ah.thefinaldiagnosis-第6部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

　had　grown　beyond　him；　had　been　honorably　pensioned　and　Harry　Tomaselli　installed　in　his　place。　Now　the　whole　administrative　side　of　the　hospital　reflected　Tomaselli's　brisk　but　smooth　efficiency。
　A　year　ago　O'Donnell　had　been　elected　president　of　the　hospital's　medical　board；　which　made　him　the　senior　practitioner　at　Three　Counties。　Since　then　he；　Tomaselli；　and　Dr。　Chandler　had　successfully　broadened　the　hospital's　intern　and　resident　training　program；　and　already　applications　for　enrollment　were　growing　in　number。
　There　was　still　a　long　way　to　go。　O'Donnell　knew　that　in　some　ways　they　were　only　at　the　beginning　of　a　long　program　which　would　embrace　the　three　basic　tenets　of　medicine：　service；　training；　research。　He　himself　was　forty…two　now；　would　be　forty…three　in　a　few　months。　He　doubted　if；　in　the　active　years　remaining　to　him；　he　would　plete　in　full　what　he　had　set　out　to　do。　But　the　start　was　good；　that　much　was　reassuring；　and　he　knew　that　his　decision　on　the　airplane　three　and　a　half　years　earlier　had　been　right。
　There　were　soft　spots；　of　course；　in　the　present　setup。　There　had　to　be。　Nothing　this　big　was　achieved　easily　or　quickly。　Some　of　the　seniors　on　medical　staff　still　fought　off　changes；　and　their　influence　was　strong　among　the　older　members　of　the　board；　some　of　whom　still　remained…Eustace　Swayne；　as　obstinate　as　ever；　at　their　head。　Perhaps　this　was　a　good　thing；　O'Donnell　reflected；　and　perhaps　there　was　justice　sometimes　in　the　assertion　that　〃young　men　make　too　many　changes　too　quickly。〃　But　because　of　this　group　and　its　influence　there　were　occasions　when　planning　had　to　be　tempered　with　prudence。　O'Donnell　accepted　this　fact　himself　but　sometimes　had　difficulty　in　getting　it　across　to　the　newer　staff　members。
　It　was　just　this　situation　which　had　made　him　thoughtful　after　talking　with　Bill　Rufus。　The　pathology　department　at　Three　Counties　was　still　a　stronghold　of　the　old　regime。　Dr。　Joseph　Pearson；　who　ran　it　like　a　personal　possession；　had　been　thirty…two　years　at　the　hospital。　He　knew　most　of　the　old　board　members　intimately　and　was　a　frequent　chess　panion　of　Eustace　Swayne。　More　to　the　point；　Joe　Pearson　was　no　inpetent；　his　record　was　good。　In　his　earlier　days　he　had　been　recognized　as　an　active　researcher；　and　he　was　a　past　president　of　the　State　Pathology　Association。　The　real　problem　was　that　the　work　in　Pathology　had　bee　too　much　for　one　man　to　keep　the　reins　in　his　own　hands。　O'Donnell　suspected；　too；　that　some　of　the　pathology　department's　lab　procedures　were　in　need　of　overhauling。　But　desirable　as　changes　might　be；　this　one　was　going　to　be　tough。
　There　was　the　drive　for　funds　for　the　hospital　extension　to　be　considered。　If　there　were　trouble　between　O'Donnell　and　Joe　Pearson；　how　would　Pearson's　influence　with　Eustace　Swayne　affect　Orden　Brown's　plans　for　raising　all　the　money　by　fall　next　year？　Swayne's　own　donation　would　normally　be　a　big　one；　and　loss　of　that　alone　could　be　serious。　But　equally　serious　was　Swayne's　influence　with　other　people　in　the　town；　in　some　ways　the　old　tycoon　possessed　the　power　to　make　or　mar　their　immediate　plans。
　With　so　many　things　pending　O'Donnell　had　hoped　the　problem　of　Pathology　could　be　left　for　a　while。　Nevertheless　he　had　to　take　some　action；　and　soon；　about　Bill　Rufus'　plaint。
　He　turned　away　from　the　plans。　〃Harry；〃　he　said　to　the　administrator；　〃I　think　we　may　have　to　go　to　war　with　Joe　Pearson。〃
　
　Three
　
　In　contrast　with　the　heat　and　activity　of　the　floors　above；　in　the　white…tiled　corridor　of　the　hospital's　basement　it　was　quiet　and　cool。　Nor　was　the　quietness　disturbed　by　a　small　procession…Nurse　Penfield；　and　alongside　her　a　stretcher　gliding　silently　on　ball…bearing　casters　and　propelled　by　a　male　orderly　wearing　rubber…soled　shoes　below　his　hospital　whites。
　How　many　times　had　she　made　this　journey；　Nurse　Penfield　speculated；　glancing　down　at　the　shrouded　figure　on　the　stretcher。　Probably　fifty　times　in　the　past　eleven　years。　Perhaps　more；　because　it　was　not　something　you　kept　score　of…this　final　journey　between　the　ward　and　the　hospital's　morgue；　between　the　territory　of　the　living　and　the　dead。
　A　tradition；　this　last　walk　with　a　patient　who　had　died；　discreetly　timed　and　routed　through　back　corridors　of　the　hospital；　then　downward　in　the　freight　elevator；　so　that　the　living　should　take　no　darkness　or　depression　from　death　so　close　at　hand。　It　was　the　last　service　from　nurse　to　her　charge；　an　acknowledgment　that；　though　medicine　had　failed；　it　would　not　dismiss　the　patient　summarily；　the　motions　of　care；　service；　healing；　would　continue　for　at　least　a　token　time　beyond　the　end。
　The　white　corridor　forked　two　ways　here。　From　a　passage　to　the　right　came　the　hum　of　machinery。　Down　there　were　the　hospital's　mechanical　departments…heating　plant；　hot…water　systems；　electrical　shops；　emergency　generators。　Pointing　the　other　way；　a　single　sign　read：　〃Pathology　Department。　Morgue。〃
　As　Weidman；　the　male　orderly；　swung　the　stretcher　left；　a　janitor…either　on　work　break　or　stolen　time…lowered　the　Coke　he　had　been　drinking　and　moved　aside。　He　wiped　his　lips　on　the　back　of　his　hand；　then　gestured　to　the　shroud。　〃Didn't　make　it；　eh？〃　The　remark　was　to　Weidman；　it　was　an　amiable　gambit；　a　game　played　many　times。
　Weidman；　too；　had　done　this　before。　〃I　guess　they　pulled　his　number；　Jack。〃
　The　janitor　nodded；　then　raised　his　Coke　bottle　again　and　drank　deeply。
　How　short　a　time；　Nurse　Penfield　thought；　between　life　and　the　autopsy　room。　Less　than　an　hour　ago　the　body　under　the　shroud　had　been　George　Andrew　Dunton；　living；　age　fifty…three；　civil　engineer。　She　remembered　the　details　from　the　case　history　on　the　clip　board　under　her　arm。
　The　family　had　behaved　as　well　after　the　death　as　they　had　before…solid；　emotional；　but　no　hysterics。　It　had　made　it　easier　for　Dr。　MacMahon　to　ask　for　permission　to　autopsy。　〃Mrs。　Dunton；〃　he　had　said　quietly；　〃I　know　it's　hard　for　you　to　talk　and　think　about　this　now；　but　there　is　something　I　have　to　ask。　It's　about　permission　for　an　autopsy　on　your　husband。〃
　He　had　gone　on；　using　the　routine　words；　how　the　hospital　sought　to　safeguard　its　medical　standards　for　the　good　of　everyone；　how　a　physician's　diagnosis　could　be　checked　and　medical　learning　advanced；　how　this　was　a　precaution　for　the　family　and　others　who　would　use　the　hospital　in　time　to　e。　But　none　of　this　could　be　done　without　permission　。　。　。
　The　son　had　stopped　him　and　said　gently；　〃We　understand。　If　you　make　out　whatever　is　necessary；　my　mother　will　sign　it。〃
　So　Nurse　Penfield　had　made　out　the　autopsy　form；　and　here　now　was　George　Andrew　Dunton；　dead；　age　fifty…three；　and　ready　for　the　pathologist's　knife。
　The　autopsy…room　doors　swung　open。
　George　Rinne；　the　pathology　department's　Negro　diener…keeper　of　the　morgue…looked　up　as　the　stretcher　rolled　in。　He　had　been　swabbing　the　autopsy　table。　Now　it　shone　spotlessly　white。
　Weidman　greeted　him　with　the　timeworn　jest。　〃Got　a　patient　for　you。〃
　Politely；　as　if　he　hadn't　heard　the　line　a　hundred　times　before；　Rinne　bared　his　teeth　in　a　perfunctory　smile。　He　indicated　the　white　enameled　table。　〃Over　here。〃
　Weidman　maneuvered　the　stretcher　alongside；　and　Rinne　removed　the　sheet　covering　the　naked　corpse　of　George　Andrew　Dunton。　He　folded　it　neatly　and　handed　it　back　to　Weidman。　Death　notwithstanding；　the　sheet　would　have　to　be　accounted　for　back　in　the　ward。　Now；　with　a　second　drawsheet　under　the　torso；　the　two　men　slid　the　body　onto　the　table。
　George　Rinne　grunted　as　he　took　the　weight。　This　had　been　a　heavy　man；　a　six…footer　who　had　run　to　fat　near　the　end　of　his　life。　As　he　wheeled　the　stretcher　clear　Weidman　grinned。　〃You're　getting　old；　George。　Be　your　turn　soon。〃
　Rinne　shook　his　head。　〃I'll　still　be　here　to　lift　you　on　the　table。〃
　The　scene　ran　smoothly。　It　had　had　many　performances。　Perhaps　in　the　distant　past　the　two　had　made　their　grim　little　jokes　with　an　instinct　to　create　some　barrier　between　themselves　and　the　death　they　lived　with　daily。　But　if　so　this　was　long　forgotten。　Now　it　was　a　patter　to　be　run　through；　a　formality　expected；　nothing　more。　They　had　grown　too　used　to　death　to　feel　uneasiness　or　fear。
　On　the　far　side　of　the　autopsy　room　was　the　pathology　resident；　Dr。　McNeil。　He　had　been　shrugging　into　a　white　coat　when　Nurse　Penfield　and　her　charge　came　in。　Now；　glancing　through　the　case　history　and　the　other　papers　she　had　handed　him；　he　was　acutely　conscious　of　Nurse　Penfield's　nearness　and　warmth。　He　sensed　the　crisp　starched　uniform；　a　faint　breath　of　perfume；　a　slight　disarrangement　of　hair　beneath　her　cap；　it　would　be　soft　to　run　his　fingers　through。　He　snatched　his　thoughts　back　to　the　papers　in　hand。
　〃Well；　everything　seems　to　be　here。〃
　Should　he　try　for　Nurse　Penfield　or　not？　It　had　been　six　weeks　now；　and　at　the　age　of　twenty…seven　six　weeks　was　a　long　time　to　be　celibate。　Penfield　was　more　than　averagely　attractive；　probably　thirty…two；　young　enough　to　be　interesting；　old　enough　to　have　long　since　shed　innocency。　She　was　intelligent；　friendly；　good　figure　too。　He　could　see　a　slip　beneath　the　white　uniform；　in　the　heat　she　probably　was　not　wearing　much　else。　Roger　McNeil　calculated。　He　would　probably　have　to　take　her