“482, report to operations,” the dispatcher said when Troy and I cleared the hospital after a cardiac arrest.
“What do you think that’s about?” I asked. “I hope that family didn’t complain.”
“What family?” he said, and gave me one of his maniacal grins.
I just shook my head. “It can’t be good.
A West Hartford police car was parked outside the office. That wasn’t usual. We found the two officers in the crew room having coffee with Don Seurat. They stopped laughing when we walked in. When Seurat saw us, his smile also abruptly ended. “In my office,” he said to us. To the cops, he said, “Excuse me.”
Then I saw Linda standing by the copier, and the look of worry in her eyes further unsettled me. It was a look that said she had tried to forestall this, but hadn’t been successful. Troy hadn’t picked up on her alarm. He sauntered into Seurat’s paneled office, and poured himself a scotch from the liquor on the bar. “What’s everybody drinking?” he asked.
I stood stiffly by the door. Keith Bodin, the company risk manager was there, along with Ben Seurat. They stared at Troy.
Don took the glass from Troy’s hand and poured it in the sink. “Sit down the both of you,” he said. He walked around his desk, and sat in his high-backed leather chair.
I looked at Troy uneasily. I knew we were in trouble, and I thought I knew why.
“Ben, you want to start this off,” Don said.
Ben nodded. He looked directly at Troy. “A woman complained to us that earlier today while you were on your way to Hartford Hospital with her mother, Mr. Johnson driving, Mr. Jones attending the patient, that Mr. Johnson, after running several red lights, appeared to go comatose at the wheel. And that you, Mr. Jones then gave Mr. Johnson a shot with a syringe. And then after helping Mr. Johnson into the back, you took over driving the rest of the way, leaving the patient alone with a semi-conscious technician. Before you answer, I will tell you the woman is a retired ER nurse and was very upset about it.”
“Did she complain about the care her mother received?” I said.
“Are you certified to give IM injections?”
“He was giving me Vitamin B12,” Troy said. “It’s an experimental treatment. It has to be administered regularly like clockwork. I have a very active extracurricular life. My energy wanes, but this Vitamin 12, woo. You ought to try it.”
“This is a serious matter,” Don said.
“Okay, slap his hand. Slap mine. It won’t happen again. Let us go back to work.”
“It’s not that simple. I could fire both of you right now based on this complaint. Mr. Jones for giving an injection he is not certified to give and you for not reporting an illness on duty. You’re lucky the woman brought her complaint to us and not the state.”
“The state? This is bullshit,” Troy said. “This is bullshit!”
“Watch yourself.”
Troy was already out of his chair and leaning over Don’s desk. Don’s chair hit the wall as Don tried to escape. Ben and I grabbed Troy by the arms. He flung us back. “We’re the best crew you have, you sorry son of a bitch. You don’t know shit anymore about what goes on.”
“Get the officers in here,” Don shouted to his secretary.
“The officers?” Troy said, “Why you little sissy punk.” But instead of going for Don, he turned and faced the policemen who entered the room. “In case you don’t know who I am,” he said, “Allow me to introduce myself.” Ben and I grabbed him again. I saw an officer reach for his baton. Troy stepped toward him. I stuck my foot out and tripped Troy. He fell forward and the officers and I were on him in a moment.
“It’s his sugar, it’s his sugar,” I said.
“It’s not my fucking sugar,” Troy shouted. He broke his arm free, punched one of the cops in the face, knocking his head back. “I’m the king of the world!” he shouted. “The king of the world!”
There was a brawl with Troy getting the worst of it. I got in the way of the officer’s counterpunches, and held myself over Troy between them. “I know him. It’s his sugar. We all know that. Let me at least test it. He’s out of his mind right now. I can prove it.”
The tension went out of Troy’s struggle. He eyed me.
“It’s his sugar,” I said, again. “He’d never hit you if his sugar was right.”
Ben brought a medic bag in. While the cops continued to hold a temporarily subdued Troy down, Ben poked Troy’s finger with a lancet. I held the glucometer.
As soon as I had a drop of blood on the strip, I stepped back. “Twenty seconds,” I said. “It’s reading it.”
They all watched me.
The number came up. Three digits. “Forty!” I announced holding the glucometer above everyone’s eye-level. “I was right.”
Ben nodded for me to show him, but I clicked the machine off. “He was going to eat when you called us in. We just did a code. A save. He did a fine job. It must have sucked his sugar down. Look at him, he’s sweating. He just needs to eat. He’s got to eat.”
Troy, even though he was pissed, looked at me with wonder. I saw him try to hold back a smile. He only offered mild resistance when Ben put the IV in his arm. Ben gave him the sugar, but only half an amp. As he pushed it I saw Ben studying me, knowing now where my loyalty lay.
“This is why we can’t have him on the road,” Don said.
