Saving Meghan(30)

In a flash, Becky was on her feet, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That’s utterly ridiculous,” she said, seething. “We haven’t even given the vitamin therapy a chance to work.”

“It will never work, because there will always be something until we get to the source of her stress.”

A sharp, piercing tone flooded Becky’s ears. All other sound in the room—the click of Dr. Nash’s nails on her desk, the humming white noise of the hospital—dipped to a nearly imperceptible level. She heard Dr. Fisher’s dire warning about early treatment helping to slow the progress of mitochondrial disease; recalled the personal story he had shared about his son, Will—not to frighten her, but to emphasize the importance of early intervention. And now this Dr. Nash, this prissy know-it-all, this god-awful poseur, was making outlandish claims about Meghan’s mental health and her marriage, of all things. How dare she! How dare she!

No! No! No! the voice screamed in Becky’s head. This is unacceptable, utterly and completely unacceptable.

Becky snapped back into herself, fixing Dr. Nash with the kind of angry look Carl had helped her perfect. Of course, Becky was not going to say anything to Nash about her husband’s concerns, because the two of them were too closely aligned. She already felt alone in this battle and did not need Carl to have an ally working against her.

“I appreciate your time,” Becky said in a calm and even manner. “But I’m not taking your advice, and I don’t want to leave here giving you the impression that I might. As for the endoscopy, I do want that done, but I’ll find another doctor to perform the procedure. From what you’ve said, I wouldn’t trust you to be—well, let’s just say I’d be more comfortable with another doctor, and we’ll leave it at that.”

Dr. Nash exhaled loudly. “I can see your position. However, I have an obligation to be involved, for your daughter’s sake.”

“Well, I’m sorry to be rude, but I don’t want your help.”

Dr. Nash fell silent for a time, making Becky extremely uncomfortable. “I understand how you feel,” Dr. Nash eventually said.

With that, Becky collected her things and left the office.





CHAPTER 14





ZACH


Zach inhaled half a protein bar after ending a call with the parents of Baby Sperling, the young infant he’d correctly diagnosed with Ondine’s curse. They were doing surprisingly well, given the circumstances, and were relieved to finally have a diagnosis to go along with a treatment plan. This fueled Zach more than any protein bar ever could. It was a reminder that every day brought with it the possibility of making a difference in another person’s life. But he knew better than to think he could help everyone in the way he had helped Baby Sperling.

He checked the time, anticipating Amanda Nash’s imminent arrival. She had called an hour earlier requesting an urgent meeting to discuss Meghan Gerard.

On Zach’s desk, camouflaged among the tall stacks of papers and stationed near a half-finished cup of coffee long gone cold, was Meghan’s extensive medical history, which he preferred to read in printed form rather than off one of those newfangled tablets. In terms of size, it was the health care provider’s War and Peace. Zach flipped through page after page of doctor’s notes, admission forms, and lab results in search of evidence that would unequivocally refute Nash’s conclusion.

He found nothing.

Zach felt foolish for not having considered the possibility that Nash might leap to questioning Meghan’s mental health. He should have forewarned Becky that it was a risk with these cases. He’d been a doubter himself, with his own son, of all people. But Meghan was not the only one Nash doubted.

Around White Memorial, few were more respected, or more formidable, than the young, brash, beautiful, and brilliant Dr. Amanda Nash, who, in one of the worst-kept secrets at the hospital, was the CEO’s heir apparent to become the next chief medical officer. Her power at White Memorial had no equal, and her nature, for which the word “dogged” did not nearly do justice, made it so whenever she sank her teeth into some cause or issue, it was hard, if not impossible, to coax her into letting go. Zach had a sinking feeling that Meghan Gerard was about to become Nash’s newest cause.

Zach heard a knock on his office door, closed his eyes to center himself, then said, “Come in.”

Amanda Nash entered Zach’s office, maroon blouse peeking out from underneath her white coat, tortoiseshell glasses in place. She looked uncertain where to step as she eyed the overstuffed bookshelves, overflowing wastebasket, and stacks of paper sprouting up from the floor like stalagmites.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” she said.

Rising from his seat, Zach motioned to the chair opposite his desk. “I’ve got a requisition order for some guide lights,” he said. “Until then, proceed with caution and at your own risk.”

Dr. Nash carefully made her way to the empty chair. She smoothed out her coat as she settled into her seat.

“I’d offer you some cold coffee and a half-eaten protein bar, but I’m selfish,” Zach said, smiling thinly.

“You’re also wrong about Meghan Gerard,” Nash said.

“Not wasting any time, are we?”

“No time to waste,” said Nash. “I’m assuming you got a tongue-lashing from the mother.”