A Surgeon's Triumph

A rainbow-filled jar of jellybeans sat on the countertop next to the box of latex gloves. Patrice had disregarded them during her prior visits to her obstetrician in her first pregnancy. They weren’t her favorite candies, and besides, they reminded her of the president, Ronald Reagan.

            Today was different, however. Patrice did not feel well. Maybe she was hungry, maybe something else. Was her blood sugar low? With nothing to eat since she arrived at the University Medical Center (UMC) for morning rounds, it was possible.

The surgeon stood up from her seat next to the exam table with some difficulty and pulled down the edge of the floral maternity blouse over her growing gravid abdomen. She was 34 years old with beautiful thick brown hair. Today, however, she possessed tired, but shiny green eyes. A handful of stale jellybeans filled her mouth as the exam room door opened.

            “Oh Maria, you caught me.” Patrice slowly sat again, chewing quickly.

            “Dr. Summers-Cooper, you have never sampled our jelly bellies before. Are you hungry?” The nurse entered the room to take Patrice's vital signs. She laughed as the plastic surgeon tried to finish the candies.

            “Maria, it’s Cooper, but I also go by Patrice. Hyphenated names are not my style. Remember my name tag?”

            Patrice Cooper, married to the urology chief resident, Jackson Cooper, had taken his name for better or worse four years before in January 1987. UMC insisted on hyphenating her name with her maiden name, Summers. It was all over the hospital wherever her name appeared. They even printed her university badge in the same manner. Her answer was a small swatch of white adhesive tape over the name Summers.

            “Your temp, Dr. Cooper, is okay. It is, well, a little elevated, actually. It is 99.3. Your blood pressure is not as high as usual. I guess that is good. Did you have your labs this morning?”

            “Yes, I had blood drawn and gave a urine sample.”

            “I will call the lab for Dr. Winters. She’ll see you shortly.”

Lucy Winters, MD, entered the room with a smile. She was a tall woman with curly red hair and an always clean and pressed white coat. She set a manilla envelope labeled in black with the name Patrice Summers-Cooper, MD, on the countertop. “Hi, Patrice. I like your hair. When did you get it done?”

            “Hi, Dr. Winters. What do you think? I trimmed it myself last week. I have no time for a salon appointment. You know, I am not feeling really well today. I am a little dizzy, and I am hot. I am just not doing too well.”

            Dr. Winters stepped to her side and felt her forehead. “Your brow is a little warm. Your temperature is just a touch high. You know, your blood pressure has been high throughout your second trimester. It is low today.” She retrieved a piece of paper from her coat pocket and read from her lab results. “I think you have another urinary tract infection (UTI), Patrice. There are white blood cells and bacteria on your urinalysis. Your blood count is okay this morning, except that you have a slightly elevated white blood cell count. I am going to give you some samples of Keflex. I want you to start the antibiotic right away.”

            “Thanks. I thought it might be a UTI. I am peeing like a racehorse. Do racehorses pee all the time? Jackson uses that line often.”

            Dr. Winters began laughing. “I don’t know. An urologist’s saying. They say a lot of odd things, don’t they?” She pulled out another sheet of paper and sat on her stool with some concern. “Now you had that maternal ultrasound this morning. Amniotic fluid is okay. I was concerned about that last time, but it is better. Fetal movements and position were good. My concern is the lack of fetal weight progress. We’ve discussed this already. Being chief resident is tough on anyone, but especially during a pregnancy. It is tough on a developing baby as well.”

            “Tell me about it. You know I have just a month left to complete my residency. I really hope that I can finish up. Did the Resident Review Committee meet and discuss my case?”

            “Yes, they did—yesterday morning. I advocated for you, Patrice.” Dr. Winters grabbed the manilla envelope off of the countertop and handed it to the resident. “There is a letter inside. It is the unanimous decision by the committee to certify that you have completed your plastic surgery residency. Congratulations. They have allowed me to put you on maternity leave beginning today?”

            “Today? Oh, I have so much to do, and I have to round. Who will be chief?”

            “Morgan Donnelly. I am not familiar with her.”

            “She is the GYN fellow. I got to go and meet with her.”

***

            On the way out of the office, Patrice sat in Dr. Winter’s waiting room to regain her strength. She was hot again and dizzy. She felt as if she might vomit. There was a weight on her chest, and Patrice struggled to catch her breath.

            “Dr. Cooper, you look awful. What’s wrong?” A tall black hospitality volunteer had entered the room and placed a caring hand on Patrice’s shoulder.

            “I will be alright, Gino. Just need to get food in the cafeteria.”

“You just need a visit to the ER, Doc.” Gino left the room quickly and returned with a hospital wheelchair. “Here, let me help you. Sit in this chair. I know another way to enter the ER.”

***

In the emergency department, Gino wheeled in Patrice and stopped a scrub-suit-dressed male nurse. “Can somebody help us? Dr. Cooper is sick.”