The Final Diagnosis

Afterward O’Do

He had left his car for the uniformed doorman to park and followed her. They rode the gleaming, silent elevator to the fifth floor, then turned down a birch-paneled corridor, their footsteps silenced in deep broadloom. He had raised his eyebrows and Lucy smiled. “It is a little awesome, isn’t it? I’m still impressed myself.”

She had used her key to open a door and inside touched a switch. Tasteful, subdued lighting sprang up around an elegant interior lounge. He could see the partly opened door of a bedroom directly ahead. “I’ll mix us a drink,” she said.

Her back was to him. Ice clinked in glasses. O’Do

“No.” She had answered without turning.

He said softly, “I’ve sometimes wondered why.”

“It’s very simple really. It’s quite some time since I was asked.” Lucy turned, carrying the drinks she had mixed. She gave O’Do

O’Do

“I wanted a career in medicine. At the time it seemed terribly important. That and marriage didn’t seem to go together.”

He asked casually, “Any regrets?”

Lucy considered. “Not really, I suppose. I’ve achieved what I wanted, and it’s been rewarding in many ways. Oh, sometimes one wonders how things would have turned out with a different decision, but after all, that’s human, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” O’Do

“I’m no longer dogmatic about anything.” She smiled. “That, at least, I’ve learned.”

O’Do

“Yes, Kent,” Lucy answered, “so have I.”

O’Do

“There’s really no need to go, Kent. Stay if you wish.” Lucy had said it simply, and he knew if he stayed it would be up to him what happened next.

Part of his mind had told him to remain, but caution and habit won out. He took her hands. “Good night, Lucy. Let’s think about all this.”

When the elevator doors had closed she was still standing at the open apartment door.

Six

“I asked you here,” O’Do

“What kind of a problem?” It was Charlie Dornberger. As the elderly obstetrician talked he filled his pipe. “I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at, Kent.”

O’Do

Methodically he went over the issues involved—the delays in surgical reports, the increasing service the hospital required from its pathology department, his own doubts that Joe Pearson could cope with them alone. He related the incident of Bill Rufus’ patient, turning to Rufus for confirmation, and followed it with the report he had had from Reubens that morning. He told them of his own interview with Pearson and the old man’s refusal to accept a second pathologist. He concluded: “I’m convinced we do need a new man to help Joe out. I want your support in seeing that one is brought in.”

“I’ve been concerned about Pathology too.” Promptly, as if to ensure the observance of protocol, Harvey Chandler, the chief of medicine, followed O’Do

“I agree,” O’Do

“I’m not sure I like the way we’re doing this,” Bill Rufus said.

“Why, Bill?” O’Do

“I don’t think a few of us, meeting like this, have any right to talk about a change in Pathology.” Rufus looked around at the others. “Certainly I’ve had some run-ins with Joe Pearson. I guess most of us have. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to join some hole-and-corner conspiracy to boot him out.”

O’Do

“Look at it this way,” O’Do

Harry Tomaselli interjected, “And don’t let us forget that these delays are tying up hospital beds we need badly. Our waiting list for admissions is still very long.”

O’Do

“I’m not saying I go along with you, but what’s your suggestion?” The question came from Charlie Dornberger. He punctuated it with puffs of smoke as his pipe got going.

Rufus sniffed. “We’d better hurry this up. It won’t be fit to breathe in here soon. Do you import that camel dung, Charlie?”

As the others smiled, O’Do