Coma

The chief resident had successfully risen up the competitive pyramidal power structure of the lower world of students and residents. Now he was the liaison between the upper world, the full-fledged surgeons certified by specialty boards, and the lower world. As such he was a member of neither class. This fact was the source of his power as well as his weakness and isolation. The years of competition had taken their inexorable toll. Chandler was still young by most standards: thirty-three years old. He was not tall: about five eight. His hair was half-heartedly combed in some sort of modern Caesar look. His face had a gentle pudginess that belied his easily aroused temper. In many ways Chandler represented the young boy who has been bullied too much.

Bellows took the wooden chair opposite Chandler. At first no words Were spoken. Chandler regarded a pencil he had in his fingers. His elbows were resting on the arms of his chair. He had rocked back from what he had been working on when Bellows knocked.

“Sorry about taking you off your case, Mark,” said Chandler without looking up.

“I can manage without another hemorrhoid,” said Bellows, maintaining a neutral tone.

There was another pause. Chandler tipped his chair forward to the level position and looked directly at Bellows. Bellows thought that he’d be a perfect individual to play Napoleon in a play.

“Mark, I’m going to assume you’re serious about surgery, surgery here at the Memorial, to be exact.”

“I think that’s a fair assumption.”

“Your record has been reasonable. In fact I’ve heard your name on several occasions in relation to possibly being considered for the chief residency. That leads me to one of the reasons I wanted to talk with you.

Harris gave me a call not too long ago and he was completely strung out. I wasn’t even sure what he was talking about for a few minutes. Apparently one of your students has been nosing around about these coma cases, and it’s got Harris bullshit. Now, I have no idea what’s going on, but he thinks that you might be behind getting the student interested and helping him.”

“It’s a her.”

“Him, her, I don’t give a damn.”

“Well, it might be significant. She happens to be a very well put-together specimen. As for my role in the matter, it’s a big fat zero! If anything, I have constantly tried to talk her out of the whole affair.”

“I’m not about to argue with you, Mark. All I wanted to do is warn you of the situation. I’d hate to have you gamble your chances on the chief residency because of some student’s activities.”

Mark looked at Chandler and wondered what Chandler would say if he told Chandler that he was going to see Susan that night on a social basis.

“I have no idea if Harris has said anything to Stark about all this, Mark, and I can assure you that I won’t unless it gets to the point where I have to cover my own tracks. But let me emphasize that Harris was livid, so you’d better tone your student down and tell him ...”

“Her!”

“OK, tell her to find something else to get interested in. After all there must be ten people who are working on the problem already. In fact most of Harris’s department has been doing nothing else since the present run of anesthetic coma catastrophes.”

“I’ll try to tell her again, but it’s not as easy as it may sound. This girl has a mind of her own, with a rather fertile imagination.” Bellows wondered why he chose that way to describe Susan’s imagination. “She’s gotten into this thing because the first two patients she came in contact with are victims of the problem.”

“Anyway, let’s just say you have been warned. What she does is going to reflect on you, especially if you aid her in any way at all. But that was only one of the reasons I wanted to talk with you. There is another problem, more serious, to be sure. Tell me, Mark, what is your locker number up in the OR?”

“Eight.”

“What about number 338?”

“That was my temporary locker. I used it for about one week before number eight became available.”

“Why didn’t you stay with 338?”

“I guess it actually belonged to someone else, and I got to use it until I could get one of my own.”

“Do you know the combination of 338?”

“Maybe, if I thought long enough. Why do you ask?”

“Because of a strange finding by Dr. Cowley. He claims that 338 opened by magic when he was changing his clothes and the whole Goddamn thing was filled with drugs. We checked it out and he was right. Every kind of drug that you could imagine and a few more, including narcotics. The locker list I have has you down for 338, not eight.”

“Who’s down for eight?”

“Dr. Eastman.”

“He hasn’t done a case in years.”

“Exactly. Tell me, Mark, who gave you number eight? Walters?”

“Yup. Walters first told me to use 338, and then he gave me number eight.”

“OK, don’t say anything to anybody about this, least of all to Walters.