Free Blind Eye: The Terrifying Story of a Doctor Who Got Away With Murder by James B. Stewart Page B

since doctors rounded at 6:30 A.M . and rarely returned unless there was a specific problem. In such cases, it was the attending physician, not an intern by himself, who would call on the patient. But Kennedy gave the matter little thought. She left Swango alone in the room with Barrick.
    About twenty minutes later, Kennedy returned to check on Barrick. Swango was gone. Barrick was now reclining and seemed to be asleep, but when she drew close to the bedside, Kennedy was alarmed. Barrick was barely breathing. Her skin was taking on a bluish cast, a sign of imminent death from respiratory failure. Kennedy immediately called a code over the intercom, and doctors came rushing to the room. Swango was the first to respond, but others too began working to resuscitate her. After forty-five minutes Barrick’s vital signs seemed to stabilize and she was transferred to intensive care. There she recovered without any evident lingering effects, and returned to her room.
    At about eight A.M . on February 6, Ritchie gave Barrick a bath. The patient was alert, talking, cheerful, and seemed to be recovering. But Ritchie noticed that the central venous pressure (CVP) was low in the central line, an intravenous tube supplying medication to the major blood vessels. She called to ask that a doctor check the line, and then left the room to check other patients. A few minutes later, she saw Swango enter Barrick’s room, remembered him as the new doctor who looked like her cousin, and felt relieved that an M.D. had responded to her call. Ritchie might have given the matter no further thought, but some time passed and she didn’t see Swango emerge, which made her think that there might be a problem with the central line. This wasn’t unusual, because the central line, connected as it is to the major blood vessels, often requires some delicate work if a blockage occurs, and there is a particular risk of air getting into the tube, which can be fatal. So Ritchie went back into Barrick’s room to see if Swango needed help.
    Swango had drawn the curtains entirely around Barrick’s bed, which meant that neither Barrick’s roommate nor anyone passing the room’s open door could see what was happening. Ritchie found this odd. She stuck her head through the curtains. Swango was hovering over Barrick’s chest area and seemed startled. “Do you need any help?” she asked cheerfully. “No,” Swango replied. Ritchie left.
    Ten minutes later, concerned that Swango still hadn’t finished, Ritchie entered the room, saw the closed curtains, and again asked if Swango needed any help. He said he didn’t. Three minutes later, Ritchie returned, opened the curtain, and looked in. This time she saw that Swango was using two or three syringes. One was stuck directly into the central line. Another was resting on Swango’s shoulder, as if he was waiting to insert it whenever the other syringe had emptied. Had Swango simply been using the syringes to clear the line, there should have been blood in them. But there was no blood. Swango again said he needed no assistance and Ritchie left the room.
    Just a few minutes later, Ritchie saw Swango finally leave. “Good,” she thought to herself. “That’s finally over.” Whatever was wrong with Barrick’s line had evidently been corrected. Almost immediately—no more than ten seconds had elapsed—she went back into the room to check Barrick’s dressing where the central line entered the body.
    Ritchie was stunned. Barrick had turned blue. She gave one terrifying shudder and gasp, then stopped breathing. Ritchie screamed “Code Blue! Code Blue!” then began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, desperately trying to get breath into Barrick’s lungs. She looked up and saw Dr. Swango coolly watching her from the back of the room, doing nothing to assist her or the patient. “That is so disgusting,” Swango said of her efforts at mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, his voice tinged with contempt.
    Still in shock, Ritchie