Contagion by Robin Cook Page B

nebulizers had become contaminated.”
         “Kathy!” a voice called out sharply.
         Both Jack and Kathy abruptly turned to see that Dr. Zimmerman had come up behind them.
         “That is confidential information,” Dr. Zimmerman lectured. Kathy started to say something but then thought better of it.
         “We have work to do, Kathy,” Dr. Zimmerman said. “Let's go to my office.”
         Suddenly abandoned, Jack debated what he should do. For a moment he considered going back to room 707, but after Clint's tirade, he thought it best to leave the man alone. After all, Jack had intended to provoke Kelley, not Clint. Then he got an idea: It might be instructive to visit the lab. As defensively as Dr. Zimmerman had responded, Jack thought it was the lab that should have been chagrined. They were the ones who missed the diagnosis.
         After inquiring about the location of the lab, Jack took the elevator down to the second floor.
         Flashing his medical examiner's badge again produced immediate results. Dr. Martin Cheveau, the lab director, materialized and welcomed Jack into his office. He was a short fellow with a full head of dark hair and pencil-line mustache.
         “Have you heard about the case of plague?” Jack asked once they were seated.
         “No, where?” Martin questioned.
         “Here at the Manhattan General,” Jack said. “Room seven-oh-seven. I posted the patient this morning.”
         “Oh, no!” Martin moaned. He sighed loudly. “That doesn't sound good for us. What was the name?”
         “Donald Nodelman,” Jack said.
         Martin swung around in his seat and accessed his computer. The screen flashed all Nodelman's laboratory results for the duration of his admission. Martin scrolled through until he got to the microbiology section.
         “I see we had a sputum gram stain showing weakly gram-negative bacilli,” Martin said. “There's also a culture pending that was negative for growth at thirty-six hours. I guess that should have told us something, especially where I see pseudomonas was suspected. I mean, pseudomonas would have grown out without any trouble way before thirty-six hours.”
         “It would have been helpful if Giemsa's or Wayson's stain had been used,” Jack said. “The diagnosis could have been made.”
         “Exactly,” Martin said. He turned back to Jack. “This is terrible. I'm embarrassed. Unfortunately, it's an example of the kind of thing that's going to happen more and more often. Administration has been forcing us to cut costs and downsize even though our workload has gone up. It's a deadly combination, as this case of plague proves. And it's happening all over the country.”
         “You've had to let people go?” Jack asked. He thought that the clinical lab was one place hospitals actually made money.
         “About twenty percent,” Martin said. “Others we've had to demote. In microbiology we don't have a supervisor any longer; if we had, he probably would have caught this case of plague. With the operating budget we've been allotted we can't afford it. Our old supervisor got demoted to head tech. It's discouraging. It used to be we strove for excellence in the lab. Now we strive for 'adequate,' whatever that means.”
         “Does your computer say which tech did the gram stain?” Jack asked. “If nothing else, we could turn this episode into a teaching experience.”
         “Good idea,” Martin said. He faced the computer and accessed data. The tech's identity was in code. Suddenly he turned back to Jack.
         “I just remembered something,” he said. “My head tech thought of plague in relation to a patient just yesterday and asked me what I thought. I'm afraid I discouraged him by telling him the chances were somewhere on the order of a billion to one.”
         Jack perked up. “I wonder what made him think of plague?”
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