Twenty minutes later, Paige was walking into the visitors' waiting room. A man in a dark suit was seated in a chair, staring out the window. "Mr. Newton?" He rose to his feet. "Yes."
"I'm Dr. Taylor. I was just in to see your little boy. He was brought in with abdominal pains." "Yes. I'm going to take him home." "I'm afraid not. Peter has a ruptured spleen. He needs an immediate transfusion and an operation, or he'll die."
Mr. Newton shook his head. "We are Jehovah's Witnesses. The Lord will not let him die, and I will not let him be tainted with someone else's blood. It was my wife who brought him here. She will be punished for that."
"Mr. Newton, I don't think you understand how serious the situation is. If we don't operate right away, your son is going to die."
The man looked at her and smiled. "You don't know God's ways, do you?"
Paige was angry. "I may not know a lot about God's ways, but I do know a lot about a ruptured spleen." She took out a piece of paper. "He's a minor, so you'll have to sign this consent form for him." She held it out.
"And if I don't sign it?" "Why . . . then we can't operate." He nodded. "Do you think your powers are stronger than the Lord's?"
Paige was staring at him. "You're not going to sign, are you?"
"No. A higher power than yours will help my son, You will see."
When Paige returned to the ward, six-year-old Peter Newton had lapsed into unconsciousness.
"He's not going to make it," Chang said. "He's lost too much blood. What do you want to do?"
Paige made her decision. "Get him into OR One. Stat."
Chang looked at her in surprise. "His father changed his mind?"
Paige nodded. "Yes. He changed his mind. Let's move it."
"Good for you! I talked to him for an hour and I couldn't budge him. He said God would take care of it."
"God is taking care of it," Paige assured him.
Two hours and four pints of blood later, the operation was successfully completed. All the boy's vital signs were strong.
Paige gently stroked his forehead. "He's going to be fine."
An orderly hurried into the operating room. "Dr. Taylor? Dr. Wallace wants to see you right away."
Benjamin Wallace was so angry his voice was cracking. "How could you do such an outrageous thing? You gave him a blood transfusion and operated without permission? You broke the law!"
"I saved a boy's life!"
Wallace took a deep breath. "You should have gotten a court order."
"There was no time," Paige said. "Ten minutes more and he would have been dead. God was busy elsewhere."
Wallace was pacing back and forth. "What are we going to do now?"
"Get a court order."
"What for? You've already done the operation."
"I'll backdate the court order one day. No one will ever know the difference."
Wallace looked at her and began to hyperventilate. "Jesus!" He mopped his brow. "This could cost me my job."
Paige looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned and started toward the door.
"Paige . . .?"
She stopped. "Yes?"
"You'll never do anything like this again, will you?"
"Only if I have to," Paige assured him.
Chapter Thirteen
All hospitals have problems with drug theft. By law, each narcotic that is taken from the dispensary must be signed for, but no matter how controlled the security is, drug addicts almost invariably find a way to circumvent it.
Embarcadero County Hospital was having a major problem. Margaret Spencer went to see Ben Wallace. "I don't know what to do, doctor. Our fentanyl keeps disappearing."
Fentanyl is a highly addictive narcotic and anesthetic drug.
"How much is missing?"
"A great deal. If it were just a few bottles, there could be an innocent explanation for it, but it's happening now on a regular basis. More than a dozen bottles a week are disappearing.''
"Do you have any idea who might be taking it?"
"No, sir. I've talked to security. They're at a loss.
"Who has access to the dispensary?"
"That's the problem. Most of the anesthetists have pretty free access to it, and most of the nurses and surgeons."
Wallace was thoughtful. "Thank you for coming to me. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, doctor." Nurse Spencer left.
I don't need this right now, Wallace thought angrily. A hospital board meeting was coming up, and there were already enough problems to be dealt with. Ben Wallace was well aware of the statistics. More than 10 percent of the doctors in the United States became addicted, at one time or another, to either drugs or alcohol. The easy accessibility of the drugs made them a temptation. It was simple for a doctor to open a cabinet, take out the drug he wanted, and use a tourniquet and syringe to inject it. An addict could need a fix as often as every two hours.
Now it was happening at his hospital. Something had to be done about it before the board meeting. It would look bad on my record.
Ben Wallace was not sure whom he could trust to help him find the culprit. He had to be careful. He was certain that neither Dr. Taylor nor Dr. Hunter was involved, and after a great deal of thought, he decided to use them.
He sent for the two of them. "I have a favor to ask of you," he told them. He explained about the missing fentanyl. "I want you to keep your eyes open. If any of the doctors you work with have to step out of the OR for a moment, in the middle of an operation, or show any other signs of addiction, I want you to let me know. Look for any changes in personality—depression or mood swings—or tardiness, or missed appointments. I would appreciate it if you would keep this strictly confidential.''