There
were no skid marks on the road and no other vehicles involved.
The
paramedics radioed ahead to the hospital, and when they learned the identity of
the victim the duty physician decided to page Ben Renwick.
Remembering
his seniority, Renwick didn’t expect to be woken if there was another surgeon
available to do the job.
“How
many other people in the car?” was Dr.
Renwick’s first question.
“Only
the senator,” came back the immediate reply.
“What
the hell was he doing driving himself at that time of night?” muttered Renwick
rhetorically.
“What
is the extent of his injuries?”
“Several
broken bones, including at least three ribs and the left ankle,” said the duty
physician, “but I’m more worried about the loss of blood. It took the fire boys
nearly an hour to cut him out of the wreck.”
“OK,
make sure my team is scrubbed up and ready by the time I arrive. I’ll call Mrs.
Davenport.” He hesitated for a moment. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I’ll
call both Mrs. Davenports.”
Annie
was standing in the biting wind by the hospital emergency entrance when she saw
the ambulance speeding toward her. It was the accompanying police squad cars
that made her think that it had to be her husband.
Although
Fletcher was still unconscious, they allowed her to clutch his limp hand as
they wheeled him through to the operating room. When Annie first saw the
condition Fletcher was in, she didn’t believe anyone could save him.
Why
had she attended that charity meeting when she should have been in Madison with
her husband? Whenever she was with Fletcher, she always drove him home. Why had
she ignored his protestations when he’d insisted that he’d enjoy the drive-it
would give him some time to think, and in any case, it was such a short
distance, he’d added. He’d only been five miles from home when he’d driven off
the road.
Ruth
Davenport arrived at the hospital a few moments later, and immediately set
about finding out as much as she could.
Once
she had spoken to the duty administrator, Ruth was able to reassure Annie of
one thing.
“Fletcher
couldn’t be in better hands than Ben Renwick. He’s quite simply the best in the
state.”
What
she didn’t tell her daughter-in-law was that they only got him out of bed when
the odds of pulling a patient through were low. Ben Renwick wasn’t a betting
man.
Martha
Gates was the next to arrive, and Ruth repeated everything that she’d picked
up. She confirmed that Fletcher had three broken ribs, a broken ankle and a
ruptured spleen, but it was the loss of blood that was causing the
professionals to be anxious.
“But
surely a hospital as large as St. Patrick’s has a big enough blood bank to cope
with that sort of problem?”
“Yes
would be the usual answer,” replied Ruth, “but Fletcher is AB negative, the
rarest of all the blood groups, and although we’ve always maintained a small
reserve stock, when that school bus careered off Route 95 in New London last
month and the driver and his son turned out to be AB negative, Fletcher was the
first to insist that the entire batch should be shipped out to the New London
hospital immediately, and we just haven’t had enough time to replace it.”
An
arc lamp was switched on and lit up the hospital entrance. “The vultures have
arrived,” said Ruth, looking out of the window. She turned and faced her
daughter-in-law. “Annie, I think you should talk to them, it just might be our
only chance of locating a blood donor in time.”
When
she rose on Sunday morning, Su Ling decided not to wake Nat until the last
possible moment; after all, she had no idea what time it was when he’d crept
into bed.
She
sat in the kitchen, made herself some fresh coffee, and began to scan the
morning papers.
Fletcher’s
speech seemed to have been well received by the citizens of Madison, and the
latest opinion poll showed the gap between them had narrowed by another point,
bringing Nat’s lead down to three percent.
Su
Ling sipped her coffee and pushed the paper to one side. She always switched on
the television just before the hour to catch the weather forecast. The first
person to appear on the screen even before the sound came on was Annie
Davenport. Why was she standing outside St. Patrick’s, Su Ling wondered? Was
Fletcher announcing some new health care initiative?
Sixty
seconds later she knew exactly why.
She
dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to wake Nat and tell him the news.
A remarkable coincident
Or
was it? As a scientist, Su
Ling gave scant credence to coincidence. But she had no time to consider that
now.
A
sleepy Nat listened as his wife repeated what Annie
Daven
port had just said. Suddenly he was wide awake, leaped out of bed quickly and
threw on yesterday’s clothes, not bothering to shave or shower.
Once
dressed, he ran downstairs, pulling on his shoes only when he was in the car.
Su Ling was already behind the wheel with the engine running. She took off the
moment Nat slammed the car door.
The
radio was still tuned into the 24-hour news station, and Nat listened to the
latest bulletin while trying to tie up his laces.
Theon
-the-spot
reporter couldn’t have been more explicit: Senator Davenport was on a
ventilator, and if someone didn’t donate four pints of AB negative blood within
hours, the hospital feared for his survival.
It
took Su Ling twelve minutes to reach St. Patrick’s by simply ignoring the speed
limit-not that there was a lot of traffic on the road at that time on a Sunday
morning. Nat ran into the hospital while Su Ling went in search of a parking
space.
Nat
spotted Annie at the end of the corridor and immediately called out her name.
She turned and looked startled when she saw him charging toward her.
Why
was he running?
was
her first reaction.
“I
came just as soon as I heard,” shouted Nat, still on the move,
a but
all three women just continued to stare at him, like
rabbits caught in a headlight. “I’m the same blood group as Fletcher,” Nat
blurted out as he came to a halt by Annie’s side.
“You’re
AB negative?” said Annie in disbelief.
“Sure
am,” said Nat.
“Thank
God,” said Martha. Ruth quickly disappeared into the intensive care unit, and
returned a moment later with Ben
Ren
-wick by her
side.
“Mr.
Cartwright,” he said thrusting out his hand, “My name is Dr. Renwick, and I’m
. .”
“The
hospital’s senior consultant, yes, I know you by reputation,” said Nat, shaking
his hand.
The
surgeon gave a slight bow. “We have a technician ready to take your blood...”
“Then
let’s get on with it,” said Nat, pulling off his jacket.
“To
begin with we’ll need to run some tests and check if your blood is an exact
match, and then screen it for HIV and
hepatitis .”
“Not
a problem,” said Nat.
“But
I’m afraid, Mr. Cartwright, I’ll also need at least three pints of your blood
if Senator Davenport is to have any chance of survival, and that will require
several indemnity forms signed in the presence of a lawyer.”
“Why
a lawyer?” asked Nat.
“Because
there’s an outside chance you might suffer severe side effects, and in any
case, you’ll end up feeling pretty weak yourself, and it may prove necessary to
keep you in the hospital for several days just to administer extra fluids.”
“Are
there no extremes that Fletcher will not go to
to
keep me off the campaign trail?”
All
three women smiled for the first time that day as Renwick quickly led Nat off
to his office. Nat turned around to speak to Annie, to find her being comforted
by Su Ling.
“Now
I have another problem to consider,” admitted Renwick as he took a seat behind
his desk and began sorting through some forms.
“I’ll
sign anything,” repeated Nat.
“You
can’t sign the form I have in mind,” said the consultant.
“Why
not?” asked Nat.
“Because
it’s an absentee ballot, and I’m no longer certain which one of you to vote
for.”
“LOSING
three pints of blood doesn’t seem to have slowed down 3 Mr. Cartwright,” said
the duty nurse as she placed his latest chart in front of Dr. Renwick.” Maybe not,”
said Renwick, flicking through the pages, “but it sure made one hell of a
difference to Senator Davenport. It saved his life.”
“True,”
said the nurse, “but I’ve warned the senator that despite the election, he’ll
have to stay put for at least another two weeks.”
“I
wouldn’t bet on that,” said Renwick, “I anticipate that Fletcher will have
discharged himself by the end of the week.8.
“You
could be right,” said the nurse with a sigh, “but what can I do to prevent it?”
“Nothing,”
said Renwick, turning over the file on his desk so “I that she couldn’t read
the names Nathaniel and Peter Cartwright O printed in the top-right corner.
“But I do need you to make
anI
appointment for me to
see both men as soon as possible.”7
“Yes,
doctor,” replied the nurse, making a note on her clipboard before leaving the
room.
Once
the door was closed, Ben Renwick turned the file
backover
and read through its contents once again. He’d thought about little else for
the past three days.
When
he left later that evening, he locked the file away in his private safe. After
all, a few more days wouldn’t make a great deal of difference, after all what
he needed to discuss with the two men I
,”
had remained a secret for the past forty-three years.
Nat
was discharged from St. Patrick’s on Thursday evening, and no one on the
hospital staff imagined for a moment that Fletcher would still be around by the
weekend, despite his mother trying to convince him that he should take it easy.
He reminded her there were now only two weeks to go before
election
day
.
During
the longest week in his life, Ben Renwick continued to wrestle with his
conscience, just as Dr. Greenwood must have done forty-three years before him,
but Renwick had come to a different conclusion; he felt he’d been left with no
choice but to tell both men the truth.
The
two combatants agreed to meet at six a.m. on Tuesday morning in Dr. Renwick’s
office. It was the only time before
election day
that
both candidates had a clear hour in their agendas.
Nat
was the first to arrive, as he had hoped to be in Waterbury for a nine o’clock
meeting, and perhaps even squeeze in a visit to a couple of commuter stations
on the way.
Fletcher
hobbled into Dr. Renwick’s office at five fifty-eight, annoyed that Nat had made
it before him.
“Just
as soon as I get this cast off,” he said, “I’m going to kick your ass.”
“You
shouldn’t speak to Dr. Renwick like that, after all he’s done for you,” said
Nat, with a grin.
“Why
not?” asked Fletcher. “He filled me up with your blood, so now I’m half the man
I was.”
“Wrong
again,” said Nat. “You’re twice the man you were, but still half the man I am.”
“Children,
children,” said the doctor, suddenly realizing the significance of his words,
“there is something a little more serious that I need to discuss with you.”
Both
men fell silent after hearing the tone in which they had been admonished.
Dr.
Renwick came from behind his desk to unlock his safe. He removed a file and
placed it on the desk. “I have spent several days trying to work out just how I
should go about imparting such confidential information to you both.” He tapped
the file with his right index finger. “Information that would never have come
to my attention had it
not been
for the senator’s
near-fatal accident and the necessity to check both your files.” Nat and
Fletcher glanced at each other, but said nothing. “Even whether to tell you
separately or together became an ethical issue, and at least on that, it will
now be obvious what decision I came to.” The two candidates still said nothing.
“I have only one request, that the information I am about to divulge should
remain a secret, unless both of you, I repeat, both of you, are willing, even
determined, to make it public.”
“I
have no problem with that,” said Fletcher, turning to face Nat.
“Neither
do I,” said Nat, “I am, after all, in the presence of my lawyer.
”:
“Even
if it were to influence the outcome of the election?” the doctor added,
ignoring Nat’s levity. Both men hesitated for a moment, but once again nodded.
“Let me make it clear that what I am about to reveal is not a possibility or
even a probability; it is quite simply beyond dispute.” The doctor opened the
file and glanced down at a birth certificate and a death certificate.