The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (57 page)

A nurse stepped in and replaced him. She talked soothingly to the prostrate woman, calming her until the sedative took action.

The obstetrician had removed the afterbirth. The pancake shaped, spongy placenta and the vestiges of membranes were dropped into a pan.

Bernard lifted the infant. Using a surgical towel, he wrapped the cloth tightly around the body, concealing all but the head. Cradling it on his arm, he eased back to Sara
’
s side.

She was calmer now.

“
Sara,
”
he said, glad that the sedative was working,
“
Sara, here is your baby.
”

She looked at Parsons, then down at the child. She made no effort to take her baby from Bernard but, after a long moment, turned her face away and broke into a gentle sob.

Dr. Archer sutured the incision closed, making neat, precise stitches; taking infinite care to reduce the episiotomy to a thin, clean scar—almost as if removing any visible sign of the birth would also obliterate the memory of it.

The child was taken out. Shortly afterward, Sara was wheeled into a recovery room.
 

It was a later hour that found the two physicians sitting at a desk with cups of steaming coffee.

“
Parsons, that was the only time in my career when I absolutely couldn
’
t do a thing but stand there,
”
said the obstetrician.

“
With the baby?
”
asked Parsons knowingly.

“
Yeah. I couldn
’
t do anything but stare at that poor, deformed child. I....I
’
ve never delivered anything like it before.
”

Dr. Parsons absentmindedly dropped in another cube of sugar. For the moment his thoughts were elsewhere, with Sara Harrington.

“
You anticipated some problems with the delivery, didn
’
t you?
”
asked Archer.
“
I did. From the patient
’
s past history, I figured there
’
d be at least transfusions needed for the baby, but....Parsons, are you listening to me?
”

“
Huh? Yeah. I heard you, Archie.
”

“
What did you think we
’
d find?
”
he asked.

“
I didn
’
t have any ideas, really. I suppose Sara was the one who was most convinced that something was wrong.
”
He now knew why she hadn
’
t felt the normal kicks and jerks characteristic of limb movements.

“
I
’
d sure like to have an autopsy of that child, though,
”
said Archer.
“
Without it, we
’
ll never know if they were radiation induced deformities or not.
”

Parsons replied absently,
“
She won
’
t permit an autopsy.
”

“
How do you know?
”
asked Archer.
“
Have you mentioned it to her?
”

“
No, of course not,
”
said Parsons.
“
But I
’
m sure she won
’
t go along with it. She asked me to arrange for the child
’
s cremation.
”

“
Well, there won
’
t be any cremation yet. Not until I
’
ve asked her about an autopsy,
”
stated the obstetrician.

Looking up from his coffee, Parsons said,
“
I don
’
t want her harassed about this, Archer. You go on and ask, but if she says no, then that
’
s where it stands. No pushing, understand?
”
His words carried threateningly across the table.

“
Without the examination we
’
ll never know whether the deformities resulted from radiation or what,
”
Archer replied testily.
“
Absence of arms and legs doesn
’
t necessarily result from radiation. Thalidomide produced the same anomalies.
”

Dr. Parsons was finding the obstetrician increasingly irritating.
“
Sara Harrington certainly never took thalidomide, and whether the radiation caused the malformations is beside the point, Archer. What I
’
m saying is that she shouldn
’
t have any more agony now—certainly not a further reminder of that baby. You should just forget the autopsy.
”

Dr. Archer disagreed.
“
Nope. I
’
m going to ask for one. She has nothing to lose by permitting it.
”

Sighing, the surgeon pushed the coffee mug aside and propped his arms on the table.
“
You know, she
’
s not aware that the child was deformed. When you go in to talk with her about the autopsy, she
’
s going to wonder why—and she
’
ll ask. What are you going to say, then, Archie? That the child had no limbs?
”

Shrugging, the obstetrician replied,
“
Why not? She
’
s got a right to know.
”

“
Right! For God
’
s sake, man, hasn
’
t it occurred to you that for her it may be best if she didn
’
t know?
”
Bernard felt his voice rising to a crescendo, but made no effort to temper it.
“
The woman stayed with a dying husband, exposing herself to radiation. She came to this very hospital twice for treatment of him and each time was turned away. She watched him as he slowly and agonizingly died, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it! Archer, I
’
m telling you to leave her alone! Don
’
t even mention an autopsy to that woman! Do you hear me?
”
He felt his hands quivering with anger as he finished the outburst.

It was evident by Dr. Archer
’
s expression that he had not reckoned on such a heated argument from his colleague. Pulling himself to his full height, he snapped back,
“
What in the hell gives you the right to tell me what to do, Parsons? Just because you
’
re the chief of this staff doesn
’
t mean you can start pushing me around. I was in this hospital long before you ever got here and I
’
m not about to be treated like some young intern, by God.
”

Parsons retorted, more heatedly now,
“
I have the right, and in this case I
’
m telling you to lay off.
”
  Suddenly, his tone softened,
“
Lay off, Archer, or I
’
ll have your job—I swear to God.
”

A deep flush of blood suffused Archer
’
s neck and continued on up to his cheeks.
“
Oh, so that
’
s it! You
’
re still holding it against me because I didn
’
t volunteer to serve in the isolation unit—to play martyr with you! I knew that somehow you
’
d try to get even with me, Parsons, but I never figured you to have to sink this low to do it!
”

Had the accusation been on target? Bernard wondered. Was Archer right or was the man suffering a guilt complex from his own decision not to work with the radiation patients? Sure, he recalled that he had harbored some nasty thoughts about the staff members who had turned their backs on him and his small crew. But it wasn
’
t a long-festering resentment, dormant over the past few months, that had finally surfaced. No, it was something stronger than resentment, something he felt about himself. He hadn
’
t been bothered at the time—at the moment he had decided Ben Harrington couldn
’
t be saved—by his decision to withhold the antibiotics for patients with a greater chance of recovery. His assessment of the man
’
s recovery potential had been made professionally, and there was no need to regret his choice. Yet, he did. He often wondered—since Harrington had miraculously escaped death once—if he might not have avoided it again with the precious antibiotics. No matter how he tried to shake the feeling off, he always returned to the unwelcome thought that he had played God and determined, almost guaranteed, Ben Harrington
’
s death. It was an unpleasant vision, the picture of himself arranging the life and death of people.
“
You
’
re wrong, Archer. Despite what you may think, you
’
re wrong!
”

“
Bull! shouted Archie.
“
You
’
re just worried that you can
’
t handle the job of Chief of Staff, and you
’
re going to try to cover your inadequacies by picking on me—me and the others. There
’
ll be others, won
’
t there, Parsons?
”

Now, in the heat of anger, Bernard began to see that he had been right about Archer. The man did suffer guilt pangs about his role, and coupled with that was his growing resentment that Parsons had gained the appointment of chief administrator. Recognizing the truth in both himself and his associate, he wearily replied,
“
I
’
m not out to have your job, Archer. Frankly, I don
’
t give a damn whether you
’
re on this staff or not, but I
’
m not interested in taking your job from you. All I want is to make certain that Sara Harrington is allowed to recuperate in as much peace and quiet as this facility can provide.
”
He looked up at Archer, still poised before him.
“
And that
’
s exactly the way it
’
s going to be. Understand?
”

A long, suspenseful moment passed as the two men stared at each other. Finally Archer exhaled a slow breath and answered,
“
Yeah, I got your message.
”
With that, he walked out of the room.

Bernard heard the door close after Archer. It had been an unusual day, the sort of day that occasionally happened to medical people, the kind that they always wanted to forget—the constant dealing with the illnesses that plague man, the never-ending contest with death—and the toll was great on the surgeon. It was not during the aftermath of the White Water incident, but later, that he
’
d had momentary impulses to take off his white jacket and walk out of the hospital forever, never to look back, and never to return to the vocation that had gradually become more demoralizing that satisfying to him. It was no longer enough to just get through each day. There had to be more than that. What had happened to the old ideals, the old enthusiasm? When had it begun slipping away? And why was it so hard to re-capture? His body ached from fatigue. He was totally exhausted.
 

The traveling suit felt strange after the months of baggy, loose fitting maternity clothes. But it was a comfortable, good sensation that Sara had, knowing that she still filled it out in the right places.

Sara adjusted the chaise and gently unfolded her body along its length. Her dress was entirely incongruous with the patio and the lazy, warm sunlight that filtered through the morning haze. It was a serene, gentle time of day and it had brought her out to enjoy her last few hours of California, relaxed and alone in the secluded area behind one wing of the hospital.

Her thoughts skipped ahead to the near future. She wondered when Senator McCauley would contact her. On their last meeting he had said that once the formal investigation was underway, then he
’
d get in touch with her. Well, he was in his chamber today, beginning anew with his attempt to weed out the causes and evaluate the effects of the disaster. She must be there when his call came. More so than ever before, it was imperative that she take her place before those committees and agencies that the Senator deemed importantly open and receptive to the facts of White Water. White Water... .it had provided impetus to an anti-nuclear movement, but maintaining the momentum would rest with the people, the ones who were concerned. To sway, and keep permanently fixed, the federal government, the Atomic Energy Commission, and private industry, would become an all-consuming task—one in which she was eager to be a part.