No Cure for Murder (15 page)
“Not the esteemed Jacob Weizman.”
Sunshine Manor, a modern one-story glass and redwood building, sat on the outskirts of town. Its broad decks and large skylights created a bright and cheery atmosphere. The glass automatic doors whooshed open as Jacob approached. When he entered the lobby, Marcia Katz, the nursing supervisor, came from behind the nurse’s station to greet him.
Marcia hugged Jacob. “Thanks for coming. We’re finding it nearly impossible to get physicians in to see our patients. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“I’m not going to live forever, Marcia. Maybe if the home puts a physician on salary and pays him or her enough that will solve your problem.”
“Sure, Jacob. I can just see the board of directors signing up for that. They’re constantly complaining that they can’t make it as things are now.”
“Where is my patient?”
“I’ll introduce you.”
“No, that’s okay. What room?”
“Room 1247. Her name is Mildred Kaysen. Her daughter Paige is with her.” She bent over to whisper, “I’d watch out for that one.”
As Jacob walked through the quiet corridors, he looked at the photos, art reproductions, and craft work of some residents that decorated the off-white walls. Some inmates shuffled, hands on walkers, vacant eyes down. Some remained fixed by an umbilical cord, the tether, to an attendant immediately behind. Others, also head down, were wheelchair-bound, literally tied into the seat by a broad canvas waistband around their torsos. Diapers protruded from trousers and hospital gowns. The stench of disinfectant, Desitin, and excrement defiled the air.
Jacob, all too familiar with this display of degradation, felt embarrassed as if he was somehow responsible. This was a disgrace and a dishonor to lives once valued. To this group, Sunshine Manor was the warehouse for the unwanted, the decrepit, and the useless—the last train station on the route to nothingness.
Jacob and Lola had survived one holocaust. He thanked the fates for their luck, so far, in avoiding this one. He knocked on the door marked 1247 and entered.
A well-dressed middle-aged woman stood next to the bed. She stared at Jacob. “I’m so sorry. I’ll call the nurse. She can show you back to your room.”
Jacob reddened, and then laughed.
The woman watched Jacob as if he were a lunatic. “Please, I’m sorry. This is a private room. No guests.”
“I’m sorry too, but I can’t help the way I look. I’m Dr. Weizman. I’m here to see Mrs. Kaysen.”
“Oh, excuse me, Doctor. I’m Paige Sims, Mildred’s daughter. I wasn’t expecting someone so....” she hesitated.
“Old,” said Jacob with a laugh. “You’re not the first one to confuse me with a resident of Sunshine Manor. Once, they forced me to sit down to play games with the group. A nurse who knew me, set me free...too bad, I was about to yell ‘Bingo’.”
Jacob spent twenty minutes examining Mildred and obtaining a brief history.
Mildred was a sweet, intelligent woman, a year younger than her new doctor. “Thank you, Doctor. It’s great, for a change, to see a doc who doesn’t have pimples.”
Jacob laughed. He turned to Paige. “If we don’t have all her old medical records, we’ll request them. After I have a chance to review it all, we’ll meet again to discuss the treatment plan with you and your mother. For the moment, I’ll keep everything the same.”
Paige offered a cool hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”
When Jacob began to leave, Mildred smiled and winked. “Do you need help finding your way out, Doctor?”
Jacob laughed. “No thanks, Mildred. I left a trail of breadcrumbs behind. I’ll find my way.”
I really like Mildred Kaysen, he thought.
After Jacob departed, Mildred turned to her daughter. “I like Dr. Weizman. The nurses say he’s one of the best physicians in the community.”
“Mother. He’s even older than you.”
“I love that...older than me.”
A week later, Jacob returned. “I’ve reviewed all your medical records, Mildred. I have but one suggestion.”
“What is it?” asked Paige.
“The digoxin. You’ve been on it for twenty years, yet I can’t find a good indication for its use.”
“Her internist said it was for mother’s heart. He’s on the staff at Columbia University in New York.”
“Whatever. Without a legitimate indication, I’m recommending that we gradually stop it. When you age, pardon the expression, Mildred, and as your kidney function slows down, the drug poses a real possibility of danger. If I felt we have a good reason for its use, I’d leave it alone, but I can’t find justification for digoxin in your chart or on your examination.”
Mildred looked at Paige, and then turned back to Jacob. “If you think that’s the thing to do, then sign me on.”
“Mother,” said Paige, alarmed.
“If you like, I can ask one of our cardiologists at Brier Hospital to consult with your mother for a second opinion about the digoxin.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Mildred, staring at her daughter.
Paige’s lips pressed together as she stared at Jacob.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sherrie Lotts, a new graduate nurse, and just two weeks on the job, watched as Jacob meandered down the hallway. “Who is that?”
Mary Oakes, the head nurse, stared down the hallway. “That’s Dr. Jacob Weizman. He’s an institution around here.”
“That’s Weizman? He looks like he ought to be in an institution. How old is he?”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Jacob will be eighty-nine in the fall, I think.”
“Isn’t he a little old to be practicing medicine?”
“You’ll find out when you work with him and you’ll get your chance today. Alice Kramer is Dr. Weizman’s patient.”
While Jacob sat at the nursing station reviewing Alice’s chart, Mary and Sherrie approached.
“Jacob, I’d like you to meet Sherrie Lotts. She’s a new grad and she’s taking care of Alice today.”
Jacob stood, bowed slightly, and extended his wrinkled hand to Sherrie, whose tentative touch suggested she was shaking hands with a Leper.
“Nice to meet you Doctor,” Sherrie shouted.
Jacob stared at Mary as they communicated as by telepathy…give the girl another chance, Jacob.
Jacob stood. “Come, let’s make rounds.”
“Can I carry the chart for you Dr. Weizman?” Sherrie shouted.
“I ain’t deaf, young lady,” said Jacob warming to his task.
Sherrie turned to Mary. “I thought he was hard of hearing. I didn’t mean anything.”
“Why are you telling that to me? Dr. Weizman’s standing right here.”
Jacob held the chart. “Come with me, nurse Watts,” said Jacob looking back at Mary who was shaking her head. “We’ll take a look at Alice.”
“It’s Lotts, not Watts, Dr. Weizman.” Sherrie bit her lip in frustration.
They walked to Alice’s room and when they entered, Jacob turned to Sherrie. “How’s her vital signs, nurse Watts?”
“They’re fine, except for a little fever.”
Jacob turned to Sherrie. “A beaver? What in hell is she doing with a little beaver? They don’t allow beavers in the hospital.”
Sherrie turned red. “A little fever…I said she had a little fever.”
“Whatever,” said Jacob.
Jacob listened to Alice’s heart, and then turned to Sherrie. “Maybe she needs to see a heart doctor.”
“You mean a cardiologist?”
“Yes. Why don’t you see if William Harvey is available? He knows a lot about the circulation.”
After ten minutes checking the Brier Hospital directory of physicians, Sherrie entered Mary Oakes’s office.
“Dr. Weizman wants a Dr. William Harvey to see Mrs. Kramer, but I can’t find him.”
Mary began laughing uncontrollably as Sherrie stared in wonder.
When Jacob poked his head into the office, Mary was still laughing. “You’re a mean old man, Jacob, very mean.”
“What’s this all about,” said Sherrie.
“Dr. Weizman was having a bit of fun at your expense, Sherrie.”
“Fun?”
“Did you get her name wrong, Jacob?”
He nodded. “Twice.”
“You didn’t do a word substitution?”
“A little one. Beaver for fever. That was quite creative. I also liked the William Harvey consult…we’d have to go back to 1657 to dig up the man who first described the circulatory system.” Jacob sat beside Sherrie. “I’m really sorry, but the devil made me do it.” He stroked his beard and continued, “I can’t remember who said it, but the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning is to breathe on a mirror and hope it fogs.”
Sherrie smiled.
Jacob looked at Sherrie. “Can you define ageism for me, Sherrie?”
“It’s prejudice against old people.”
“You’re right, but let me make it clearer. Ageism is when you, I, or anyone else uses the age of a person to define them. That happens through words, gestures or actions and the net effect implies that the person is less worthy and of less value.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to do that, Dr. Weizman.”
“Please, call me Jacob. Everyone does. I don’t know why I picked on you when middle aged and seniors themselves are the worst perpetrators…well, I do know. Please don’t be offended, but when we know better, we do better. I know, as my grandmother used to say, that I’m no spring chicken, but please wait before you assume that I’m deaf or need physical assistance. Furthermore, you can skip my all-time favorite, talking about me in the third person while I’m present. That one sends me through the roof.”
Mary patted Jacob’s shoulder. “You’re too damned sensitive.”
“Wait a few years, and then talk to me about it.”
Jacob stood and shook Sherrie’s hand. “Friends?”
She smiled, and then nodded.
Jacob rose to leave then turned back into the room. “Got to get home early enough to hear President Nixon’s speech.”
Mary shook her head and laughed.
When Jacob entered the office after lunch, he looked down at the worn appointment book and reviewed the list of patients scheduled for the day.
“I see Nathan Seigel’s first, Maggie. Put him in the examining room.”
“Dr. Spelling is with him now. He asked us if it was okay if he saw her today. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course. What’s the use of having a smart and beautiful doc in the practice, if we’re not going to use all her assets.”
It’s stupid, Jacob thought, but it hurts when patients choose to see another doc…stupid and painful!
Margaret placed her hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “Don’t give it a thought, Old Man, patients, especially men, are human after all.”
“I promised to write a consultation request for Nathan Seigel. He’s scheduled to see Sharon Brickman, the cardiologist, again.”
“Dr. Spelling said she’d do it.”
Two weeks later, Margaret approached Jacob. “Dr. Brickman called. She hasn’t received the consultation request for Nathan Seigel. His insurance won’t pay her unless they get a formal request for consultation.”
“I thought Zoe was doing that. Find out, and let me know.”
Margaret knocked on Zoe’s door between patients. “Dr. Spelling, have you dictated the consultation request for Mr. Seigel?”
“Of course. I did it on his last visit. Can’t you find it?”
“No. Did you use a new tape? Maybe we missed it.”
“Missed it? Don’t tell me I have to dictate it again, damn it.”
“Did you check all the tapes?” asked Margaret of the office transcriptionist.
“I checked them all. I found her patient before Mr. Seigel, her office visit with him, and then next patient, but no letter of referral. I don’t know what happened, but it’s not here.”
Margaret told the story to Jacob. “It’s just a mistake. No big deal. I’ll dictate the referral letter right now.”
Later that day, Jack Byrnes and Warren Davidson received calls from Mark Whitson. “Can you come over after work for a quick meeting?”
“What’s it about?” asked Warren.
“Morphine.”
When Jack entered Mark’s office, Warren was chatting with him.
“Have a seat, Jack. I have some information about the Rory Calhoun case.”
“Let’s have it,” said Warren.