17. Judge Ellis Is Trapped
After great spluttering and fussing, Judge Ellis had finally yielded to Aunt Becky’s ultimatum that he go to the clinic for a checkup.
“Confound that woman!” he muttered under his breath as he clamped his straw hat on his massive white head and tucked his walking cane under his arm. The impressive man of law had met his match when he had married the stern New England woman a few years before.
Aunt Becky stood in the front door waiting for the judge to get ready to go out. She looked fondly at her husband as he surveyed himself in the old-fashioned, full-length mirror which stood in the hall.
“And you can stop muttering those terrible things about me, too!” she commanded.
“Bah!” Judge Ellis snorted. Then he leaned over and laid his cheek against hers. The tender little gesture was a token of the great love these two strong-willed people had for each other.
Aunt Becky held him back at arm’s length and studied his appearance. “You’re a shameful man,” she said gently, “to be so handsome at your age!”
“Humph!” the judge exclaimed. “You talk as if I belonged in my grave!”
“Oh, scat! Out with you!” Becky cried.
Whistling jauntily, Judge Ellis strolled down the walk and turned toward town. He would walk on such a fine day. This visit to the clinic was sentimental nonsense, he told himself . But if it would please Becky....
Dr. Daley, the clinic internist, was waiting for the judge when he arrived. The doctor was a comparatively young man, and he fervently hoped that he would find Judge Ellis in good shape. He knew what a chore it would be to try to convince the eminent citizen of Elmhurst to take any sort of treatment.
Dr. Daley’s heart sank as he saw the older man’s sagging waistline. But he smiled cheerfully and invited the patient into his office.
“This stuff and nonsense,” Judge Ellis snorted, “is a complete waste of time, young man.” He glowered at the doctor. “Why aren’t you taking care of sick people? I’m a well man, as you can tell by looking at me. And right this minute I should be down at City Hall. An important committee meeting is awaiting me.”
Dr. Daley nodded. “You look pretty good, sir,” he admitted. “Now if you’ll take off your coat and shirt, I’ll listen to your heart.”
Grudgingly the Judge obeyed.
The doctor nodded as he listened to the tired old heart. “And now the blood pressure,” he commented as he adjusted the gadget around the Judge’s arm.
After he had been weighed, Judge Ellis put his shirt and coat back on and knotted his tie carefully. Dr. Daley, thinking hard, sat down behind his desk and looked over Judge Ellis’ medical history.
“Of course this is nowhere near a complete examination. I want to have some lab tests made,” the doctor said.
“Humph,” was Judge Ellis’ reply. “This is a waste of both your time and mine.”
The doctor nodded. “Judge Ellis,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a little advice. You see, my father is a prominent surgeon in New York City, and you can’t tell him anything. He has studied medicine all his life, and he is a very wise man ... medically speaking, of course.”
“Glad to hear it,” the judge grunted.
Dr. Daley sighed. “But he’s a baby in some ways. A couple of years ago he made some bad financial investments. He knew what he was signing when he made the transactions. Now he wants to sue the company. But his lawyer ... a young man about my age ... but very good ... advises him not to sue.”
Judge Ellis grunted. “Why not?”
Dr. Daley shrugged. “He’d be throwing good money after bad. The company couldn’t pay even if he did sue. He won’t get a cent.”
“Who’s handling the case? Your father’s lawyer, I mean?”
“Stanley Jordan of Smith, Perkins and Jordan.”
Judge Ellis nodded gravely. “Jordan is an excellent man. Your father should have implicit faith in him. Know him well!”
A smile spread across the doctor’s face. “But, sir, you don’t know my father. He thinks because Jordan is a young man and he is much older, that he knows better.”
Judge Ellis banged the desk with his fist. “Thunderation, man! Then why did your father go to Jordan in the first place? What in heaven’s name does a doctor know about the law, anyway?” He sniffed. “You tell your father that Judge Ellis, who is undoubtedly his age or better, tells him to stop being a fool and to listen to what Jordan says!”
Dr. Daley repressed a chuckle. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
“Is that all, young man?” the judge demanded.
Dr. Daley scribbled something on a pad and held it out to Judge Ellis. “I think so, for today.”
The judge stood up and shook hands with the doctor. Then he went out to the corridor and opened the note Dr. Daley had given him.
Your blood pressure is up enough to warrant further laboratory tests. If you will report to the lab, they will make all the arrangements for your convenience. Also, I want you to take off at least twenty pounds. I’m sure Mrs. Ellis can arrange a fat-free and low carbohydrate diet for you. You should adhere to this diet for at least a year. The weight should come off slowly, just as it was put on. If you smoke, do so in moderation.
Judge Ellis scowled and turned menacingly towards the doctor’s office. Then he looked at the note again.
There was a postscript.
Thank you, sir, for the advice about my father. I don’t know why he thinks that just because he is an elderly man and famous in his field, he knows all there is to know about every other profession.
Judge Ellis began to chuckle. His chuckle grew into a full-bodied roar. The girl at the desk looked up, startled.
“Young lady!” he boomed. “Can you direct me to the laboratory?”
In his office, Dr. Daley chuckled a little over the episode. He put aside Judge Ellis’s medical history and snapped on his inter-office phone. “Send in the next patient, Miss Babcock,” he said.
The girl outside answered, “But Dr. Daley, Dr. Barsch has an operation he wants you to attend in a half hour. You haven’t forgotten it, have you?”
The young doctor’s hands grew clammy at the thought of the operation he was to attend. “Thank you, Miss Babcock,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me.”
His face was grim as he left his office and went upstairs to prepare for the operation. He met Jean on the second floor corridor. She was armed with her sketch pad.
“So you’re to try your hand at sketching a cancer operation, Miss Craig,” Dr. Daley said.
“Yes, sir,” Jean answered.
The doctor shook his head. “This will probably be very unpleasant. I’m frankly scared to death every time we attempt to remove a cancer.”
“I know,” Jean replied solemnly as they went into the operating room.
Howard Mills, a middle-aged farmer, had developed cancer in his lung, and Dr. Barsch was dubious as he prepared for the operation. If the malignant cells had been confined to one lung, Mr. Mills could be pulled through. But if the cancer had invaded the surrounding tissues, there was little hope for his life.
“The worst part about this operation,” Dr. Barsch told Jean as they scrubbed in the operating room lavatory, “is that one never knows. The surrounding tissues may look fine and normal, but cancer cells can break away and get into the blood stream and be carried far from the spot of operation.”
“It’s a grisly business,” Dr. Daley affirmed.
Dr. Barsch sighed and turned his attention to his scrubbing. Dr. Daley said, “If Mr. Mills had come in for regular checkups, this might not have happened. Someday people will learn.”
Eileen Gordon came in briskly and rolled up her sleeves to scrub. Dr. Barsch looked at her with fond exasperation.
“So you’re going to assist me,” he commented dryly.
She looked up at him, puzzled. “Yes, sir,” she answered. “This is too important to let anyone else handle.”
The doctor chuckled a little. “Of course you know that Dr. Benson will be on hand, too. Dr. Daley will stand by while I work, and Dr. Benson will do the probing when we make the incision. That boy has the makings of a fine surgeon,” he added, almost to himself.
Eileen reddened. “I didn’t know, sir. Honest.”
Dr. Barsch turned from the sink. “I won’t have it!” he bellowed. “I simply won’t have it! I get a girl trained and some young nincompoop rushes her off to the altar! How many supervisors do you think I can train in the space of two years?”
Eileen giggled. “Oh, goodness, doctor. Dr. Benson hasn’t even talked about marriage! We’re just good friends.”
Dr. Barsch patted his hands with a sterile towel. “Good friends, indeed! I’ve seen that young idiot mooning about here as if he invented falling in love!”
“Here he comes, Doctor,” Jean warned.
“Let him hear me,” Dr. Barsch said defiantly, but he lowered his voice.
If Dr. Benson had been mooning about, he showed no evidence of it this morning. He glanced at the clock as he began to scrub. Each person in the room was required to scrub for ten minutes. Then he meticulously scoured his hands and arms with a small brush, taking particular care to clean around the base of the nails where dirt can be imbedded. When he had finished, he bathed his hands and arms in an antiseptic solution. He didn’t even glance at Eileen, who was scrubbing at the next basin.
The patient was wheeled in and transferred to the operating table. In spite of the fact that he was under opiates, Mr. Mills moaned. Dr. Henry waited till he was ready for the anesthetic and then fitted a cone over the man’s nose and mouth. Watching the blood pressure carefully, he checked the pulse rate every few seconds. At last the moaning stopped, and Dr. Henry nodded.
Dr. Barsch stood beside the patient’s chest ready to make the incision. Gerald Benson stood on the other side of Mr. Mills. A step behind Dr. Barsch, Dr. Daley stood. Dr. Henry was stationed at the patient’s head. Eileen and Jean were on a level with the patient’s hips. They all wore sterile hospital gowns, masks and gloves. Not a single strand of hair escaped from the sterile white caps on their heads.
Dr. Barsch let out his breath slowly and made his incision. Jean watched carefully as he opened the chest. The incision was more difficult to make than one for an abdominal operation, but Dr. Barsch cut skillfully, and soon the lung was exposed. They all shuddered as they saw the cluster of malignant cells imbedded at the base of the lung. Jean sketched quickly. She was fascinated at the sight of the exposed heart beating slowly and calmly as if it were undisturbed.
Then the cutting out of the cancer began. Dr. Barsch cut under the growth, praying that he would find healthy tissue beneath. But there was more cancerous material below. He sighed and cut down again. Finally, he reached normal tissue. Then he and Dr. Benson began the long, tedious and important task of exploring the entire cavity for more malignant tissue. The clock ticked away minutes as they probed.
“All right,” Dr. Barsch said finally. “Take my side.”
They changed places, and Dr. Benson then went over the parts that Dr. Barsch had checked while the older doctor explored Dr. Benson’s territory.
Eileen handed them instruments without instruction, anticipating their needs. And Jean bent her head over her task as she recorded the entire lung and the surrounding organs. She tried to draw every small capillary which extended out into the lung area to form a structure which looked like a branch of a tiny bush. Dr. Henry watched over the patient’s breathing and pulse rate as carefully as a mother watches over a newborn child.
Finally Dr. Henry spoke. “That’s all,” he said hoarsely. “We can’t take any more chances. His pulse rate is falling.”
As long as the patient was under anesthetic, Dr. Henry was the general. As soon as he spoke the other doctors were quick to follow his instructions.
Dr. Barsch shook his head. “All right,” he said grimly. “But I don’t like it.” Silently he began to sew up the wound. First he drew it together with soluble clamps, and then he stitched the chest together as if it were a piece of cloth.
Jean, clutching her sketch pad and pencil, looked at all their faces. Dr. Barsch’s was grim and determined as he sewed. Dr. Daley’s face was expressionless. Dr. Benson’s was white and drawn. He looked as if he were in pain. Dr. Henry shook his head from side to side as he worked over the man’s respiratory system. Eileen’s face was a white mask. Jean knew that the color had left her own face as well.
She knew, too, that they were all praying to a Higher Power whose Presence is always very much felt in an operating room. No one in the room had ever known Mr. Mills before he came to the clinic. But that didn’t matter. His was a precious life ... a human life. And his body was the scene of a battle of that greatest of all wars since the beginning of the human race. Man was at war with his natural enemy, disease.