Can't Wait to Get to Heaven

She Did What?

3:39 PM

Franklin Pixton, the head of Caraway Hospital administration, was a tall, natty, preppy-looking man of fifty-two. He dressed in a neat suit, striped shirt, and bow tie, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. He was a typical upper-level executive whose main job was to hobnob with the old rich and the new rich and raise money for the hospital, a job he did well. He and his wife belonged to the right clubs, his children attended the right schools, they lived in the right redbrick English Tudor home. He was not about to let some small matter like a patient mistakenly being declared dead put his hospital at risk. After he received the phone call, he told the nurse that he wanted to see all involved personnel in his office in one hour, and gave instructions that they were not to discuss the matter with anyone.

He then hung up and immediately dialed the hospital lawyer, Winston Sprague, a specialist in risk management matters.

“We have a situation,” Pixton said.

“What?”

“Patient pronounced dead. Several hours later she started talking.”

“Oh shit,” said Sprague.

“Graphic, but correct.”

“Who was informed?”

“Just the immediate family, as far as I know.”

“OK,” said the lawyer, “do not…accept responsibility, admit any blame or fault. You can apologize that it happened, yes, but make it vague…nothing specific. Do not think or say the word malpractice. Give me thirty minutes to get there. I’ll meet you downstairs.” The young lawyer, who was nicknamed “Preppy Number Two,” grabbed his briefcase with the usual waiver inside, threw on his jacket, slicked his hair down in the back, and took a deep breath. He had to go over there and win one for the Gipper. The Gipper in this case was his boss, Preppy Number One. Franklin Pixton. Winston Sprague was most interested in getting into the country club, and Pixton was his ticket in. Sprague was also going to make a million dollars by the time he was thirty, and he didn’t care who or what he stepped over to get it. His motto: “Screw the little people.” He had lied before, and he would lie again. Ethics were for suckers. He’d gotten over thinking there was right and wrong years ago. As far as he was concerned, there was only winning or losing. But, other than having total disdain for the entire human race and thinking everybody in the world was stupid, he was just your average snide, cynical, smart-ass.

A half hour later the red-haired lawyer walked out of one elevator and Franklin came out of the other one. They walked over to the desk and Franklin inquired, “Where is the next of kin?” The girl pointed to room 607.

Norma was now in a private room, sitting up on the bed, drinking a glass of orange juice, after having fainted again, and was being observed by an emergency room doctor to make sure she was going to be all right.

“Oh, Mrs. Warren,” Franklin oozed, “I’m Franklin Pixton, and this is my associate Winston Sprague. We were just called and told of the situtation…and I came down as soon as I heard. First of all, how are you?”

Norma said, “Well, I’m still so rattled I can hardly think straight. First they told me she was dead and then we find out she’s not, one minute I’m heartbroken and then the next I’m overjoyed she’s alive, and now I just feel like somebody has thrown me up against a wall.”

“I can understand.” Franklin nodded.

“My poor daughter’s so upset, I’m just surprised my husband didn’t have a heart attack. Look at this, my hair is coming out.” She showed them a few strands of hair that had indeed fallen out, then turned to the doctor. “Can shock cause your hair to fall out, Doctor? Oh, God, don’t tell me that now I’m going to have to wear a wig.”

“Mrs. Warren, is there anything, anything at all, we can do? All of us here feel so terrible about this. Naturally all of your aunt’s hospital expenses will be voided.”

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you, Mr….”

“Pixton.”

“Mr. Pixton, but you don’t have to do that, we’re just so thankful she’s alive, surprised but thankful.”

“No, Mrs. Warren. I insist, we really want to make it up to you and your family for any…uh…” He glanced over at Sprague for the correct word.

The lawyer said, “Inconvenience.”

“That’s right, any inconvenience you might have experienced,” he said as the lawyer handed him the paper he had just pulled out of his briefcase.

“But in the meantime, if you could just sign this for us.”

“What is it?” asked Norma. “I already signed a lot of things earlier.”

“Just a small formality, making sure that down the line you are protected if anything…ah…if you need something…and that we are protected. We feel it’s best to take care of it now, so we can get it processed as soon as possible.”

“Protected from what?”

Sprague jumped in. “It’s really more to assure you that no expenses will be incurred while your aunt is here under our care.”

“Oh, I see,” said Norma. “I appreciate that, but really, you shouldn’t have to pay our bills, it’s not your fault this happened.”

If anything was music to somebody’s ears, to Sprague and Pixton, Norma’s last statement, “It’s not your fault,” was an entire concerto by Beethoven.

Norma continued, “If anything, we should apologize to you. I feel so bad about that little nurse. I think she was scared half out of her wits. I hope she’s all right. They say she hasn’t come back yet.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Mrs. Warren.”

“I hope so. I’m sorry I got so upset and fainted twice, but you have to understand, you may be used to this happening all the time, but I’m not.”

They both nodded sympathetically. “No need to apologize to us, Mrs. Warren. The only thing you can do for us is to sign the paper so we can get everything in motion.”

Norma still seemed reluctant. “Maybe I should ask my husband. I don’t think he would want you to pay for anything. It’s probably going to be a big bill.”

The lawyer jumped in. “Don’t you worry about it, we have insurance that covers this kind of thing.”

Franklin added: “Very common, happens all the time…”

The lawyer Sprague nodded. “Very common.”

“Well, all right,” said Norma. “I still think I shouldn’t, but if you insist.”

“Oh, we do, it’s the least we can do.”

“The least we can do,” echoed the lawyer.

As Norma signed the paper, it was all they could do not to jump up in the air and give each other a high five, but they remained cool. She had not read the clause stating that she waived her right to hold the hospital responsible.

Mr. Pixton pulled out his card and wrote a number on it. “Here is my office number and my home number, and promise me, if you or your family need anything, anything at all, you call me.”

“And here’s mine,” said the lawyer. “I’m available twenty-four hours a day.” After they left the room, Norma turned to the doctor and said, “Wasn’t that nice of them, to do that?”

The doctor wanted to say something, but didn’t.

As both men stood waiting for their elevator, Franklin said quietly, “We just dodged a big fat bullet.”

Later, back at his office, Winston Sprague felt not even the slightest twinge of guilt. He had an obligation to protect the hospital before that slimy shyster, slip and sue, ambulance-chasing lawyer Gus Shimmer found out and showed up and got ahold of the Warren woman. Somebody inside the hospital had been supplying him with information about every potential malpractice event that took place, and it had cost the hospital millions. Good thing the Warren woman had been so stupid and had not read what she’d signed. She had a legitimate case; it was clearly their fault. But how much should one mistake cost? Was it worth the millions of dollars they would have to pay? It’s not like they were trying to kill their patients.

Franklin Pixton went straight back to his office as well. Now that the legal matter was handled with Mrs. Warren, he needed to get to the bottom of the situation ASAP. He pushed his intercom. “Brenda, I want the names of all staff on duty this morning.”

One staff member, the young nurse who an hour earlier had run out of Elner’s room screaming at the top of her lungs, had just been picked up by her mother at a 7-Eleven about two miles from the hospital. As they drove home her mother asked her again.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you back to work?”

“I told you, I’m never going back there. I quit.”

“You can’t just quit.”

“Yes, I can too.”

“Are you going to let all your nurse’s training go to waste over this one little incident?”

“When dead people sit up and start talking, you bet I am.”

“What will you do?”

“I’m doing nails, like I wanted to in the first place.”

The mother sighed. “Well, it’s your life, I guess.”