The Baby Doctors

“In the same way that conventional medicine seems to attract those with an unhealthy interest in making money?”

“Get in the car,” Rose snapped.

“I ANSWERED A PAGE for you, Dr. Cameron,” one of the nurses said, opening the door to the O.R. where Matthew had just finished surgery.

“Who was it?”

“Administration. Mr. Heidenreich said he had you down on his calendar at ten. I told him you had an emergency surgery.”

“Thanks.” Matthew removed his blue cotton cap, pulled on a white lab coat over his scrubs and started down the corridor. He glanced at his watch—twenty after. Emergency surgery was an acceptable excuse for arriving late, but these days he was late for everything.

“Coffee?” Jim Heidenreich asked as Matthew walked into the inner sanctum. “Georgia just made a fresh pot.”

“No thanks.” Matt dropped into a chair opposite. A small, dapper man with sparse white hair, Jim had aged visibly in the six months since Compassionate Medical Systems had initiated efforts to buy out Peninsular Memorial.

“One of the nurses said there was someone outside SuperShop yesterday getting signatures,” Matthew told his boss, then instantly regretted the remark. Jim didn’t need anyone confirming what he already knew: That some anonymous conglomerate from Seattle taking over the hospital where just about everyone here had been born, was about as welcome as learning that Port Hamilton High’s football team had lost to Olympia. No one wanted outsiders taking over the hospital.

“Take a look at this.” Jim reached into his desk and brought out a glossy press kit. “Compassionate Medical went into a one-hundred-twenty-five-bed hospital in Oregon—same size as ours and in the same financial hole. They were welcomed with open arms. Happy to have CMS come in… like a guardian angel when you think about it. They provide the capital, recruit physicians. They’ve got the managed care expertise, the experience running rural facilities…”

Matt shrugged. “On the other hand, I know a guy in Virginia—we were in medical school together. His local hospital was gobbled up by—” he gestured at the press kit “—one of these conglomerates. He’s frustrated as hell by it all. Endless paperwork, restrictions on where he refers patients. Diagnostic workups according to cost.”

“What’s the alternative?”

Matt shook his head. He’d pulled together a group of physicians with the idea that among them, they would raise enough capital to counter CMS’s offer. Still, it would be difficult to pull off. Peninsula was drowning in red ink and none of the medical staff were exactly rolling in money. You practiced medicine on the peninsula because you loved the natural beauty and small-town lifestyle, not because you expected to make money. He tried to imagine his ex-wife’s reaction if he approached her about selling the home she and Lucy lived in. The home he still made payments on.

“I had a meeting with human resources this morning,” Jim said. “Their concern was lost jobs. Naturally. And the rumor mill is running full-time. I managed to convince them that for the first two years no jobs would be cut. CMS guaranteed it.”

“And after that?”

“Two years is a long time.

“The physicians will walk,” Matt said. “I’ve heard that from almost everyone. They’ll move off the peninsula if they have to.”

“Not if you come around.”

Matthew blinked. “If I—”

“Matt, if you get behind this takeover, the other physicians will fall in step. You know that.”

“I can’t, Jim. You know that.”

The administrator shifted some papers around on his desk. “Where were you last weekend?” He looked directly at Matthew. “Your daughter’s birthday, wasn’t it? Thirteenth?”

“Fourteenth. Your point?”

“My point is that you were in Seattle performing surgery. Sure, you could have referred the kid like any other physician would have done, but not you. The kid’s your patient and you’re going to see it all the way through. Your patient, your responsibility.”

“So?”

“So your daughter spent her birthday without her father. She’s your responsibility, too, Matt.”

“Sorry.” Matthew folded his arms. “You’re losing me.”

“If we’d had the setup, the sophisticated equipment, you could have done the surgery here. If we’d had the surgical support staff, you could have done the surgery here. If—”

“But we don’t.”

“I’m not finished. That’s last weekend we were talking about. What about last night?”

Matthew rubbed his neck.

“I’ll tell you. You were right here, three floors below doing an emergency appendectomy. And today, same thing.” He got up and walked to the window. “You’re one surgeon, Matt. A terrific one, but you’re not Superman. You need a day off every once in a while. And that’s never going to happen the way things are right now. Compassionate Medical Systems is not only going to save this hospital from going under, it might save you from burning yourself out before you reach fifty.”

“It’s not the answer, Jim.”

“Well, when you figure out what the answer is, you let me know. But I won’t hold my breath. You need to take a cold hard look at the way things are right now. Wanting things to work as they always have isn’t enough.”

An hour later, scrubbing up for surgery, Matthew was still hearing Heidenreich’s words.

CHAPTER TWO

UNTIL ROSE BROKE with tradition by relocating three generations of Benedicts had been practicing medicine in Port Hamilton from the same red barn of a house on Georgianna Street, one block from the waterfront. Sarah’s father had been a general practitioner, seeing patients until the day he dropped dead of a heart attack while Sarah was still in high school.

But all that was changing, Sarah thought, as she took an early-morning walk through town on her way to see Matthew at the hospital. Empty storefronts now dotted Port Hamilton’s once thriving business district. In the years since she’d been away, businesses had come and gone. What was once Betty’s Bakery was now Mombasa Coffee with three-dollar cappuccinos and biscotti in jars on the glass-topped counter.

The Curly Q House of Hair where Debbi worked had once been the old Wharf house. Seeing it now, Sarah tried to recall how old she’d been when she found out that it was going to be demolished to make way for a row of stores. Twelve? Thirteen? She’d tried to enlist Matthew in her cause.

“Can’t they see it’s part of the history of Port Hamilton?” she’d wanted to know. And he’d pointed out the light shining through the warped and rotted boards and the evidence of termites everywhere.

Undeterred, she’d gone from door to door with a petition protesting the destruction.

Maybe Rose was right; maybe she was a dreamer. She’d always had tons of ideas for how things could be better. And not just in Port Hamilton. Deep inside, she had always had this quest for the answer to what would really make her life meaningful. She’d read it in a book, find inspiration in an incredible poem or experience something profound that would totally change everything. Or she’d get on a self-improvement kick about this or that. Yoga, fasting. Whatever. Age imparted some wisdom and she’d learned to keep most of these “answers” to herself. As a kid she’d had no such constraints. Her friend Elizabeth’s mom had called her cute and said she wished Elizabeth cared about such things. Rose had called her overly idealistic.

“Life’s the way it is,” Rose would say. “Things change. Nothing’s perfect. Accept it and move on.” Rose now practiced from an office in an ugly, mustard-colored cement-slab complex on the road out of town. Sarah thought wistfully of the big airy waiting room in the old house, the mismatched chairs lined up around the walls, a table in the middle stacked with kids’ books, most of them her discards. The battered trunk of toys she’d sometimes sneak down to play with after the offices were closed for the day.

According to Rose the house had been inefficient. More practical to have a separate office.

“But I have good memories of that consulting room,” Sarah had said. “Daddy coming up to the kitchen for lunch—”

“His damn seafood chowders.” Rose had rolled her eyes. “The consulting rooms reeked of squid.”

“What I remember,” Sarah had countered, “was how much more personal it seemed. You and Daddy were part of the community, not sterile strangers in white coats. I think it had something to do with being in the house.”

But Rose had been adamant. “Medicine isn’t the same as it was when your father and I practiced together. It’s much more sophisticated. Diagnostic tests have to be done right away…no room for sentiment these days.”

Sarah pictured Rose, long gray hair curled into an untidy bun, her chunky sweaters, tweed skirts and gray flannel trousers. The thought occurred to her that one day she would probably look just like Rose. She made a mental note to drop by Curly Q, maybe see what Debbi could do. Debbi and her pale-eyed medicinal gardener boyfriend. Somewhere between Rose the traditionalist and Curt, nature’s pharmacist, there had to be a middle ground that would be just right.

Which was exactly the case she intended to present to Matthew, she thought as she reached the hospital.