Free The Society by Michael Palmer Page A

off the massive balance sheet she and Jack were facing. She took a wad of tissues from her purse and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
    “So,” Will said finally, “you’ll keep in touch?”
    “Of course.”
    “And you’ll have your doctor call me straight off if there are any problems?”
    “I don’t expect there’ll be any—not any medical ones, anyway.”
    Will sensed a fullness building in his throat. He had never had that much reserve about crying in public, but this just wasn’t a time he wanted to.
    “I heard some interesting news last night,” Marybeth said, as if sensing Will’s predicament. “I was talking to my cousin Peggy. She lives in a suburb of Des Moines. She was telling her friend Claire about what was happening to us with the HMO refusing to pay and all. Well, it turns out Claire used to work as a claims adjuster for that same HMO. She says that she and the others who worked her job were instructed by the company to reject one out of every ten claims out of hand. Don’t even bother to come up with a reason, just reject it. It seems the company had tried this approach to saving money and found that only thirty percent of the rejected claims were ever contested by the doctors. They just didn’t have the time or resources to battle over such things.”
    “Lord. I’d like to say I’m surprised and stunned, but I’m not. In many instances, the cost involved in disputing an HMO decision makes it not worth it. I’ll make sure our hospital isn’t one of the seventy percent in this case, but I hope you’re planning on fighting this, too.”
    “My cousin Pam’s husband is a big-time attorney in Des Moines,” Marybeth said, “as well as being one of the most obnoxious people on the planet. I’ve already spoken to him. He says he specializes in making people wish they had never crossed paths with him.”
    “That’s quite a specialty. Well, Jack,” he said, taking the man’s hand in his, “you’ve been one hell of a patient. I don’t throw around the term
hero
very frequently, but you are certainly one of mine.”
    “And you’re certainly one of ours,” Marybeth said. Not waiting for a handshake, she threw her arms around Will’s neck. “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered in his ear. “Thank you for saving my husband’s life.”
     
    Dr. Jeremy Purcell hadn’t been nearly as much help as Will had expected. For one thing, some pneumonia and a urinary-tract infection from the catheter were keeping him down. For another, his notes, while impressive in volume and scope, were not that well organized or easy to read. With Tom Lemm’s help, they had put together a reasonable, albeit dry, presentation. They even had a PowerPoint production of sorts, although it would never win any prizes for flair.
    Anxious to get in some final rehearsal, Will hurried back to the office, where he had left the carton full of notes, articles, and slides in preparation for the trip into Boston. He was Custer, riding off to inspect the troops, only this time he knew what Little Bighorn held in store.
    Fredrickston Surgical Associates occupied most of the second floor of the Medical Arts Building. The airy central waiting area was half full. On a Thursday, they would be Susan’s and Gordo’s patients. Will felt relieved knowing that none of them was his. He still had an hour or so to review before making the thirty-five-mile drive into Boston.
    “We’re all excited about tonight, Dr. Grant,” the receptionist said.
    “Are you coming, Mimi?”
    “Once we knew you were going to be part of it, my husband and I tried getting tickets, but there are none. It’s a sellout.”
    “You might be just as well off staying home together and watching professional wrestling. The guy Halliday who will be representing managed care has been preparing for months. I’ve had a week.”
    “Oh, Dr. Grant, you’ll do great.”
    “I wish I had your confidence.”
    “Just tell them all what goes on around here with