Taji's Syndrome (7 page)

“Well, you might have to make some arrangements, Mister Barenssen. I’m afraid that she may need quite a lot of care, and under the circumstances—”

“Under the circumstances, I can’t afford it,” Sven said flatly, “I know that. We both do.” He took a deep breath. “How serious is it? I mean, is she going to get well?”

“I hope so,” Dover hedged. “But since her condition is unfamiliar, I have no way of telling what might happen or what the . . . outcome might be. I suppose I ought to say that she is seriously ill now. Her blood . . .”—he lowered his head and tried to figure out how much he could tell Barenssen that he would understand—“is damaged in some way. She is anemic and there is a general breakdown of her bodily tissues. For some reason, she is having trouble keeping everything . . . connected.” He laced his fingers together in futile illustration. Little as he wanted to admit it to Kirsten’s brother, Dover knew he was out of his depth, and it troubled him.

“But why?”

The question was enormous, Elihu Dover knew, but he gave the simplest answer he could. “I wish I knew, Mister Barenssen.”

“What if we took her home? Could we arrange for care? Isn’t there someone who could come in and take care of her? Why does she have to go to the hospital? Is there a way you could arrange for a . . . nurse?” He looked at the doctor with desperate hope in his eyes.

“She needs more than that, Mister Barenssen,” said Dover heavily, wishing now that he had had this conversation at the hospital rather than in his own offices: at the hospital there would be any number of excuses to end this uncomfortable discussion—here he was stuck with Sven Barenssen for at least another ten minutes. “You’re fortunate that she’s the only one in your family who has shown symptoms of this condition.”

“What?” Sven asked, more dazed than before.

“The Standard Public School Blood Screen didn’t turn up anything in your sons, and that’s good news.” He watched Sven, trying to see how much if any of what he was saying was getting through to the man.

“They’re in a private school,” Sven said, sounding more puzzled than anything.

“Oregon made it mandatory for all kids during the Tunis Flus Two and Three.” He had thought at the time that it was a good idea—it had cut down not only on the Tunis Flu but venereal disease as well—but he agreed that it was probably on the borderline of constitutionality.

“Oh. That thing in September,” said Sven. “Reverend Colney told the congregation not to protest. He said that it would only bring further problems.” His large eyes, the color of faded denim, appeared not quite in focus. “The whole school did it, didn’t they?”

“Yes,” said Elihu, thinking that he might want to see the records from the district, just in case.

“Kirsten said that it wasn’t godly to do that. It questioned Providence.” He stood up and walked about the room. “She’s real sick, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Elihu said.

“How sick?” Sven was still baffled. “What kind of care does she have to have?”

“More than we can give in the hospital here. I want your permission to transfer her to the research hospital in Portland.” He had already made a few phone calls and had been assured that there would be a place for Kirsten once the proper forms had been signed.

“Portland?” Sven repeated. “Why? Why so far?”

This was growing increasingly difficult, thought Dover. “You see, Mister Barenssen, your sister has . . . she has a number of things wrong with her. Anyone of them alone and the local hospital would be able to treat her.” This was a bit of a white lie, but one that Dover felt acceptable. “But because there are so many problems, she needs more monitoring and tests than we can provide here. Given the seriousness of her illness, I think it would be wisest to transfer her at once. Today, in fact.”

“What? Today?” Sven’s eyes had taken on the hard glaze of shock and he spoke mechanically, moving as if his joints were connected by loose wires and string.

“Yes. It is urgent. I wouldn’t pressure you, but since these circumstances are so extraordinary, I think it would be best if you would agree to . . . permit me to make the appropriate arrangements.” He knew how to bring the authority and dignity of his position into play, and he did it now as emphatically as he could. “You certainly can understand, can’t you, why your sister deserves the best care possible.”

“I can’t afford it,” Sven croaked.

“I’ll do what I can to help you find the means,” Dover said, speaking gently and evenly. “Will Colney can help out, if you like.”

“Not with charity,” warned Sven.

“With finding a way to pay for your sister’s treatment,” said Dover in the same calm drone. “You certainly want her to have the best treatment, don’t you?”

“Sure.” He was fidgeting, his fingers moving restlessly over his jacket, stopping at the zipper, then sneaking off to hide in the pockets. “But the cost.”

Dover knew that if Sven ever learned how expensive the treatment would be, the enormity of the figure would terrify him. “That’s why I want you to talk with Will Colney. He has excellent sources for community assistance, and surely all the years your sister has devoted to his congregation will guarantee that he will do his utmost for her.” He took a pad of paper from the top drawer of his desk. Most of his notes and records were, in fact, kept on his personal computer in the next room, but he knew that most of his patients did not trust the thing, and so he still kept up the practice of written instructions and notes. “I’m going to give you the name of the assistant administrator at the hospital. I want you to go over and talk to her, and arrange for your sister to be transferred to Portland.”

“I won’t get to see her,” said Sven, sounding lost.

“Until she gets well, she’ll have to be kept in isolation, in any case. You see, we don’t have enough information on what’s wrong with her, and until we do, we must make sure that she does not spread her disease to anyone else.” He knew that he ought to soften the blow somehow. “You know that Kirsten would not want to bring illness to anyone.”

“Or any misfortune,” said Sven automatically. “She’s a good Christian woman. She wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt anyone.”

“Yes,” said Dover. “Now, you go talk with Miss Bradshaw and she’ll arrange everything.” He had already spent ten minutes on the phone with Toni Bradshaw, and knew all that was needed now was Sven’s signature on four different forms.

“I don’t have time to take her to Portland,” Sven began.

“It will be arranged. You don’t have to do it, Mister Barenssen.” Now Dover gave his very best sympathetic smile. “You’re doing the right thing to help your sister. I know how difficult it must be, but it is the right thing.” He resolved to call Will Colney after he straightened out the medical transfer. From the look of him, Sven would need the comfort his minister would offer.

“The assistant administrator at the hospital?” Sven asked as he stared at the piece of paper Dover had handed him.

“Yes; she’ll be expecting you.” He made a great show of looking at his watch. “I have another patient, Mister Barenssen. I really must—”

“Sure.” Sven got up and wandered to the door. “Thanks. I’ll go right over to the hospital. Right now. Do you think they’ll let me look in on Kirsten?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” As soon as he was alone, Dover picked up the phone and alerted Toni Bradshaw. “Call Medi-Copter and tell Eherman that it’s urgent. And when Barenssen gets there, let him have five minutes with Kirsten. It might help him, and God knows it won’t change her condition.”

“All right; I’ll call you as soon as I talk to Eherman.”

Dover’s next call was more complicated, since it required that he speak with three people in quick succession and the Center for the Study of Environmental Medicine was new enough and big enough to confuse everyone.

“Doctor Maximillian Klausen,” Dover said to the automatic answerer. “This is Doctor Elihu Dover calling.” He then waited for three minutes listening to a soft-rock rendition of the
Sleeping Beauty Waltz
until Max Klausen’s familiar growl came on the line.

“Is this about the woman we discussed yesterday?” Klausen interrupted when Dover began to fill him in.

“Yes. I’m arranging to have her transferred to you now.” He wanted to remind Klausen that there was such a thing as professional courtesy, and the least he could do was be permitted to finish his comments, but instead he added, “She’s going to need some kind of financial aid. The family is poor.”

“I’ll get Sandy on it,” said Klausen. “How’s she coming?”

“I’m arranging transportation with our local MediCopter,” said Dover severely. “They’ll notify you of their time of arrival.”

“Fine. What about the history and tests results?”

“I have a modem on the computer and so does the hospital. The records will arrive before the patient if your lines are clear.” He was getting huffy and knew that he ought not to be so offended.

“Good. I’ll give you a call after I’ve had a look at her. How late will you be available?”

“I take calls until ten-thirty, and after that my service screens them.” He paused. “When you find out what the trouble is, I want to know about it.”

“You got it. I’ll switch you to admissions.” Without any further comment the line went silent for almost a minute.

By the time the admissions clerk had switched Dover to the research lab, Elihu Dover had a headache and his face felt stiff, as if it had been covered in a thin layer of plaster. He repeated the basic information to a softspoken young man who sounded as if he belonged in high school.

“Condition of the patient?” asked the young man.

“It will all be sent,” said Dover.

“Is the patient alert? Is the patient coherent?” The questions might have been about Dover’s preference in toothpaste for all the interest they expressed.

“She is disoriented and frightened,” Dover said with meticulous precision. “She is used to living in a small community, and she is strictly religious. If one of your ministers is available when she arrives, it would help her. Provided that the minister is Fundamentalist in his outlook.”

“Fundamentalist? Here?” There was polite incredulity in the young man’s voice.

“Then find one. Surely you have Fundamentalists in Portland.” He cleared his throat. “Also, she is a spinster; she is easily upset if she has to take off her clothes in front of a man, even a physician. Arrange for a nurse to be present for all examinations. Otherwise you will upset her unnecessarily.” He tried to imagine the young man—was he as smug as he sounded or had he merely been on the phone too long that day? was he a resident, an intern, a nurse, an orderly, or some kind of clerk?—so that he would be able to enlist his sympathy on Kirsten Barenssen’s behalf.

“We’ll take care of her,” said the young man. “Will you want reports on her progress?”

“Yes. And all information about her condition. In case I happen upon another case.” This last he said with heavy emphasis in the hope that it would have some impression on the young man.

“You got it,” said the young man blithely and hung up.

Elihu Dover stared, fuming, at the receiver in his hand, and then shook his head. There was no dealing with the bureaucrats, he reminded himself, which was why he had remained in Sweet Home instead of finding work in a larger place. He got up and stretched, heading for the window where he could see the sleet that would make his drive home miserable.

On impulse he picked up the phone and dialed home. “Eunice,” he said when he heard his wife’s voice, “I think I’m going to come home a little early this evening. It’s been a complicated day.”

“El, are you all right?” she asked with a trace of humor in her words.

“I’m okay,” he said slowly. “I’ve got two more appointments here and then I have to stop by the hospital, but I’ll be as quick as I can.” He smiled at the receiver as he pictured his wife’s face. “Are you in the mood to have dinner out?”

“Now I’m certain you need help,” Eunice said, actually laughing. “What have you been up to?”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I see you,” he promised, hoping that the familiar comfort of her presence would end the nagging sense of disaster that had haunted him all afternoon.

“Tell you what,” Eunice said, “I’ll call
The Embers
and ask them to reserve us a table for six-thirty. That way, even if you do take a little longer at the hospital, we’ll be ready to have a pleasant evening.”

“You’re an angel,” he said with feeling. “Wear that deep red outfit, will you?”

“Some angel,” she scoffed affectionately. “All right. Anything else you’d like, El?”

He sighed. “Nothing you or I can do anything about,” he said, gloom descending upon him once more. “I’ll see you in a bit, darling.”

“You take care of yourself, El,” she said, her voice as near scolding as it ever got.

He held the receiver more tightly. “Anything for you.”

“Flatterer,” she said indulgently, and then added with the perspicacity of thirty-one years of marriage. “Over dinner you can tell me what’s troubling you.”

He knew better than to deny his concerns. “Thank you; I was depending on that.”

“Depend away,” she said, and hesitated once more. “Don’t let it wear you down, El.”

“I won’t,” he said, and then amended, “I’ll try not to.” There were so many things he rarely said to her that he wanted her to know: how much he valued her, how he appreciated her calm good sense, how important she was to him. Instead he made a kissing noise at the receiver. “See you in a while, Eunice.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, and hung up.

—Gerald Plaiting—

On one side of his desk Gerald Plaiting had a stack of article reprints and textbooks; on the other side he had the files for eight of his patients. It was almost ten-thirty and he was suffering from eyestrain that made it difficult for him to focus on the billboard opposite his windows, yet he was determined to get through the material in the hope it would shed some light on the cases he had been handling. He pinched the bridge of his prominent nose between thumb and forefinger, and considered having a sixth cup of coffee.

There was a knock on his office door and he looked up sharply as Muñoz, who was head of night security for the building, opened the door. “Just checking, Doctor,” said the uniformed man.