Free Invasion by Robin Cook Page B

blood pressure on the chart.
    “Just one,” Sandra said. “A black one.”
    “Guess we have to be careful with black rocks,” Pitt said. He then instructed the mother to watch the child carefully until the doctor came in.
    Pitt headed back to the desk and slipped the chart into the rack where it would be picked up by the next availabledoctor. He was about to go behind the desk when the swinging doors that led to the outside burst open.
    “Help me,” cried a man who was carrying a seizing woman. He staggered a few feet into the ER and threatened to collapse himself.
    Pitt was the first person to reach the man’s side. Without a second’s hesitation he relieved the man of his burden by taking the woman into his own arms. It was difficult to hold her because she was still locked in the throes of a seizure.
    By then Cheryl Watkins had come around from behind the desk along with several of the ER residents. Even Dr. Sheila Miller had dashed out of her office at the cries for help.
    “Into the trauma bay,” Dr. Miller commanded.
    Without waiting for a gurney, Pitt carried the twitching woman back into the depths of the ER. With the help of Sheila, who’d positioned herself on the other side of the examination table, Pitt put the patient down. As he did so his eyes met Sheila’s for the second time that day. No words were spoken but on this occasion a completely different message was conveyed.
    Pitt backed up. Nurses and doctors jumped into the breach. Pitt stood there and watched, wishing he were at a stage in his training where he could participate.
    The medical team which Sheila commanded quickly terminated the seizure. But then while they were beginning the evaluation of what caused the seizure, the patient had another, even more violent one.
    “Why is she doing this?” the husband moaned. Everyone had forgotten he’d followed the group inside. Oneof the nurses went over to him and motioned for him to leave. “She’s got diabetes, but she’s never had a seizure. This shouldn’t be happening. I mean, all she got was a cough. She’s a young woman. Something is wrong, I know it.”
    A few minutes after the husband had been led out to the waiting room, Sheila’s head snapped up so she could see the cardiac monitor. A sudden change in the sound of the beats had caught her attention.
    “Uh oh,” she said. “Something’s going on here, and I don’t like it.”
    The regular heartbeat had become erratic. Before anybody could react, the monitor’s alarm went off. The patient was fibrillating.
    “Code red ER!” blared out of the intercom system. More ER doctors flew into the cubicle in response to the cardiac arrest call. Pitt backed up even further so as not to interfere. He found the episode both stimulating and frightening. He wondered if he could ever learn enough to participate capably in such a situation.
    The team worked tirelessly but to no avail. Eventually Sheila straightened up and ran her forearm across her sweaty brow.
    “OK, that’s it,” she said reluctantly. “We’ve lost her.” For the previous thirty minutes the monitor had traced a monotonous straight line.
    The team hung their heads in dejection.
    THE OLD SPRING-LOADED SCALE SQUEAKED AS DR. CURTIS Lapree allowed Charlie Arnold’s liver to slosh into its basin. The needle jumped up the scale.
    “Well, that’s normal,” Curtis said.
    “Did you expect it to be abnormal?” Jesse Kemper asked. He and Detective Vince Garbon had stopped by to observe the autopsy on the dead University Medical Center housekeeping employee. Both policemen were dressed in disposable contamination suits.
    Neither Jesse nor Vince were at all intimidated or sickened by the autopsy. They’d witnessed a hundred or so over the years, especially Jesse, who was eleven years older than Vinnie.
    “Nope,” Curtis said. “The liver looked normal, felt normal, so I expected it to weigh normal.”
    “Getting any ideas what killed this poor chap?” Jesse