A Brain Read Online Free Page A

coming into the room. He’d heard the door to the corridor open.
    â€œDoes it contain iodine?”
    Philips hadn’t heard the last question because Denise Sanger had come in and was smiling warmly at Martin behind the backs of the engrossed medical students.
    She slipped out of her short white coat and reached up to hang it next to the first-aid cabinet. It was her way of getting down to work. Its effect on Philips was the opposite. Sanger had on a pink blouse, pleated in the front and topped with a thin blue ribbon tied in a bow. As she extended her arm to hang her coat, her breasts thrust against her blouse, and Philips appreciated the image as a connoisseur appreciated a work of art, for Martin thought Denise was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She said she was five-five, whereas actually she was five-four. Her figure was slight, one hundred and eight pounds, with breasts that were not large but wonderfully shaped and firm. She had thick shiny brown hair, which she usually wore pulled back from her forehead and clasped with a single barrette on the back of her head. Her eyes were lighter brown with flecks of gray, giving her a lively, mischievous appearance.Very few people guessed that she had been first in her medical school graduating class three years previously, nor did many believe that she was twenty-eight years old.
    With her coat taken care of, Denise brushed past Philips, giving his left elbow a furtive squeeze. It was so fast that Philips couldn’t respond. She sat down at the screen, adjusted the viewing controls to her liking, and introduced herself to the students. The technician returned and announced that the contrast material had been given. He prepared the scanner for another run.
    Philips leaned over so that he had to support himself on Denise’s shoulder. He pointed to the image on the screen. “Here’s a lesion in the temporal lobe, and at least one, maybe two, in the frontal.” He turned to the medical students. “I noted in the chart that the patient is a heavy smoker. What does all this suggest to you?”
    The students stared at the image afraid to make any gesture. For them it was like being at an auction without money; any slight movement could have been interpreted as a bid.
    â€œLet me give you all a hint,” said Philips. “Primary brain tumors are usually solitary, whereas tumors coming from other parts of the body, what we call metastasis, can be single or multiple.”
    â€œLung cancer,” blurted one of the students as if he were on a TV game show.
    â€œVery good,” said Philips. “At this stage you can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I’d be willing to put money on it.”
    â€œHow long does the patient have to live?” asked the student, obviously overwhelmed by the diagnosis.
    â€œWho’s the doctor?” asked Philips.
    â€œHe’s on Curt Mannerheim’s neurosurgical service,” said Denise.
    â€œThen he doesn’t have long to live,” said Martin. “Mannerheim will operate on him.”
    Denise turned quickly. “A case like this is inoperable.”
    â€œYou don’t know Mannerheim. He operates on anything. Especially tumors.” Martin again bent over Denise’s shoulder, smelling the unmistakable aroma of her freshly washed hair. It was as unique to Philips as a fingerprint, and despite the professional setting, he felt a faint stirring of passion. He stood up to break the spell.
    â€œDoctor Sanger, can I speak to you for a moment,” he said suddenly, motioning her over to a corner of the room.
    Denise complied willingly, with a bewildered expression.
    â€œIt’s my professional opinion . . .” said Philips in the same formal tone of voice. He then paused and when he continued he lowered his voice to a whisper “ . . . that you look incredibly sexy today.” Denise’s expression was slow to change. It