The Final Diagnosis

“Oh, give me a home where the viruses roam,

Where the bugs and the microbes all play,

When often is heard an old bloodsucker’s word,

And the test tubes stand stinkin’ all day.”

The door swung closed and his voice faded down the corridor.

Alexander laughed. Ba

“Hey, there’s a blood sample here from a Mrs. Alexander. Is that your wife?”

Alexander put down the pipette he had been using and moved across. “It probably is. Dr. Dornberger sent her in for a sensitivity test.” He took the work sheet and looked down it. “Yes, it’s Elizabeth all right.”

“It says typing and sensitivity both,” Ba

“I expect Dr. Dornberger wanted to be sure. Actually Elizabeth is Rh negative.” As an afterthought he added, “I’m Rh positive.”

Expansively, and with a fatherly air of great knowledge, Ba

“Yes, I know. All the same, you like to be sure.”

“Well, here’s the specimen.” Ba

“Yes, I would. If you don’t mind.”

Ba

Alexander took the blood samples and put them in the lab refrigerator. Then, closing the refrigerator door, he paused thoughtfully.

“Carl, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Ba

“The blood-sensitization tests we’re doing here—I’ve been wondering about them.”

“Wondering what?”

Alexander chose his words carefully. Right from the begi

“So?”

“Well,” Alexander said diffidently, “isn’t just doing the two tests alone . . . a bit out of date?”

Ba

Alexander ignored the sharpness. This was important. He said, “Most labs nowadays are doing a third test—an indirect Coombs—after the test in saline.”

“A ‘what’ test?”

“An indirect Coombs.”

“What’s that?”

“Are you kidding?” The moment the words were out Alexander knew he had made a tactical mistake. But he had spoken impulsively, reasoning that no serology technician could fail to know of an indirect Coombs test.

The senior technician bridled. “You don’t have to get smart.”

Hastily trying to repair the damage, Alexander replied, “I’m sorry, Carl. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

Ba

“This isn’t just theory, Carl.” Alexander was in earnest now, his blunder of a moment ago seeming unimportant. “It’s been proven that some antibodies in the blood of pregnant women can’t be detected either in a saline solution or high protein.”

“And how often does it happen?” Ba

“Very seldom.”

“Well, there you are.”

“But it’s enough to make the third test important.” John Alexander was insistent, trying to penetrate Ba

Ba

Knowing it to be a losing argument, Alexander still went on. “It isn’t much more work. I’d be glad to do it myself. All that’s needed is Coombs serum. It’s true it makes the testing a little more expensive . . .”

This was familiar ground. Now Ba

“But don’t you understand?—the other way isn’t foolproof.” Alexander spoke tensely; without realizing it he had raised his voice. “With the two tests we’re doing here you can get a negative test result, and yet a mother’s blood may still be sensitized and dangerous to the baby. You could kill a newborn child that way.”

“Well, it isn’t your job to worry about it.” This was Ba

“But—”

“But nothing! Pearson isn’t keen on new ways of doing things—especially when they cost more money.” Ba

“That doesn’t mean to say I can’t think, does it?” It was Alexander’s turn to be aroused. “All I know is, I’d like to see my wife’s test done in saline, and in protein, and in Coombs serum. You may not be interested, but this baby happens to be important to us.”

At the door the older man surveyed Alexander. He could see clearly now what he had not realized before—this kid was a troublemaker. What was more, troublemakers had a habit of involving other people in uncomfortable situations. Maybe this smart-aleck college graduate should be allowed to hang himself right now. Ba

Alexander looked directly at the senior technician. Then he said quietly, “Maybe I will.”

Ba

With a final glance at the clock he went out, leaving John Alexander in the laboratory alone.