The Fall-Down Artist Read Online Free Page B

Dorsey. Looking over the results, Dorsey concluded that Radovic suffered only the signs of advancing age for a laborer: spurring on several vertebrae and a bulging disc at L5-S1.
    â€œThere’s a recommendation for a myelogram.” Dorsey indicated the report, passing it back to Dr. Tang. “Has one been scheduled, doctor?”
    â€œNot by me. Patient will not consent.”
    â€œBut isn’t a myelogram the way to go to decide whether or not surgery is indicated?”
    â€œWhat can I say?” Dr. Tang grinned, as if in triumph. “Mista Radovic refuse even to consider surgery. Said this on first exam. He didn’t care what I say: no myelogram and no surgery.”
    â€œWithout your ever raising the question, he refused a myelogram and surgery?” Dorsey was intrigued that a steelworker would be familiar with a myelogram. Familiarity gotten from a good coach, he concluded.
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œNo myelogram, but you’re sure it’s a herniation?” Dorsey thought he’d take a chance, tempted by the opportunity to show off. “No myelogram, inconclusive CT. So really, doctor, you’re basing your diagnosis and finding of disability on believing the patient’s subjective complaints?” It was a short-lived and Pyrrhic victory, and Dorsey saw his error even as he committed it. Never alienate your subject, he reminded himself. Be a friend and get the information you came for.
    First Dr. Tang stumbled, then he exploded. “Of course I believe. He came here and say he have pain, I got to believe. I’m not crazy! You know how serious that is, ignoring, disbelieving the patient? He say he hurts, I try to figure out why he hurts!”
    â€œWhat happens if you can’t figure it out?”
    â€œThen I send him somewhere else, let somebody else try. Not perfect, you know.”
    Yeah, Dorsey thought, somebody else will try. Somebody on the Pittsburgh Express, maybe. The patient goes right on the cycle, the treatment cycle. Dorsey had never seen proof, but he had been hearing about the Pittsburgh Express for years. Just rumors, rumors that small-town locals like Dr. Tang only treated patients until it was time for surgery. Then the patient was farmed out to one of a select number of neurosurgeons or orthopedists in Pittsburgh. After surgery, it was home again to the local doctor for a long convalescence and regularly scheduled examinations.
    On his way out through the reception area, Dorsey picked up a copy of the CT scan. He also got the name of the girl at Carlisle Steel: Claudia Maynard.
    â€œThink you’ll find her at home?” The receptionist leaned through the open partition. “Not likely. That girl has been on the go ever since the layoff. Signed up for unemployment, and when it came time to get her mail-in claims she took off for Myrtle Beach. Might still be there.”
    That evening in his room, the Olivetti portable on the chair seat, Dorsey sat at the edge of the bed, pecking away with two fingers, composing his report of the day’s activity. His attention was divided among writing the report, watching the Bulls and Knicks play an exhibition game on the room’s TV set, and listening to Roy Eldridge strain his trumpet on the tape player, packed along for the trip. At the foot of the bed was the Igloo cooler with a fresh layer of ice over the Rolling Rock.
    Threading a clean sheet of paper into the typewriter carriage, Dorsey once again realized that his ability to prepare a well-written report was his bread and butter. He often spoke like a leftover from the old films and recordings he loved, but knowing his way around a typewriter kept him in business. For years he had wondered who to thank, the nuns at Sacred Heart grade school or the instructors in his one year of law school.
    Pulling on a beer, Dorsey worked his way through the morning hours, describing his interview of the three Grub brothers, as he had come to call them.