Page 79 of Hades

“Shall we jump right in?” Mr. Bradford, the hospital’s lawyer, says.

Betty looks down at the paper in front of her. “Evelyn Kingston, you have worked in our hospital for five years, and you did your residency here, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“In that time, you haven’t had any complaints from patients and only one, recently, from staff, about acquaintances hanging out around the building.” Betty reads from her paper.

“Which, as I reminded you then, was outside of my control. I cannot control who visits a public building or comes in for help. We are a hospital after all,” I remind her. “The man in question was visiting his dying grandmother, who is still in this building. I have it on good authority that he plans to sue the hospital for trying to keep him from his relative.”

Her cheeks flush.

Lana looks at her watch. “I don’t care about her history, so can we get on with this? We have to get ahead of the media storm. The mayor is calling for heads. I don’t want it to be any of ours.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from snapping at the lady. It’s not her medical license on the line. She shouldn’t rush things just because she is antsy.

“At seventeen eighteen on the ninth, you administered what you believed was lorazepam to patient Melanie. This is after your patient seized. The patient calmed but then entered cardiac arrest. Is that correct?” Betty asks.

“It is. I then administered CPR while Preston ran the code. We did everything we could to save her life.”

“Were you aware that the syringe that you used was not lorazepam but calcium gluconate?”

I feel like my heart skips a beat at her implication.

“No. I called for lorazepam. Marie handed it to me. I administered it.” I frown, looking down at my hands.

Calcium gluconate. Fuck.

“I have the report right here. Miss Melanie died of an overdose of calcium gluconate that caused her to go into cardiac arrest. Since it was unknown as to what caused the cardiac arrest, we did not act properly to reverse the effects. Had we known, it might have saved her life.” Dr. Pembrooke looks at me with a sort of glee in his eyes.

“I called an order. It was a code blue. I trusted my team. I don’t know what happened. My team is good. Is it possible that the calcium gluconate was administered before she arrived?” I ask.

Pembrooke scoffs. “Just admit that you made a mistake so we can move on, Dr. Kingston.”

I turn to look at him. “I am trying to understand what happened. I didn’t make a mistake. It was a stressful situation that we were all trying to resolve.”

“Nonetheless, this looks bad. You have to know that,” Lana says gently.

“Answer my question,” I ask Mr. Bradford.

“From the reports, it was the shot you gave her that was the calcium gluconate. It killed her almost immediately. There is no way it was lingering in her system. Besides that, we have the syringe that was used. It was tested. It is not only labeled with the code for calcium gluconate, but it tested positive for it. The question here, Dr. Kingston, isn’t if you administered the medication. We know you did. The question is if you knew what you were doing or not.”

My throat feels like it closes up. Why didn’t I look at the medicine before I gave it? How the hell did I give her the wrong medication?

“I was unaware there was a mistake with the medication,” I admit.

“You do know that even if you didn’t know, you administered it, so you are liable. Any lawsuits will be against your license,” Mr. Bradford reminds me.

I nod. “I am aware of the way the law works. I will accept responsibility for my part in this tragedy.”

“I’m so disappointed in you, Dr. Kingston.” Dr. Pembrooke tsks his tongue, shaking his head.

“Dr. Pembrooke, I must ask that you refrain from such talk to an employee,” Mr. Bradford scolds him, making his face turn red.

“As of today, you will be suspended without pay pending further investigation. Depending on the outcome of that investigation, we may recommend that your license be revoked to the medical board. If that happens, you will have thirty days to appeal the recommendation. Do you understand?” Betty asks.

I nod. “I do.”

“We will need you to turn in your pager and your badge.” Betty’s face is sympathetic as she holds out her hand.