Convicted
Page 82
Claire shook her head and tried to reason.
Enlarged—baby—no—gone—everything gone—
She fought the thought—the idea—no!
Dr. Fairfield watched in horror as the patient, who only moments earlier had been experiencing something which none of them could see or hear, was suddenly flailing against the restraints. The machine wasn’t meant for movement.
“I told you to sedate her!” Dr. Fairfield yelled into the microphone.
Trying to remain calm, the nurse beside him replied, “We did, Doctor. She shouldn’t be waking.”
It didn’t matter if she shouldn’t be—Claire was fighting the restraints with all she had. Her mouth opened, yet with the roar of the machine, the feverish attempt of the medical staff to halt the DTI, and the doctor’s angry shouts, Claire’s pleas for her unborn child went unheard and unnoticed. By the time the others entered the lead lined room, Claire’s flushed cheeks were covered with tears and only wordless whimpers escaped her lips.
Dr. Fairfield slammed his fist against the counter as the staff sedated and moved the patient from the gurney. Speaking to everyone—and no one—he said, “This is her fifteenth day on medication. Do you know how much time and money was spent on that scan?! Now it’s useless! She’s barely a one-hundred-and-ten-pound woman. How damn hard is it to get her sedation right?”
Though he asked questions—he didn’t want verbal answers. Flinging the door to the windowed room so hard that it rebounded off the wall, he called over his shoulder, “When the results we did get from this scan are available, bring them to me.”
Dr. Fairfield’s recently prescribed treatment was both proven and new. There were documented results with these medications; however, Dr. Fairfield was taking it a step further, combining medications and requiring more intensive therapy. It was more than had been tried in the published literature. This scan was supposed to show the first marker. Obviously, even without the DTI, the patient was experiencing a hallucination; however, observation wasn’t measurable. The DTI was meant to document increased brain activity. This sedation screw-up would postpone the next DTI for at least a couple of days. Frustrated, the doctor stormed back to his office.
Driving toward Everwood, Meredith reconsidered her objective. She’d been at this research for two and a half months. Soon, her children would be home for a small break before the next boarding school session. The hours she spent at Everwood would seriously detract from time she could spend with them. Was this story really worth the effort?
The tightness in Meredith’s chest told her what she already knew—she wasn’t a detached investigative reporter, like she’d always wanted to be. She was a friend, one who, for lack of a better word, was compensating for the pain she’d brought her friend years ago. This wasn’t about a story—it was about saving Claire and preventatively restoring pride to a little girl who one day would learn terrible things about her father. Meredith wanted Nichol to know there was more to the story—a page two as Paul Harvey used to say. It wasn’t that Meredith didn’t trust Emily to one day enlighten Nichol to Anthony Rawlings’ attributes, although she wasn’t sure she did. It was that, even though Claire came to her with the story of her and Anthony’s introduction, Meredith was the one who wrote it and made it common knowledge. If Claire never recovered and the rest of the story never came out, how would the book that’s made Meredith millions affect the beautiful, innocent little girl whose last name was Rawlings.
Meredith parked her car in the employee parking lot, smoothed her ugly, white uniform, and stood tall; she knew this assignment was more about guilt and obligation than investigation. Until she was convinced Claire was beyond hope—Meredith couldn’t stop. Thank God her husband understood. He’d make their children’s two week break memorable. Maybe one day, not only would Nichol be proud to carry the name Rawlings, but Meredith’s children would be proud to share their parents’ name—not only because their father was a wonderful, loving person—but because even when it was difficult—their mother had learned to do the right thing. It wasn’t an easy lesson. Although Claire carried the scars, Meredith would never forget that she’d been the one to start the wheels of that lesson in motion.
Ms. Bali informed Meredith of Claire’s change in protocol a few weeks ago. As a member of Claire’s food care staff, Meredith had been included in meetings centered on Ms. Nichols. It was during one of those meetings that she’d met Claire’s new lead doctor, Dr. Fairfield. They weren’t introduced. Meredith sat attentively and listened to his directives. Being on Claire’s direct food care team, she also had access to Claire’s records—including the recently prescribed medications. Meredith researched each drug thoroughly—most fell under the class controlled and categorized as antipsychotic.
Enlarged—baby—no—gone—everything gone—
She fought the thought—the idea—no!
Dr. Fairfield watched in horror as the patient, who only moments earlier had been experiencing something which none of them could see or hear, was suddenly flailing against the restraints. The machine wasn’t meant for movement.
“I told you to sedate her!” Dr. Fairfield yelled into the microphone.
Trying to remain calm, the nurse beside him replied, “We did, Doctor. She shouldn’t be waking.”
It didn’t matter if she shouldn’t be—Claire was fighting the restraints with all she had. Her mouth opened, yet with the roar of the machine, the feverish attempt of the medical staff to halt the DTI, and the doctor’s angry shouts, Claire’s pleas for her unborn child went unheard and unnoticed. By the time the others entered the lead lined room, Claire’s flushed cheeks were covered with tears and only wordless whimpers escaped her lips.
Dr. Fairfield slammed his fist against the counter as the staff sedated and moved the patient from the gurney. Speaking to everyone—and no one—he said, “This is her fifteenth day on medication. Do you know how much time and money was spent on that scan?! Now it’s useless! She’s barely a one-hundred-and-ten-pound woman. How damn hard is it to get her sedation right?”
Though he asked questions—he didn’t want verbal answers. Flinging the door to the windowed room so hard that it rebounded off the wall, he called over his shoulder, “When the results we did get from this scan are available, bring them to me.”
Dr. Fairfield’s recently prescribed treatment was both proven and new. There were documented results with these medications; however, Dr. Fairfield was taking it a step further, combining medications and requiring more intensive therapy. It was more than had been tried in the published literature. This scan was supposed to show the first marker. Obviously, even without the DTI, the patient was experiencing a hallucination; however, observation wasn’t measurable. The DTI was meant to document increased brain activity. This sedation screw-up would postpone the next DTI for at least a couple of days. Frustrated, the doctor stormed back to his office.
Driving toward Everwood, Meredith reconsidered her objective. She’d been at this research for two and a half months. Soon, her children would be home for a small break before the next boarding school session. The hours she spent at Everwood would seriously detract from time she could spend with them. Was this story really worth the effort?
The tightness in Meredith’s chest told her what she already knew—she wasn’t a detached investigative reporter, like she’d always wanted to be. She was a friend, one who, for lack of a better word, was compensating for the pain she’d brought her friend years ago. This wasn’t about a story—it was about saving Claire and preventatively restoring pride to a little girl who one day would learn terrible things about her father. Meredith wanted Nichol to know there was more to the story—a page two as Paul Harvey used to say. It wasn’t that Meredith didn’t trust Emily to one day enlighten Nichol to Anthony Rawlings’ attributes, although she wasn’t sure she did. It was that, even though Claire came to her with the story of her and Anthony’s introduction, Meredith was the one who wrote it and made it common knowledge. If Claire never recovered and the rest of the story never came out, how would the book that’s made Meredith millions affect the beautiful, innocent little girl whose last name was Rawlings.
Meredith parked her car in the employee parking lot, smoothed her ugly, white uniform, and stood tall; she knew this assignment was more about guilt and obligation than investigation. Until she was convinced Claire was beyond hope—Meredith couldn’t stop. Thank God her husband understood. He’d make their children’s two week break memorable. Maybe one day, not only would Nichol be proud to carry the name Rawlings, but Meredith’s children would be proud to share their parents’ name—not only because their father was a wonderful, loving person—but because even when it was difficult—their mother had learned to do the right thing. It wasn’t an easy lesson. Although Claire carried the scars, Meredith would never forget that she’d been the one to start the wheels of that lesson in motion.
Ms. Bali informed Meredith of Claire’s change in protocol a few weeks ago. As a member of Claire’s food care staff, Meredith had been included in meetings centered on Ms. Nichols. It was during one of those meetings that she’d met Claire’s new lead doctor, Dr. Fairfield. They weren’t introduced. Meredith sat attentively and listened to his directives. Being on Claire’s direct food care team, she also had access to Claire’s records—including the recently prescribed medications. Meredith researched each drug thoroughly—most fell under the class controlled and categorized as antipsychotic.
