Revenge. Sheldon Cohen
“Were these grand mal seizures?”
“Yes, I believe so; his right side.”
“Anything else, Betty?”
“Yes, he’s burning up.”
“Burning up? How about a number, Betty.”
“Sorry, Dr. Pollard, it’s 103.8.”
“Blood pressure?”
“124 over 66.”
“Pulse rate?”
“120.”
“Regular or irregular. Always add that, Betty.”
“Regular. Thanks, Dr. Pollard.”
“You’re the best, Betty. I’m just trying to get you even a little better, if that’s possible. Do you have any medical history from anyone at all?”
“None, but we have his identification from his wallet.”
“Any evidence of foul play?”
“Nope. The guy’s well dressed and nothing’s disturbed in the car. There’s no sign of any struggle. He was just slumped over the wheel like he decided to park and go to sleep.”
“On an expressway ramp?”
“Yeah, go figure.”
“Strange. When will you get here?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Okay, thanks, Betty.” Turning to the nurse he said, “Did you get that, Gail?”
“Right.”
“Get a spinal tap tray ready, Gail, also alert CT. We may have need of them. Unconscious, seizures and a fever; we’ve got a big differential diagnosis to think about this morning. Nothing like starting your day with a brain teaser, huh, Gail.”
“Yes, doctor, that’ll keep you busy,” said Gail Cowan the nursing director. She stood five feet eleven inches tall, and had black, somewhat graying, short straight hair. Her broad smile, and pearly white teeth reminded one of a toothpaste add. The ten miles a day she claimed she walked in the Emergency Department no doubt contributed to promoting her trim figure. A confident manner honed by twenty-six years of experience made her a model of efficiency. There was never a wasted movement. Her team of nurses knew what to expect. Long limbs could keep up with any doctor in the department. She had been at Covenant ten years longer than Pollard and was familiar with him since his student days. They made an outstanding clinical team. Together they organized an Emergency Medicine Department whose residency program was first choice for any medical students who desired to follow a career in this discipline.
“Dr. Pollard, did you hear the news?” asked Gail.
“What news? I’ve been out of town for a few days.”
“They brought in Dr. Harrison a few nights ago. He was DOA.”
For a few seconds Pollard said nothing, and then with a look of resignation he said, “Oh, man, what a loss. I’m sure he must have had an infarct. He was a walking time bomb. God, I loved that guy.”
“Me too,” said Gail.
“Remind me to talk to you later, Gail. We need to send something to the family in memoriam.”
Pollard continued toward his office. His mind was reeling from the news about Harrison even though everyone knew it could happen any time. He had much to do today.
CHAPTER 5
Pollard would be meeting two junior medical students assigned to him for a three-month clerkship in emergency medicine. Every three months two junior students from the University of Illinois College of Medicine would rotate through the service as a self-chosen elective. More often than not, the students were contemplating an emergency medicine residency, and what better way to get oriented to the service then by working with Dr. Pollard and his staff.
This was the students first clinical day, and Pollard looked forward to filling their pliable and receptive minds with all the clinical pearls they were capable of retaining; and plenty of pearls were there for the taking. He enjoyed teaching medical students almost as much as he enjoyed the daily diagnostic challenges that came through the busy Emergency Department. He always maintained, “Medical students slow you down a bit, but they keep you sharp and on your toes.” The latter, he was sure, outweighed the former.
The two medical students were sitting in his office when he got there. They were dressed in white lab coats with a picture identification badge on their left upper pocket. Pollard met them the week before for a two-hour orientation that covered Emergency Department operation, rules and regulations, and student expectations.
He looked at their enthusiastic faces. “Hi,” he said, “sorry I’m a little late. It looks like we’ll be getting busy soon. I just received a call from the paramedics telling me they’re bringing in a man who is quite sick. He should be here in about ten or fifteen minutes.”
The two students, both from Chicago and both juniors at the University of Illinois College of Medicine nodded. Although they were in the same medical school, the G and J of their last names managed to keep them apart their freshman and sophomore years. This experience would be the first time they would work together. They both planned to pursue a career in emergency medicine. They viewed the opportunity of mentoring by Pollard as a very fortunate development in the pursuit of their goal.
Amanda Galinski stood five foot seven inches tall with short, wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and orthodontically engendered straight white teeth that accented her pretty face and smooth, blemish free skin. As was her habit, she was devoid of any make up except for a faint pink blush on her cheeks. She wore no earrings or other jewelry, as there were no accessories worn by any Emergency Department personnel except for a watch on their wrist.
Barry Johnson stood tall and straight at six feet two inches. He weighed two hundred and twenty pounds. His black thinning hair was long and combed over the balding spots. His penetrating dark eyes seemed to look right through you with nary a blink. His well-muscled body, visible even under his lab coat, conveyed the message that this man was serious about staying in excellent physical condition. This mind-set was honed as a high school basketball player and continued as the recipient of a basketball scholarship to the University of Illinois where he played point guard, operating as sixth man. Although he lacked speed and jumping ability, he was a phenomenal three-point shooter and they used him often when three point shots were vital. Because of this skill, he acquired the nickname of “bullseye.” Barry was quiet and reserved and although Amanda did not know him, she did remember watching him play when she too was a pre-med student at the University of Illinois. His dark good looks impressed her.
Pollard was six foot three inches and weighed 195 pounds. He had light brown, almost blonde hair. He was forty-five years of age. His lean frame honed by competitive tennis, was a means of warding off the burnout so common in emergency medicine physicians. He wore a white lab coat opened at the front, and with coat tails trailing behind him he sped wherever he went. A bright red stethoscope draped around his neck and in his chest pocket was a plastic liner onto which was clipped six different ballpoint pens. He wore gray SAS walking shoes.
Pollard sat behind a large L shaped desk. To his left was a flat screen computer terminal. Behind him was a built in wall bookcase, one shelf of which was filled with books in all fields of medical specialization. Emergency medicine journals occupied another shelf. Standing on the right corner of his desk was a picture of his wife, Sarah and their six children. Off to the left of the bookcase were four diplomas: University of Illinois Medical School, Illinois State Licensure, Residency Certificate, and Emergency Medicine Board Certification. Conspicuous by their absence were numerous academic awards and honors never framed and stored in his closet at home.
Pollard addressed the students. “While we’re waiting for our first patient, I’ll tell you the clinical facts that I’ve been