the medical record system. He called up Larry Childs’s chart and moused the radiation therapy tab. A smaller window opened. Tyler blinked, moved in for a closer look. He realized a patina of sweat now coated his body in spite of the chill. An urge to vomit battled his self-control.
“Holy shit, Mathews, you okay?” Michelle reached out, grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
A tingling floated over his skin, his equilibrium faltered. He inhaled deeply and planted both palms squarely on the stainless steel counter for support.
He found his mouth too dry to speak so cleared his throat and swallowed. “Ah, can you tell me what the screen says?”
“Which one? The dialog box?”
He nodded, the dizziness starting to clear enough to release one hand from the counter.
A second later Michelle gave a slow whistle. “Oh dear… . Two hundred. That’s—”
Tyler grabbed her arm, whispered, “Hold it ‘till we get down stairs.” With a shaking hand he withdrew a pocket computer from his coat then fumbled with pulling the stylus free. Slowly, deliberately he worked through the screen to where he kept notes on research patients. He scrolled through the record to the entry he’d made when Nick Barber determined Larry Childs’s radiation dose. The number jumped out at him: 10 Gr.
He handed it to Michelle. “Check it out.”
She accepted the computer but kept staring at him. “Hey, you want to lay down or something?”
“Look at it, damnit.”
Michelle handed it back with a nod, her face drained of color. “You’re right. Let’s discuss this downstairs. You up to walking now?”
“I F THAT ISN’T radiation necrosis then what the hell could it possibly be?” Michelle dragged the end of a French fry through red catsup mounded at the end of the oval plate. Her short precisely manicured fingernails were coated with clear lacquer.
Michelle waved the fry. “What I’m saying is that I don’t buy this business about herpes or a wildly malignant glioblastoma. Holy shit, the brain’s necrotic and he apparently received enough radiation to melt an aircraft carrier. What more is there to say?”
Tyler had also chosen the fish and chips. He took a bite of cod. It tasted like cardboard. He pushed his plate away and forced a swallow. “I know. It’s logical, isn’t it. Just hard to accept.”
“Okay then. The kid’s got a case of radiation necrosis. That’s the easy part. The next question is how the hell could that kind of overdose happen? Way you describe the protocol, it’s impossible. Besides, you showed me your palm computer. I’m no radiation therapist, but that dose is more like what I’d expect.”
The chill in Tyler’s gut intensified. “It has to be radiation necrosis. Can’t be anything else.” He looked at her. “Jesus, I couldn’t have made a mistake like that and typed it in wrong.”
She frowned at him. “For Pete sake, stop this mea culpa routine. You don’t make those kinds of errors. We both know how tight assed compulsive you are about things like this. I don’t for one minute believe you allowed that crazy a dose to blow right past you. No way, no how. Besides, the computer would’ve caught it and asked you to verify.”
“Then what else could’ve caused it?”
“What about dear old U Pitt? Don’t tell me they don’t have a license to screw up once in a while just like the rest of us mortals.” She popped another fry into her mouth.
“Sure, but the dosage value is double checked by the radiation therapists before being sent. And,” he remembered at the last minute, “the value has to be within safe ranges parameters or the U Pitt computer chokes and won’t allow the data transfer. And, like you just said, it’s the same with our computer. If it isn’t a reasonable value, we won’t accept it. “It’s a one-shot deal, you know, the zap. And believe me, that protocol’s bullet proof too. Had to be for NIH and the local IRB,” referring to the institutional
“Holy shit, Mathews, you okay?” Michelle reached out, grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
A tingling floated over his skin, his equilibrium faltered. He inhaled deeply and planted both palms squarely on the stainless steel counter for support.
He found his mouth too dry to speak so cleared his throat and swallowed. “Ah, can you tell me what the screen says?”
“Which one? The dialog box?”
He nodded, the dizziness starting to clear enough to release one hand from the counter.
A second later Michelle gave a slow whistle. “Oh dear… . Two hundred. That’s—”
Tyler grabbed her arm, whispered, “Hold it ‘till we get down stairs.” With a shaking hand he withdrew a pocket computer from his coat then fumbled with pulling the stylus free. Slowly, deliberately he worked through the screen to where he kept notes on research patients. He scrolled through the record to the entry he’d made when Nick Barber determined Larry Childs’s radiation dose. The number jumped out at him: 10 Gr.
He handed it to Michelle. “Check it out.”
She accepted the computer but kept staring at him. “Hey, you want to lay down or something?”
“Look at it, damnit.”
Michelle handed it back with a nod, her face drained of color. “You’re right. Let’s discuss this downstairs. You up to walking now?”
“I F THAT ISN’T radiation necrosis then what the hell could it possibly be?” Michelle dragged the end of a French fry through red catsup mounded at the end of the oval plate. Her short precisely manicured fingernails were coated with clear lacquer.
Michelle waved the fry. “What I’m saying is that I don’t buy this business about herpes or a wildly malignant glioblastoma. Holy shit, the brain’s necrotic and he apparently received enough radiation to melt an aircraft carrier. What more is there to say?”
Tyler had also chosen the fish and chips. He took a bite of cod. It tasted like cardboard. He pushed his plate away and forced a swallow. “I know. It’s logical, isn’t it. Just hard to accept.”
“Okay then. The kid’s got a case of radiation necrosis. That’s the easy part. The next question is how the hell could that kind of overdose happen? Way you describe the protocol, it’s impossible. Besides, you showed me your palm computer. I’m no radiation therapist, but that dose is more like what I’d expect.”
The chill in Tyler’s gut intensified. “It has to be radiation necrosis. Can’t be anything else.” He looked at her. “Jesus, I couldn’t have made a mistake like that and typed it in wrong.”
She frowned at him. “For Pete sake, stop this mea culpa routine. You don’t make those kinds of errors. We both know how tight assed compulsive you are about things like this. I don’t for one minute believe you allowed that crazy a dose to blow right past you. No way, no how. Besides, the computer would’ve caught it and asked you to verify.”
“Then what else could’ve caused it?”
“What about dear old U Pitt? Don’t tell me they don’t have a license to screw up once in a while just like the rest of us mortals.” She popped another fry into her mouth.
“Sure, but the dosage value is double checked by the radiation therapists before being sent. And,” he remembered at the last minute, “the value has to be within safe ranges parameters or the U Pitt computer chokes and won’t allow the data transfer. And, like you just said, it’s the same with our computer. If it isn’t a reasonable value, we won’t accept it. “It’s a one-shot deal, you know, the zap. And believe me, that protocol’s bullet proof too. Had to be for NIH and the local IRB,” referring to the institutional
Similar Books
