worked her way right to the top.
Agnes Pickens took her seat at the head of the table and kept her welcome short. “I want to get straight to business,” she said, setting her cell phone, screen up, on the table next to her copy of the hospital report. “You’ll notice on the first page of the document before you that the rankings are in and they are not satisfactory. They are a disgrace. They do not reflect the quality of the work that we are doing here at Promise Falls General.”
A woman at the far end of the table said, “You have to take those things with a grain of—”
“Dr. Ford, I’m speaking. While this ranking is grossly unfair, the only way we’re going to deal with it is to work even harder in every department. We need to look at every single thing we do here and find a way to do it even better. For example, we’re still not where we need to be on computerization of records. It’s vitally important that all relevant patient information be entered into the system to avoid any potential allergy and medication mix-ups. But some staff are still recording information on paper, and leaving it to others to input this data.”
“Not guilty,” Jack Sturgess said. “I’ve gone totally computer.”
“You’re an inspiration to us all,” Agnes said.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced down, saw that it was her sister, Arlene Harwood, calling. She also noticed, for the first time, that she had a couple of voice-mail messages. Agnes felt that whatever they were could wait. The phone buzzed six times, the vibrations traveling the length of the table like a minor earth tremor.
“I’m getting pushback from some staff on this computer filing issue, and I want to get the message out that no one is so special as to be exempt from this. No one. And it’s not the regular rank and file who are resisting. It’s the doctors and surgeons and specialists who seem to think that somehow this duty is beneath them. In part, it’s a generational issue. Younger physicians who’ve grown up with technology are not—”
The phone buzzed again. Arlene trying a second time.
Agnes Pickens hated to be thrown off her game when she was in the middle of something. She picked up the phone, pressed a button to immediately decline the call.
“As I was saying, just because some people who work here, or have privileges here, may not be as computer-savvy as some of their younger colleagues is not an excuse. They are going to have to—”
A text appeared on her phone. From Arlene:
CALL ME!!! IT’S ABOUT MARLA.
Agnes studied the screen for several seconds. “Excuse me,” she said finally, pushing back her chair. “I want five ideas on how to get this ranking up by the time I come back.” She grabbed her phone, exited the boardroom, and closed the door behind her. She entered her sister’s home number and put the phone to her ear.
“Agnes?”
“I’m in the middle of a board meeting,” she said. “What’s this about Marla?”
“My God, I’ve been calling and calling.”
“What is it?”
“She’s done it again,” Arlene said. “David just called. I sent him by to see her with some chili and—”
“Done what, Arlene?”
“David found her looking after a baby.”
Agnes closed her eyes and touched her free hand to her temple, as if she could magically ward off the headache she knew was coming.
“There’s been no incident here,” Agnes said. “If someone had taken a baby from the hospital I would have been notified instantly. David must be mistaken.”
“I don’t know where she got it,” Arlene said. “But I trust David on this. If he says there’s a baby, there’s a baby.”
“Dear God,” Agnes said. “That child, I swear.”
“She’s not a child. She’s a grown woman, and she’s been traumatized. It’s not her fault.”
“Don’t lecture me, Arlene.” It never ended, Agnes thought. Once an older sister, always an older sister.
Agnes wasn’t just younger than Arlene. She was her
Agnes Pickens took her seat at the head of the table and kept her welcome short. “I want to get straight to business,” she said, setting her cell phone, screen up, on the table next to her copy of the hospital report. “You’ll notice on the first page of the document before you that the rankings are in and they are not satisfactory. They are a disgrace. They do not reflect the quality of the work that we are doing here at Promise Falls General.”
A woman at the far end of the table said, “You have to take those things with a grain of—”
“Dr. Ford, I’m speaking. While this ranking is grossly unfair, the only way we’re going to deal with it is to work even harder in every department. We need to look at every single thing we do here and find a way to do it even better. For example, we’re still not where we need to be on computerization of records. It’s vitally important that all relevant patient information be entered into the system to avoid any potential allergy and medication mix-ups. But some staff are still recording information on paper, and leaving it to others to input this data.”
“Not guilty,” Jack Sturgess said. “I’ve gone totally computer.”
“You’re an inspiration to us all,” Agnes said.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced down, saw that it was her sister, Arlene Harwood, calling. She also noticed, for the first time, that she had a couple of voice-mail messages. Agnes felt that whatever they were could wait. The phone buzzed six times, the vibrations traveling the length of the table like a minor earth tremor.
“I’m getting pushback from some staff on this computer filing issue, and I want to get the message out that no one is so special as to be exempt from this. No one. And it’s not the regular rank and file who are resisting. It’s the doctors and surgeons and specialists who seem to think that somehow this duty is beneath them. In part, it’s a generational issue. Younger physicians who’ve grown up with technology are not—”
The phone buzzed again. Arlene trying a second time.
Agnes Pickens hated to be thrown off her game when she was in the middle of something. She picked up the phone, pressed a button to immediately decline the call.
“As I was saying, just because some people who work here, or have privileges here, may not be as computer-savvy as some of their younger colleagues is not an excuse. They are going to have to—”
A text appeared on her phone. From Arlene:
CALL ME!!! IT’S ABOUT MARLA.
Agnes studied the screen for several seconds. “Excuse me,” she said finally, pushing back her chair. “I want five ideas on how to get this ranking up by the time I come back.” She grabbed her phone, exited the boardroom, and closed the door behind her. She entered her sister’s home number and put the phone to her ear.
“Agnes?”
“I’m in the middle of a board meeting,” she said. “What’s this about Marla?”
“My God, I’ve been calling and calling.”
“What is it?”
“She’s done it again,” Arlene said. “David just called. I sent him by to see her with some chili and—”
“Done what, Arlene?”
“David found her looking after a baby.”
Agnes closed her eyes and touched her free hand to her temple, as if she could magically ward off the headache she knew was coming.
“There’s been no incident here,” Agnes said. “If someone had taken a baby from the hospital I would have been notified instantly. David must be mistaken.”
“I don’t know where she got it,” Arlene said. “But I trust David on this. If he says there’s a baby, there’s a baby.”
“Dear God,” Agnes said. “That child, I swear.”
“She’s not a child. She’s a grown woman, and she’s been traumatized. It’s not her fault.”
“Don’t lecture me, Arlene.” It never ended, Agnes thought. Once an older sister, always an older sister.
Agnes wasn’t just younger than Arlene. She was her
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