The final diagnosis

By Arthur Hailey

A girl secretary came in, glancing curiously from one to the other. It occurred to Coleman that Pearson's voice, at least, must have been clearly audible in the corridor outside. The sir¹ said: "Excuse me, Dr Pearson. There are two telegrams for you. They just came." Pearson took the two buff envelopes the girl held out.

When she had gone Coleman was about to reply. But Pearson stopped him with a gesture. Beginning to thumb to open the first envelope, he said, "These will be the answers about the girl- Lucy Grainger's patient." His tone was quite different from that of a few moments before. He added, "They took long enough about it".

Automatically David Coleman felt a quickening of interest. Tacitly he accepted Pearson's view that their argument could be postponed; this was more important. As Pearson had the first flap open the telephone jangled sharply. With an exclamation of annoyance he put the two envelopes down to answer it.

"Yes?"

"Dr Pearson, this is Obstetrics," a voice said. "Dr Dornberger is calling you. One moment, please."

There was a pause, then Dornberger came on the line. He said urgently, "Joe, what's wrong with your people in Pathology?" Without waiting for an answer, "Your technician's wife - Mrs Alexander - is in labour and the baby will be premature. She's on the way here in an ambulance, and I haven't got a blood- sensitivity report. Now get it up here fast!"

"Right, Charlie." Pearson slammed the receiver down and reached for a pile of forms in a tray marked "Signature". As he did, the two telegraph envelopes caught his eye. Quickly he passed them to Coleman. "Take these. See what they say."

Pearson riffled through the forms. The first time, in his haste, he missed the one he wanted; the second time through he found it. He lifted the telephone again, listened, then said brusquely, "Send Bannister in". Replacing the phone, he scribbled a signature on the form he had removed.

"You want me?" Bannister's tone and expression made it plain that he was still smarting from the reprimand earlier.

"Of course I want you!" Pearson held out the form he had signed. "Get this up to Dr Dornerberg - fast. He's in Obstetrics. John Alexander's wife is in trouble. She's going to have a premie."

Bannister's expression changed. "Does the kid know? He's down in - "

Impatiently Pearson cut him off. "Get going, will you! Get going!" Hastily Bannister went out with the form.

Dimly David Coleman had been aware of what was going on around him. His mind, however, had not yet grasped the details. For the moment he was too concerned with the awesome significance of the two telegrams which he held, opened, in his hand.

Now Pearson turned to him. The old man said, "Well, does the girl loose her leg or not? Are they both definite?"

Coleman thought: This is where pathology begins and ends; these are the borderlands where we must face the truth of how little we really know; this is the limit of learning, the rim of the dark, swirling waters of the still unknown. He said quietly, "Yes, they are both definite. Dr Chollingham in Boston says, "Specimen definitely malignant." Dr Earnhart in New York says, "The tissue is benign. No sign of malignancy."

There was a silence. Then Pearson said slowly, softly, "The two best men in the country, and one votes'Tor", the other "against". He looked at Coleman, and when he spoke there was an irony but no antagonism. "Well, my young pathologist friend, Lucy Grainger expects an answer today. She will have to be given one, and it will have to be definite." With a twisted smile,"Do you feel like playing God?"