Free Deadly Errors by Allen Wyler Page B

analysis pointed a finger at him? Would he be fired? His stomach turned sour. It reminded him of what happened in California. Jesus, look how that turned out.
    What would Dad do in this situation? More to the point, what was the right thing to do?
    Another peek at the clock radio. 1:37 AM . The alarm was set for 5:45. Four hours. Enough time to chew an Ambien into a bitter paste and rub it over his gums with the tip of his tongue to speed up absorption to a couple minutes rather than the twenty or so it’d take if swallowed.
    No! He had to stop relying on sleepers. For all sorts of reasons, all of which he could recite as easily as the twelve cranial nerves. But the most important reason was the possibility of starting over with Nancy. For a PhD molecular biologist, she had a peculiarly strong prejudice against taking medication she didn’t believe was absolutely critical and life saving. She’d rather suffer through a cold than pop an antihistamine. On the other hand, she’d readily ingest any number of unscientifically proven herbs prescribed by a traditional Chinese naturopath. Got an ache? Chew a weed, but don’t take ibuprofen. A heritage that obviously migrated from Hong Kong to UCLA with her. In San Francisco she occasionally visited Chinese fortunetellers, claiming to not take their forecasts seriously. Tyler didn’t believe it for a second, suspecting she’d rescheduled her entire thesis defense because of one such prediction. Quirky, yes, but one of the little things he loved about her. Almost as much as he appreciated how she cheerfully set aside her studies when his unpredictable schedule allowed for a few unexpected hours together—only to get up an hour or so earlier than usual to make up the time.
    Besides, her caution for Western medicine provided a healthy contrast to his willingness to pop medication at the first sign of a cold or an athletic-induced pain, which, now that he thought about it, had probably contributed to his present reliance on sleepers.
    But he needed sleep. Besides, he could break the pill in half. That way …
    Tyler focused on the clock radio again. 1:39 AM .
    Don’t do it.
    But I need the sleep.
    Sure you do, pal, but when will it stop? You know it has to stop. Especially now. You can’t let Nancy know you’ve developed this little problem.
    It isn’t a problem.
    No?
    Tomorrow night. I’ll stop tomorrow night. I just need some sleep.
    Tyler swung his legs out of bed and headed for the bathroom and the amber bottle of white Ambien tablets in the drawer just to the left of the sink.

6
     
7:04 AM , M AYNARD M EDICAL C ENTER C AFETERIA
    T YLER HURRIED INTO the crowded cafeteria and checked his watch for the fifth time in two minutes. Four minutes late. Not like him. He bee-lined for the latte stand, eyes searching for a likely Jim Day, saw a man the color of bittersweet chocolate and about his age and perhaps two inches shorter standing, latte in hand, with an expression of anticipation. Tyler approached and asked, “You Jim Day?”
    The man turned and studied Tyler a moment. “Dr. Lawrence?”
    Tyler extended his hand. “No. Actually, Dr. Lawrence called you last night for me. I was busy in the ICU.” He paused, looking for a place to carry on a conversation. “Sorry I’m late. Got delayed on rounds. How about that booth over there.”
    Day gave a sarcastic grunt. “No way we’re broaching that subject out here where someone might hear. My office.” He started toward the exit.

    T YLER WAITED UNTIL they were seated in the small cramped office before broaching the subject. He got straight to the point by explaining the discrepancy between Larry Childs treatment dosage recorded in his PDA and the one in the EMR. Next, he explained the consequences—a lethal case of radiation necrosis. Not that he had pathological confirmation yet, but there could be no other reasonable explanation.
    Day said, “I believe you about your patient … that he has a serious problem and