Free Shock by Robin Cook

assume. Dr. Saunders must be pleased."
    "I can't believe it," Joanna said. "My roommate told me when you wake up from anesthesia, you're sick to your stomach."
    "That's rare nowadays," Myron said. "Not with propofol. Isn't it great stuff?"
    "Is that what I had?"
    "Yup!"
    "What time is it?"
    "A little after nine."
    "Do you know if my roommate, Deborah Cochrane, has had her procedure?"
    "She's having it as we speak," Myron said. "How about sitting up for me on the side of the bed?"
    Joanna did as she was told. Her mobility was limited by the IV still attached to her right arm.
    "How do you feel?" Myron asked. "Any dizziness? Any discomfort?"
    "I feel fine," Joanna said. "Perfectly normal." She was surprised, especially by the lack of pain.
    "Why don't you sit there for a few minutes," Myron suggested. "Then, if you are okay, we'll yank the IV and send you downstairs to change back into your street clothes."
    "Fine by me," Joanna said. As Myron recorded her blood pressure and pulse, she glanced around at her surroundings. There were three other beds besides hers. None was occupied. The room was antiquated; it had clearly missed whatever facelift other parts of the Institute had received. Old tile lined the walls and floors, the windows looked old, and the sinks were made of soapstone.
    The ersatz recovery room reminded her of the archaic operating theater where she'd had her procedure, and the thought gave her a shudder. It was the kind of OR in which she could imagine lobotomies being performed against vulnerable patients' wishes. When she'd first been wheeled in, the setting had reminded her of a gruesome, several-hundred-year-old painting she'd seen once of an anatomy lesson. In the painting the tiers of seats disappearing up into the darkness were occupied by leering men gazing down at a skinned, ghastly pale corpse.
    The door to the recovery room opened. Joanna turned and spotted a short man with a shock of dark hair. His pale complexion made her think again of the old anatomy lesson painting. She saw he'd stopped short, and his surprised expression quickly changed to irritation. He was attired in a long doctor's white coat over green surgical scrubs.
    "Hello, Dr. Saunders," Myron said, looking up from the desk.
    "Mr. Hanna, I thought you told me the patient was still asleep," Dr. Paul Saunders snapped. His eyes stayed glued to Joanna's.
    "She was, sir, when we spoke," Myron said. "She just woke up, and everything is fine."
    Joanna felt acutely uncomfortable under the man's unblinking gaze. Joanna had reflexive, visceral reaction to authority figures thanks in part to her emotionally distant, staunchly disciplinarian, oil-company-CEO father.
    "Blood pressure and pulse are all normal," Myron said. He stood up and started forward but stopped when Dr. Saunders held up his hand.
    The doctor advanced toward Joanna with his mouth set. His nose had a wide base that gave the false impression of closely spaced eyes. But by far his most distinguishing characteristics were irises of slightly different colors and a minute widow's peak of white hair that quickly lost itself in the rest of his mildly unruly coiffure.
    "How do you feel, Miss Meissner?" Paul asked.
    Joanna noticed his tone was devoid of emotion, similar to the tone her father had used to ask her how her day had been back when she was in elementary school. "Okay," she answered, unsure if the man cared particularly or even wanted her to respond. Marshaling her courage, she asked: "Are you the doctor who did my egg retrieval?" She'd been put to sleep before Paul's arrival into the operating room.
    "Yes," Paul replied in a manner which discouraged further questions. "Would you mind if I had a look at your abdomen?"
    "I suppose not," Joanna said. She glanced at Myron, who immediately came around the other side of the bed. He encouraged her to lie back supine and then pulled the sheet up to her waist to cover her legs.
    Paul gently pulled up the johnny, being careful to keep the