Chapter 5 - The Diagnosis
An old memory hit Julian: his feet twitching during rehabilitation and Price calling it a meaningless reflex. He'd asked for another opinion. Vivian had cried and said he was torturing himself with hope. The next appointment was canceled.
"I should have pushed harder," he murmured.
Maya shook her head. "People you trusted had more information than you did. They were supposed to help you use it."
They reached Dr. Price's office before midnight.
Julian had used an old code his father taught him to enter the medical building. Every step hurt. His muscles were weak from months of inactivity, and a sudden rush of sensation didn't make him well. He held the rail as they climbed two flights because the elevator opened directly beside the night guard.
"You should be in an emergency department," Maya said.
"I will be. After I find out what they've been putting in me."
Price's records were protected by a password. Maya knew better than to touch them. Instead she opened the unlocked cabinet where the clinic stored duplicate insurance authorizations.
There was Julian's name. Over and over.
A medication administration record listed a powerful muscle-relaxing drug prescribed in doses that changed whenever he showed improvement. Beside every adjustment stood Vivian's signature as his temporary medical agent.
"She said my muscles were spasming," Julian whispered.
"Maybe some treatments were appropriate," Maya said. "We can't diagnose this from a drawer. But these dates deserve an independent review."
Julian found a discharge summary from the original accident. He read it twice. His injury was serious, but the first specialist had documented preserved movement below the waist and a reasonable possibility of rehabilitation.
"Price told me there was none."
The office door clicked.
Dr. Price stood in the doorway wearing a raincoat over his pajamas.
"Julian," he said. "You have no idea what you've done."
Julian lifted the summary. "You told me I'd never walk."
Price looked at Maya. "Get him to a hospital. His blood pressure could collapse."
"After you answer," Julian said.
The physician reached into his pocket, not for a weapon but for a folded photograph.
May you like
Victor Whitmore sat upright in a hospital bed, a newspaper open on his lap. Across the top was yesterday's date.
"Your father is alive," Price said. "And he's the reason you were kept in that chair."
