Comfort Zone

Chapter 25

Edna Boyle had called Miriam back early Sunday morning and they'd arranged to meet after Miriam finished office the next day. She was born in Miami Beach long before it was cool. Her Harlequin glasses sparkled with rhinestones and her red hair fluttered around her face, as if she couldn't decide between Dame Edna or Raggedy Anne. Edna was a social worker on the oncology floor at Miami Health (a job Miriam couldn't imagine anyone having the strength to do for long) and Miriam had never worked with her before.

"So let me get this straight," she said, mouth full of chili, after Miriam updated her in the cafeteria. "You're the admitting doctor and the ethics consultant. You called a consult on yourself on the advice of that hot ER attending, and forgot to call Doug today to reassign the case. You didn't inform the patient's surrogate that an ethics consult was in the works, which of course you're supposed to do. The patient's comatose, but the paperwork naming her daughter surrogate is pristine, and the CEO supports her in saying that the patient doesn't want any medical interventions. Her heart stopped beating in the produce department of Publix, which generally doesn't happen to healthy, vital people, even though they do get manicures."

"And a pedicure."

"Right. Anyway, there's at least some evidence that her heart's on its last legs so to speak, which could make her qualify for having a terminal illness, though I personally know many people who appear to function quite well without hearts. But I digress. The daughter refuses to give consent for the permanent pacemaker and requests a DNR order per her mother's wishes, and you've been plotting a mutiny against her ever since.

"And you called an ethics consult for whose breach of ethical conduct? Tell me I missed something."

"No, that about sums it up," Miriam said.

"Works for me," Edna said. She sat back in the plastic chair and stared at Miriam over her glasses.

"I'm in. Where do we start?" She abruptly started fanning herself with a Miami Health bulletin that a previous diner had left on the table. "Damn hot flashes," she said. "How old are you?" she asked Miriam.

"Thirty-eight."

"Good age. You have time. Just imagine what it would be like if a hot, sweaty Miami July never ended."

"I have so much to look forward to."

"Yes you do."

"The chili probably didn't help things."

"It's the only palatable dish this place makes."

Miriam looked down at the limp lettuce with its brown edges on her plate. A clump of mayo mixed with a few chunks of some dead fish was stuck in the middle. Miriam wondered if it was really tuna salad as labeled. Usually she went for the packaged sushi, remembering when JK had caught her struggling with chopsticks, and told her to go ahead and eat with her hands. She remembered blushing for no obvious reason.

"We have to talk to risk management. I'll call them. How about requesting an emergency court hearing to relieve the daughter of her surrogacy?" Edna asked.

"On what grounds?"

"Oh, I don't know. Your instinct that something stinks?"

"Right. And the CEO of the hospital claims they're best buddies. Let's think this through. Who will the court believe?"

"What a cynic. And at such a young age."

"I'm still hoping she'll wake up and I can ask her myself, but we need to get the daughter away from the bedside. I don't want her there to influence her mother. You know how easy it would be. 'Mom, do you want someone to shove a big hose down your throat and end up tied to the bed with tubes sticking in every orifice? Want them to excavate a hole in your chest and put a box inside to control your heart?'"