’ll be using, said Dr. Reicher, his nervousness subsided as
his superior knowledge became obvious and he regained his confidence.
Dr. Reicher led them down the hall past a
nurse’s station. The nurse behind the
desk looked up at the group with a confused face. Then they turned down a darkened corridor to
a window exposing a room with a metal table surrounded by metal equipment. It was abandoned.
-Everything is in order and the
instruments have been washed and sterilized in the autoclave. Sterile gloves and gowns are over on that
side of the table. Nothing in here can
be touched unless you are sterile. Have
you ever performed a sterile surgery while doing your research Dr. Marsteller?
-Yes, we do it on mice that we are going
to let survive for more than 24 hours.
-Good, then you understand the procedure
for putting on the gloves and the gowns.
-Yes.
-You must wear a hair covering and a
facemask as well. Mrs. Viscane has been
advised not to eat 24 hours prior to the procedure on the orders of Dr.
Ramaswamy. As the surgery progresses I
will ask you to give me various instruments and we will conduct it
accordingly. Basically, you step back
and observe and hand me instruments when I ask for them. When it is time to inject the therapy, we’ll
ask for it. Have you brought it?
-It’s frozen in a case I left in your
office.
-Okay, when it is time for the injection,
you will sterilized the vial with alcohol and thaw the material. Bob will then pull from the bottle with a
sterile syringe and inject it. Shall we
head back to my office gentlemen? Mrs.
Viscane will arrive any minute.
When they returned to the office, Mrs.
Viscane was standing in the room reading the diplomas and certificates Dr.
Reicher had hung on the wall. He
attended Johns Hopkins Medical School. A
wooden chair covered in black lacquer with the Harvard seal on the back in the
fashion of the east coast sat in the corner of his room. He must have gone there for undergrad thought
Dr. Marsteller. Standing in the back of
the room, holding a briefcase was a large man with close-cropped black hair and
doughy white face with a serious expression.
Dr. Marsteller recognized him from the birthday party.
-I was worried if I had the right time,
said Mrs. Viscane smiling, hoping the joke she crafted would have the desired
result. Her mouth slit curled at the
corners like an opening cut into a piece of rubber. The arteries in her neck bulged underneath
her sagging skin to indicate she was indeed smiling.
-We just went to observe the room. This is Dr. Ramaswamy, the anesthesiologist I
told you about and Bob Coveleski, the pump tech. They will be taking a share of the generous
sum that you allotted me.
-It’s very nice to meet you, said Mrs.
Viscane sincerely while shaking their hands.
Both Dr. Ramaswamy and Bob Coveleski were attempting to hide their
surprise at her appearance. Neither of
them had met her. This is my attorney,
Mr. MacNamara. Mr. MacNamara nodded his
head to them, maintaining his two handed grip on the briefcase.
-Well, said Dr. Reicher, this must be a
treat for you guys, you never get to meet the patients.
-Yeah, said Bob, it’s nice to meet
you.
-Likewise, said Mrs. Viscane, I hope you
gentleman don’t make any mistakes, but it doesn’t matter, I’m almost dead
anyway, and she laughed a high cackle at her own joke while the others looked
at each other uncomfortably.
She motioned to Mr. MacNamara, who opened
the briefcase on Dr. Reicher’s desk and pulled out some papers.
-But that is what these papers are
for. My attorney and I drew them up the
last couple days. I was very specific in
what I wanted. They indicate that none
of you are liable in the case of any mishaps.
In fact, if you put me under and shot me, you wouldn’t go to jail for
murder. Not to give you any ideas. It also covers any unforeseen complications I
may acquire as a result of the surgery.
Take all the time you need to read the papers. They also state that this procedure is to
remain strictly confidential. When you
feel satisfied, sign them on the bottom and write down your bank
information. Dr. Reicher, specify the
amounts the others are to receive based on what you agreed upon. You all remembered to bring your bank
information?
They shook their head yes as Mr.
MacNamara handed out the contracts.
-The funds we agreed upon will be
transferred to your bank accounts first thing in the morning. Don’t forget to claim them on your
taxes. She laughed. It’s not everyday I give out such large
gifts. I’ll need the deduction.
After the three men scrutinized the
papers, the first man to sign was Bob Coveleski, who immediately handed it to
the lawyer. He was smiling while
contemplating the amount of money he’d receive the next day after performing a
routine operation. Dr. Reicher was the
next to hand the papers over. A glint
was also in his eye as if he finally realized what was occurring and the
financial livelihood he’d possess in less than 24 hours. He was rich already but he’d never have to
work again. And he wasn’t the type of
man who loved being a doctor. He did it
for the status and money, not for the self-aggrandizement of saving lives. Dr. Ramaswamy continued to read for fifteen
more minutes as the others grew restless, then he signed the paper gravely and
handed it to Mr. MacNamara intently.
-Why so glum, you’ll be able to retire
tomorrow, Dr. Reicher joked.
-Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, said
Dr. Ramaswamy.
-Yes, don’t
let those dollar signs obstruct your vision, joked Mrs. Viscane with what
looked to be a smile. You guys have a
surgery to do.
-Yes, of course, no disrespect Mrs.
Viscane, said Dr. Reicher.
-None taken, I’m as excited as you
guys. Then she turned to Mr. MacNamara
seriously, you may leave me alone now and attend to everything.
-Certainly Mrs. Viscane, said Mr.
MacNamara as he ducked out of the room like a child told he can go outside to
play.
This originally appeared in Dr. Marsteller