The Perfect Treatment. Rebecca Lang

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      ‘There’s nothing to stop him from getting hold of a medical book, of course, and reading about probabilities for himself,’ he commented dryly.

      ‘No, he’s obviously done some reading.’

      ‘Do you think he’s a candidate for a bone marrow transplant?’ he asked, looking at her quizzically again.

      Abby shrugged, indicating her uncertainty. ‘Statistically speaking…I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘His age is not on his side.’ She considered how well Mr Simmons would stand up to the effects of the toxic drugs that would be required prior to a transplant of bone marrow. ‘But I…I wouldn’t want to rule it out.’

      ‘Quite right, on both counts,’ he said crisply, ‘so I don’t think that’s an undisputed option. We’ll see. Before we start chemo, we need to do another liver function test and make sure his kidneys are in good working order.’

      A small silence ensued, while other staff moved busily past them in both directions.

      ‘Well…’ Abby said, thinking of her outpatient clinic yet oddly reluctant to bring this teaching session to an end, ‘thank you for the time you’ve taken to go over this case with me, Dr Contini. I guess I ought to be getting back…’

      Dr Contini looked at his wrist watch. ‘That’s the least I could do since you missed the presentation because of Will Ryles. A quick cup of coffee is in order, I think, don’t you?’

      ‘Definitely,’ she agreed.

      ‘Come to my office,’ he said lightly, ‘then I can quiz you about your attitudes and biases, Dr Gibson.’ The smile he gave her surprised her once again, as did his almost playful propensity to goad her in a gentle way, just out of the blue. Although he would not suffer fools gladly, she suspected, he would also be quick to burst any bubble of pomposity wherever he found it…and there was certainly plenty of pomposity in a hospital setting. For this reason, she found herself warming to him even more.

      As she gave him a quick sideways glance, Abby reconfirmed her convictions about the false veracity of first impressions; she didn’t know what to think about Dr Contini. Two things were certain—he was an unusually attractive man, and knowing him was going to be a challenge, both personally and professionally.

      ‘You said you were good at other things, as well as taking histories,’ he said. It seemed that he was determined to shake off the slightly sombre mood that had been engendered by Mr Simmons’s condition. ‘Tell me what some of those other things are.’ His hand lightly under her elbow indicated that they should walk and talk at the same time.

      ‘Well…’ Enjoying his touch, she walked slowly. ‘I’m pretty good in a crisis.’ Looking at him sideways again, she challenged him to contradict her, her full lips curving up at the corners in an involuntary smile.

      ‘I expect you are,’ he conceded thoughtfully, his voice husky.

      ‘Even though you think I’m a bit klutzy?’ Her smile broadened.

      ‘You said that—I didn’t,’ he reminded her. ‘I would have come up with a word that was more complimentary.’

      ‘I’m not sure I believe that,’ she said.

      As he led the way to a quiet side corridor off the main second-floor corridor, where the department of internal medicine offices were situated, Abby considered, a little nervously, what he might query her about, and she began to think that maybe she should have declined the offer of coffee.

      ‘Dr Wharton will be wondering what’s taking me so long,’ she ventured, as he led the way into his cosy office.

      ‘I spoke to Dr Wharton. It’s all right,’ her colleague informed her. ‘This is a teaching hospital after all. You haven’t told me what else you’re good at…outside work. I like to know who—and what—I’m dealing with in my new colleagues.’

      ‘Well…’ Abby racked her brains. ‘I’m good at gardening, and I make a pretty mean rum baba when I’m in the mood for it.’

      Although she had not intended to make him laugh, his uninhibited amusement at her response was very gratifying.

      ‘Perhaps you’ll let me experience that some time,’ he said, still grinning. ‘I shall look forward to it. Coffee?’

      ‘Please. I’m desperate for coffee and was beginning to think you weren’t going to give me any after all.’ Trying to cover up overt signs of her growing attraction to him, she pushed her unruly hair away from her forehead and fussed around with her attachè case which she placed on his desk.

      ‘A coffee now in exchange for a rum baba at a date yet to be decided. Right?’ The tone was light.

      ‘Right,’ she said unthinkingly, aware only that her heart was beating faster than normal and that she wanted more than anything to be able to meet him outside a work setting—not thinking beyond that.

      ‘Back to serious things. Tell me about your personal ethics, Dr Gibson,’ he said, as he handed her a cup of coffee. ‘Would you like to sit—get more comfortable?’

      ‘I…I prefer to stand,’ she said.

      ‘So I’ve noticed,’ he said.

      As her face flushed, he shook his head in a self-deprecating way. ‘I’ve done it again, haven’t I? As I said before, I don’t mean to be unkind. I’ve got into a habit of…insensitivity with women.’

      ‘It’s all right,’ she insisted. Then, like a litany, she mentally went over the many rules for good medicine which she had made for herself, trying to answer his question. While he poured himself coffee, his back to her, Abby took a swallow of hers and collected her thoughts.

      ‘As for my ethics…well, do not force or coerce a patient into having a treatment he or she does not really want, even if the prognosis without it would be poor,’ she stated. ‘Sometimes “treatments” can kill—many are not without risk. If a patient wants a second, or a third, opinion, before agreeing to a course of treatment or an operation, make sure he or she gets it.’

      ‘Hmm. Go on.’ He sipped coffee, eyeing her thoughtfully. Abby had no idea what he was thinking. This was a snatched interlude that must soon be over.

      ‘Know your biases. Even the very best doctors have them,’ she said, hoping that he would not press her further. What, she wondered, were Dr Contini’s biases and weaknesses? Maybe finding out would be interesting. ‘Try to know your strengths and weaknesses.’

      ‘What do you think of euthanasia?’ he asked unexpectedly.

      For a few seconds Abby looked at him, sensing something other than curiosity about her opinions in his question, yet she could not have analyzed why she thought that.

      ‘I know that some doctors advocate euthanasia,’ she said slowly, averting her gaze from his shrewd perception. This was something that she felt very strongly about. ‘I’m not one of them.’

      ‘Tell me why,’ he said softly.

      ‘I—I’m not particularly religious,’ she said, stammering a little, ‘but the admonition “thou shalt not kill” СКАЧАТЬ