Rules Get Broken (8 page)

“Well, we have to make a decision, hon, one way or the other.”

“I know. I just don’t know what the right thing to do is.” She paused. “What do you think about Dr. Goldstein?”

“He seems competent, and he’s certainly confident, but he’s young. Hell, Peg, he’s younger than I am, which makes me wonder how much experience he’s got.”

“I know,” Peg agreed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. And what about the hospital? Huntington Hospital, I mean?”

“Well, it’s probably a good enough hospital for normal stuff, Peg, but I don’t think what you’ve got is normal stuff. So I’m not sure Huntington Hospital is up to the task of taking care of you.”

Peg said nothing in response, so after a second or two, I continued. “On the other hand, if you transfer into Manhattan for treatment, it’s going to be a whole lot more difficult for people to visit you. You won’t see people as often as you would if you were here in Huntington. Especially Jennie and John. But the question is, what’s more important? Visitors, or the quality of care you get?”

“So you think I should go into New York and let Dr. Werner treat me if I have the chance?”

“I didn’t say that. Anyway, it’s more important what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think,” she said softly. “I don’t want to be a million miles away from everyone and not be able to have people visit me, especially the kids. But at the same time, I want to beat this thing, and I’m not sure Dr. Goldstein and Huntington Hospital are going to give me my best chance. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s the best there is, and maybe a small hospital like Huntington will give me the kind of care a big city hospital can’t. I don’t know. I just don’t.”

We were both silent for a moment before Peg continued.

“I think what I’d really like is for you to make the decision. Can you do that for me?”

“If that’s what you want, yes. That’s not like you, though.”

“I know, but I’d like to leave it up to you,” she repeated. “I know you’ll do what’s right.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I replied. “I’ll let you know what’s happening as soon as I hear from Dave. Okay?”

“Okay,” Peg replied, barely audibly.

“I’ll do my best, Peg.”

“I know you will. You always do.”

Dave called at ten-forty. “Hi. How are you?” he said, beginning the conversation as he always did in his crisp military way.

“I’m all right. You?”

“I’m good.”

“Did you get to Dr. Werner?” I asked.

“Sure did. Got to him just before he started his morning rounds.”

“Did he remember you?”

“Yeah, he did,” Dave replied, a touch of pride evident in his voice.

“So how’d it go?”

“Pretty good, I think, but I’ll let you be the judge. We had a good conversation. And a long one. I told him all about you and Peg, how I came to know you. Told him about the family. You know, about Jennie and John. Stuff like that. I told him about Peg getting sick and about your concerns with Dr. Goldstein and Huntington Hospital. Basically tried to appeal to any compassion he might have for someone in trouble. Anyway, it worked, I guess, because even though he’s not accepting any new patients right now, he’s going to take on Peg.

“He asked me to let him know this morning if Peg wants to transfer to New York Hospital,” Dave continued. “If she does, he’ll arrange for her to be admitted tomorrow morning. He said you should arrange for an ambulance to bring her into the city, and you should plan to arrive at the hospital around ten-thirty. That way, he’ll have time to examine Peg and still have all afternoon to run the necessary tests before they start her chemotherapy. Which, by the way, he’ll probably start on Monday morning, if he agrees with Dr. Goldstein’s diagnosis.”

Dave paused. “So now, good buddy, the ball’s in your court. If you want Dr. Werner to treat Peg, just say the word. He’s there for you.”

Dave waited for an answer, offering nothing more. He knew he shouldn’t; he knew he couldn’t.

And I knew a decision had to be made, and it had to be made now. But the enormity of that decision was terrifying. Peg had literally entrusted her life to me. She had put her life in my hands to do with it as I thought best.

“Okay,” I suddenly heard myself saying. “Decision’s made. We’ll get Peg out of Huntington and into New York Hospital tomorrow morning. Call Dr. Werner and tell him he’s got a new patient.”

“Will do,” Dave answered. “And for what it’s worth…I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“I hope so, Dave. Because God help me if I’m not.”

I didn’t see Peg until seven forty-five that evening, even though I had intended to visit her after lunch. I had called her room around one o’clock to tell her I was on my way, but there was no answer. I tried every twenty minutes or so from that point on, but each time, no answer. When I finally reached her at five twenty-five, after what must have been fifteen calls, she explained that she had been out of the room all day being subjected, it seemed, to every test known to modern man. Given the hour, I told her I’d see her as soon as I had grabbed a bite to eat.

When I arrived at her room that evening, she was in bed, propped up on two pillows that rested against the headboard, with a magazine in her lap and her eyes closed. She wore another one of her own nightgowns, a pale blue silky thing with thin shoulder straps. The left strap was off her shoulder and hung down against the outside of her upper arm. Where the strap should have been was a large bandage held in place with broad strips of adhesive tape. A clear plastic fitting, similar to the type used on intravenous lines, but much larger, protruded from its center. She looked so much paler and more tired than the night before, it was hard to believe barely twenty-four hours had passed. Her hair looked unkempt, she wore no makeup, and for the first time, she looked truly sick.

She opened her eyes as soon as she heard my footsteps at the door and greeted me with a tired smile. I pulled the room’s single armchair over to the side of her bed, and she began to tell me about her day; a day that had included numerous blood tests, a spinal tap, the taking of a bone marrow sample from her hip, urine samples, X-rays, electrocardiograms, more blood tests and still more blood tests. She put her hand to her shoulder and said Dr. Goldstein had installed the central line around two- thirty that afternoon in preparation for her chemotherapy scheduled to begin Saturday morning. She asked about the kids and how they were doing, but seemed to be somewhat more at ease with the idea of being apart from them.

“Did you hear from Dave?” she asked, suddenly changing topics.

“I did. He called me this morning.”

“And…?”

She listened quietly as I told her about my conversation with him and didn’t interrupt until I got to the part where Dave told me Dr. Werner had agreed to accept her as a patient.

“What did you say?” she asked, breaking in sharply.

I looked at her for several seconds before answering and then, watching her face for her reaction to what I was about to say, answered her question. “I told him to tell Dr. Werner he’s got a new patient. And that we’d meet him, Dr. Werner that is, at New York Hospital tomorrow morning. At ten-thirty.”

Peg made no comment. She just sat perfectly still, looking into my eyes as intently as I was looking into hers, waiting for me to continue.

“I’ve arranged for an ambulance to be here tomorrow morning at eight-thirty. To take you into the city. I’ll go in with you.”

Still no response, and still no indication from her face or her eyes as to what she was thinking. No grimace indicating disappointment. No smile indicating agreement. Nothing.

“You okay with this?” I asked, anxious for some kind of feedback.

Peg looked hard at me but remained silent.

“You told me to make the decision,” I pressed, “and I did. Now, are you okay with it? Because if you’re not, we’ll change it.”

I waited a second or two and asked my question again.

“So are you okay with it or not?”

Peg finally answered, but too late to give me the comfort level I had been looking for.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Yes, I’m okay with it. If you think it’s the right thing to do.”

She put her hand up to the bandage on her shoulder again. “I just can’t help wishing we hadn’t already started with Dr. Goldstein.”

“Should I tell Dr. Werner we’ve changed our minds?” I asked.

I knew that wasn’t what she was saying, but I desperately needed some kind of assurance that I had done the right thing.

“No. No,” she replied emphatically. “The decision’s been made, and I’m sure it’s the right one. I just wish we had been able to make it last night. Then I wouldn’t have had to go through all these tests today, which now I’ll probably have to go through again with this new doctor. That’s what bothering me. That and I’ve spent all day getting used to Dr. Goldstein being my doctor. And now he’s not.”

She paused and seemed to reflect on what she had just said. “But I can’t have everything, can I?” she said, looking over at me with tears welling up in her eyes.

I looked down at my hands and realized I was sitting on the edge of the armchair, hunched over tensely, hands clasped between my knees.

“No, we can’t have everything,” I answered quietly. “If we could, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

We both sat in silence for several minutes, me on the edge of the chair, Peg in her bed, wondering how we had come to be in this place, for this reason, so quickly.

I was the first to speak. “I should call Dr. Goldstein and tell him what we’ve decided.”

Peg nodded.

I took his card out of my wallet, walked over to the telephone on the far side of the bed and dialed his office number.

“Dr. Goldstein’s office,” a woman’s voice announced after the fourth ring.

“Yes. My name is John Herbert. I’m the husband of Peggy Herbert, Margaret Herbert, who’s a patient of Dr. Goldstein.”

“Yes, sir. I’m afraid Dr. Goldstein is not in the office right now. This is his answering service. May I take a message for him, or is this is an emergency?”

“No, it’s not an emergency, but I do need to talk to him tonight. Could I ask you to contact him and ask him to call me either here at Huntington Hospital in my wife’s room, Room 512, or at my parents’ home any time after, say, nine-thirty?”

“Yes, sir. I can do that. May I have that other number, please?”

“Of course. 516-922-6889.”

“Very good, sir. You should be hearing from the doctor shortly.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

I put the receiver back in its cradle and looked at my watch. It was eight-fifteen. I walked back around the foot of the bed to the armchair and had just sat down when Peg’s phone began to ring. I leaped up, quickly walked back around the bed to the nightstand and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Herbert?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Herbert. Dr. Goldstein?”

“Yes. I’m returning your call. Is everything all right with Mrs. Herbert?”

“Everything’s fine, doctor. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.”

I waited a moment before continuing, and as I did I saw that Peg was watching me. “Dr. Goldstein, I…apologize in advance for what I’m about to say, but my wife and I have…decided she should transfer to New York Hospital to be under the care of another physician there. We…we think we’ll feel more comfortable having her treated in the city…in a larger hospital…by someone with a little more experience. So I’ve arranged for my wife to be transported by ambulance tomorrow morning to Manhattan—the ambulance arrives here at eight-thirty—and I’d really appreciate your arranging for her discharge before then.”

I paused again.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this after you’ve already begun treating Peg, but hopefully you understand.”

He waited until I had finished talking and then gave a sigh that was audible over the phone. “Well, Mr. Herbert, the decision is yours and your wife’s to make. But I must say I think both of you are making a very serious mistake. Huntington Hospital can give your wife the kind of personal one-on-one care she requires better than a large city hospital can—precisely because it is a small community hospital. As for the need for a physician with more experience…my credentials are exemplary, as any number of physicians in this community can confirm. But you’ve obviously made up your mind, so we should leave it at that.”

I heard him sigh again. “Mrs. Herbert’s discharge papers will be ready for you by the time you’re ready to leave tomorrow morning. I wish you both the best of luck. Good night.”

I was about to wish him a good night as well when I realized he had already hung up.

We arrived at New York Hospital at ten minutes after ten on Friday morning, August 1st. The ambulance entrance was on the north side of the building and was accessed from Second Avenue by means of a cobblestone-paved alley between the hospital and the adjoining building. The alley was only wide enough to permit the passage of one ambulance at a time and opened into a small courtyard, also paved in cobblestone, large enough to accommodate three, perhaps four ambulances. Both the alley and the courtyard were shrouded in deep shadow by the building walls that surrounded them, even though the day was bright and sunny.

The hospital was a twenty-nine-story, stone block and brick edifice, probably dating back to the turn of the century. It covered more than two-thirds of a city block and could only be described as huge. Frighteningly huge.

Peg and I and the attendant waited in the ambulance while our driver went inside to log in Peg’s arrival and transfer her to New York Hospital. After five or six minutes, he reappeared with a hospital orderly pushing a wheelchair, walked to the rear of the ambulance and opened the rear doors.

“Mr. Herbert, I’ve got Mrs. Herbert checked in for the moment,” the driver announced as he and the orderly started to roll Peg’s gurney out of the ambulance, “but Admissions would like you to see them as soon as you can. Okay?”

“Sure,” I replied. “If I can find Admissions. This place is huge. Where is it?”