in suburban Cook County so we’ll file suit here in Chicago,” he told her.
“Why do you say, fortunately?”
“Because Chicago juries are much more favorably inclined toward the plaintiff in a case of malpractice.”
“I see. Well, I leave this entirely in your hands, Mr. Barubtti. When do you suppose it will come to trial?”
“Oh, not for at least four years, perhaps longer.”
“Four years!”
“I’m afraid so. The courts in Chicago have far more cases filed each year than can be heard. There is a possibility that the insurance company for the hospital may make a settlement offer before it comes to trial but I don’t want to raise any false hopes.”
“The hospital?” Marilyn was puzzled. “But I thought only the surgeon might have been at fault.”
Barbutti was patient, “Mrs. Wallberg, we don’t know yet who specifically was at fault. That’s for the jury to decide. My job is to bring all possible defendants into the case and let the jury sort them out and assign responsibility. Besides, we don’t know how much malpractice coverage the surgeon has or what his assets are. If it is less than the jury awards you, we need some other pockets to dip into. That’s why we name everyone we possibly can. We’d name the nurses and the operating room personnel also but we don’t have to. They are all employees of the hospital and if any of them is found guilty of negligence, then the hospital insurance covers them. Frankly, the best outcome for us is if the jury holds all three parties guilty of negligence. Then we have three insurance carriers to cover any award the jury might make.”
CHAPTER 7
Dr. Sanjay Madhava was a board-certified anesthesiologist. He was bright, energetic, dedicated and considered to be an excellent anesthesiologist. He was approaching forty years old and was no taller than five foot six. He had a full head of thick black hair, and a cherubic face slightly pockmarked by a childhood case of smallpox. He was sitting at home in the evening watching television when the front door bell rang. Standing there was a middle-aged man. “Are you Dr. Madhava?”
“Yes?”
“This is for you, doctor.” He handed him a paper document and even before the last word was out of his mouth he turned, went to his car parked at the curb and sped away. A process server had just served a subpoena to Dr. Madhava.
Anesthesiologists are frequently involved in malpractice suits, but Dr. Madhava was a rare exception. He had never been sued. When he saw the patient’s name on the suit, along with his co-defendants, Dr. Clifford Harris, and Barrington Community Hospital, he screamed in Hindi. He was surprised and angry. He happened to be on call that night only because he had switched calls with another anesthesiologist who had a wedding to go to. Such is fate. As if the specialty of anesthesiology wasn’t stressful enough, a study done once on doctors during their work found anesthesiologists to have the highest pulse rate.
When he saw the amount on the summons he was stunned. Fifty million dollars! Might as well be a billion he thought. This was forty-nine million more than the individual malpractice coverage his anesthesia group provided for each member. If he lost the suit, he could very well be driven into bankruptcy! Madhava shuddered at the thought and wondered how he would inform his wife of the potential disaster they faced. His hands shaking, he sat down and thought about what to do next. He managed to compose himself after a while with the knowledge that it was now up to his insurance carrier, with his fate in their hands. He would report the lawsuit to his malpractice carrier in the morning. From talking with other doctors who had been sued, he knew what they’d say. ‘Send us the subpoena. You’ll hear from us about your assigned law firm. Make an appointment to see them soon. Don’t talk to anyone including others named in the suit.’ From this moment on, he was to follow implicitly the instructions of the law firm who would be defending his case.
Dr. Harris was in his office. It was three PM and only three postoperative follow up patients remained. It looked as if he would finish in time to have dinner with his wife. That happy thought changed when the same process server showed up in front of the reception desk and asked to see Dr. Harris. The receptionist innocently paged Dr. Harris and when he arrived at the front desk the process server repeated his practiced monologue and handed the legal document to Cliff. The three patients sitting in the waiting room could not help but notice.
Dr. Harris looked at the subpoena, saw the name of the plaintiff, and his shoulders sagged. This would be his first malpractice case. His neighbor, no less. When he noted the amount he shook his head and laughed. He knew he would have to report this to the malpractice carrier. Those instructions were drilled into every doctor. He called immediately and was told that they would get back to him with the law firm that would handle his case and then he should meet with his attorneys. “Don’t say anything to anyone” was the advice they passed on.
When he arrived home he said to his wife, “Laurel, make me a martini, please.”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “What’s the occasion? The only time you have a drink is if we go out to dinner or a party, and God knows that doesn’t happen very often.”
“I’m celebrating an occasion,” he replied in a tone she had not heard before.
“You are? Am I a part of this illustrious event.”
“Only indirectly.”
“Do I get three guesses?”
“Definitely.”
She opened her eyes widely and they sparkled as she said, “You’ve been named chief of surgery.”
“No. Thank God. The last thing I need is to worry about that administrative stuff.”
She put her right index finger on her high cheekbone and she said, “You’re going to go academic instead of this rat race.”
“Nope, anyhow I like this rat race. I’m independent and no one tells me what to do.”
“I see.” She pressed her body into his as she hugged him tightly. Whispering in his ear she said, “You’ve been named Husband of the Year.”
He kissed her ear as he whispered, “You got it.”
“And what did you do to warrant that high honor,” she whispered back.
“I developed a system for continuously pleasing a wife.”
“You deserve the award,” she said.
“A little later on, I may have to do some more research on the subject.”
“Do you have any volunteers?”
“I was hoping to sign you up. I promise a full informed consent.”
“It’s a deal. Let’s have that drink first,” she said. “And if you have any other news will you tell me then?
“Yes.”
“When?”
“When the kids are asleep.”
They had a nice family dinner undisturbed by any
