“Is that what it was? I want . . . I want us . . .” George felt like that hopeless teenager again. Pia was dressing quickly. George was standing naked and felt very self-conscious. He slipped on his boxers. “So tell me. What are you going to do?”

“Get in more trouble, I expect.”

“What does that mean?”

“You should just leave, George. My problem is I don’t think Rothman was treated correctly, whether people believe it or not. There was something wrong about how he got sick and there was something wrong about how he was treated. Chloramphenicol? It’s almost never prescribed these days. Third-generation cephalosporins are where it’s at now, so why give him something old that potentially causes truly catastrophic side effects?”

“You told me yourself. They used it because of Rothman’s own sensitivity studies.”

“That’s what they said. He shouldn’t have died, period, yet he was dead within what, fifteen, sixteen hours? He got sicker in the hospital—there was no delay in treatment, he was taken straight to the ward right after he showed the first symptoms. I think the treatment made him worse.”

“Okay, I understand you’re frustrated,” said George, “but the dean told you directly not to interfere. Not to play epidemiologist. Do you want to get kicked out of here in your fourth year?”

“I’ve got time off, I’m not sitting here, I’ll lose my mind. I’m going to talk to Springer about the treatment and why it didn’t work. No one said I couldn’t talk to him.”

“Springer! Everyone knows he hates med students. By reputation he was second only to Rothman. You pull him as a preceptor for your rotation in internal medicine and half the students try to switch within a week. And the other half are lining up on the roof to jump off the building. Not to mention the fact that you’ve already pissed him off.”

“Don’t worry, George, I’ll be my normal diplomatic self.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about.”

Chapter 32.

32.

COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY MEDICAL CENTER
NEW YORK CITY
MARCH 24, 2011, 2:05 P.M.