It's Nothing Personal Read online

  Leaning her head back and staring up at the puffy clouds, Jenna tried to figure out what to do next. The hum of traffic as people drove home from work permeated the air. In the rearview mirror, Jenna noticed two men walking in the direction of her car. They were probably harmless, but Jenna was already rattled. Slightly panicked, she locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Jenna got back on the road and was surprised when her phone rang. The number on the screen displayed an unfamiliar area code.

  Cautiously, Jenna answered. “Hello?”

  The unfamiliar man on the other end had a gentle, southern drawl.

  “Hello. May I please speak with Dr. Jenna Reiner?”

  Jenna remembered Rob Wilson’s warning about the press and became instantly paranoid.

  “May I ask who’s calling?” Jenna’s guard was up.

  “Yes ma’am. This is Randy Stevens. I’m one of the senior malpractice attorneys with The Doctor’s Mutual Group.”

  Jenna felt slightly embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Jenna Reiner. I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID. I hope I didn’t come off as rude.”

  “Not at all, Dr. Reiner. I hope you don’t mind me calling you, but Rob Wilson just called and informed me of the letter you received today.”

  Jenna’s wariness escalated. The only person that Jenna had told about the letter was her husband, and that was only minutes ago.

  Confused, she asked, “Rob Wilson? How would he know?”

  “Rob Wilson was privy to that information based upon his position of Anesthesia Department Chair. St. Augustine provided him with a list of names this morning.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not the only one who got a letter? How many letters were sent out?”

  Jenna’s mind was spinning, one worry melding into the next.

  Randy answered without hesitation, “At this point, we know of twenty-eight doctors that received letters today. That’s more than the number of cases formally linked to Hillary Martin. Obviously, some of these letters will turn out to be nothing. Hopefully, yours will be among them.

  “It’s important for you to understand that, at this point, you are not being sued. Hopefully that relieves some of your anxiety. The letter could mean anything. This patient may not even have hepatitis, or she may have hepatitis that is unrelated to Hillary Martin. This incident has received a lot of press coverage and, unfortunately, there are always people out there looking for an easy payoff.”

  The number of letters Randy Stevens quoted terrified Jenna. Once again, she started to weep. Although Jenna tried to keep it from coming through in her voice, her attempts were futile.

  Jenna asked, “How will I know? I mean, how will I know if I’m one of the lucky ones where it turns out to be nothing?”

  “Unfortunately,” said Randy, “we just have to sit back and wait. If this patient is going to file a formal lawsuit, her lawyers will let us know soon enough. For now, just keep going about your business as best you can.”

  “Easy for you to say,” said Jenna, more bitterly than she intended.

  Randy did not take offense. He said kindly, “I know. I’m not the one who has to go through this. If you ever need to talk or have any questions, please call me – anytime. I have your email address, and I will send my office and cell phone numbers to you. We’ve hired local attorneys to represent the members of your group. I will also send their contact information. I expect they will be in touch with you very soon.

  “I know that Dr. Wilson has already advised you not to discuss this matter with anyone, but I need to make sure you understand that. Even conversations you have with trusted friends and colleagues can be used against you, if this ever goes to court. You can talk to me, the local attorneys who represent you, your spouse, your psychiatrist, and your priest. That’s it. Everyone else is off limits, okay?”

  “Okay,” responded Jenna. Randy Steven’s instructions made her feel isolated.

  “From this point forward, Dr. Reiner, I want you to send any documents you receive directly to me and the local attorneys.”

  Randy truly felt sorry for Jenna. From their short conversation, Randy surmised Jenna Reiner did not have the arrogance or inflated self-confidence that he witnessed in most physicians. He correctly sensed that Jenna Reiner was a humble and honest person who was in over her head and scared out of her mind.

  “Dr. Reiner,” Randy asked, “do you have kids?”

  The mere thought of Mia brought a sense of calm to Jenna. “Yeah, I have little girl. Mia just turned eleven.”

  “My best advice for you right now is to spend time with her and your husband. Remember, they are what really matter in life. Don’t neglect the basics – exercise, sleep. It’s easier said than done, but don’t let this consume you. If not for your sake, then for your husband’s and your daughter’s. Because, believe me, the stress quickly filters down onto those you love the most.”

  “Thank you. You’re right. And, please call me Jenna.”

  “Only if you agree to call me Randy. Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, Jenna?”

  “Pour me a stiff cocktail,” Jenna joked. She was immediately self-conscious about her comment. The last thing she needed was her attorney suspecting she had a substance abuse problem. Every move she made from this point forward would be subject to scrutiny. Attempting to recover, Jenna said, “Just kidding. No, I think we’ve discussed everything we needed to. Like you said, there’s nothing to do but wait and see.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Randy empathetically, “that’s all we can do.”

  CHAPTER 14

  September 2010

  A week had passed since Jenna received the letter from St. Augustine. Following Randy’s advice, she did her best to go about life as usual, but found it impossible. Jenna felt as though she were stranded in the ocean, treading water, waiting to see if eventually the sharks would get her.

  On Thursday, Jenna finished her cases by early afternoon. Feeling restless and hoping to clear her head, she decided to hurry home and take Ginger for a jog before Mia got out of school. Jenna marched through the hospital lobby, completely preoccupied. Before exiting the building, she stopped by the doors and fished through her bag for her car keys. Bent over, rifling through hospital badges, gas receipts, and handfuls of pens, Jenna did not notice the attractive young man wearing jeans and a polo shirt headed directly for her.

  “Jenna Reiner?” asked the man in a friendly, familiar tone.

  Instinctively, Jenna stood and acknowledged the stranger. He had light brown hair, green eyes, and impeccably white teeth.

  “Hi,” Jenna smiled. “Do I know you?”

  In an instant, the interloper thrust an envelope at Jenna’s chest. She grasped it before it fell to the ground.

  The man hissed at Jenna, “No, but I know you. Dr. Jenna Reiner, you’ve just been served.”

  Before Jenna could articulate a response, the man turned his back and stormed out of the lobby. Jenna was left standing alone while strangers milled around her. She compelled herself to look at the envelope. It was from Silverstein, Howell, and Anders, P.C. The guillotine had dropped.

  Jenna bolted to her car and hopped in. Petrified, she ripped open yet another unwelcome letter. Jenna held it in her trembling hands, but she could not force herself to remove its toxic contents. Instead, she dialed Randy Stevens. His secretary put Jenna through without delay.

  “Hello, this is Randy Stevens,” he said with the same kindheartedness that he had extended to her one week earlier.

  “Randy, it’s Jenna Reiner. I just got served a letter today from that attorney’s office.”

  “Oh,” said Randy, with a new tone of seriousness. “Can you read it to me?”

  “I haven’t even read it myself.”

  Jenna pulled the letter from the envelope, unfolded it, and read the words that she had been dreading for months.

  “Dr. Reiner: This letter is to inform you that your patient,
Michelle Hollings, has retained our services and seeks damages against you. While under your care on January 20, 2010, Ms. Hollings contracted hepatitis C. Her blood has undergone genetic typing to determine the DNA sequence of her hepatitis C virus. It demonstrates 99.98% relatedness to that of Hillary Martin’s viral genotype.

  “Had you not demonstrated recklessness and carelessness in securing your narcotics, Hillary Martin would certainly never have had the opportunity to contaminate a syringe intended for Ms. Hollings. Also, you failed to detect that the syringe had been tampered with and, instead, heedlessly injected the virus into Ms. Hollings’ bloodstream during her anesthetic. You have direct culpability in her unfortunate contraction of this devastating disease.”

  Jenna was left breathless. “It’s signed by Allison Anders.”

  Unimaginable pain welled up inside Jenna. The horrendous allegations became her reality, and her grace period had come to an end. For several minutes, Jenna was speechless. She sat in the driver’s seat, clutching the wrinkled letter. Randy could hear Jenna’s irregular breathing over the phone. He did not interrupt the silence. Instead, he patiently gave Jenna time to pull herself together.

  Finally, Jenna cried out with guilt and shame that she had never felt before. “The letter says I gave her the virus. I pushed the virus into her bloodstream, and it’s my fault. If it hadn’t been for my recklessness and my actions, the patient wouldn’t be infected.”

  For the past week, Jenna had secretly worried that she was the one who ultimately injected the virus into Michelle Hollings’ bloodstream. Jenna’s anguish that she may have hurt one of her patients, even unintentionally, weighed heavily upon her conscience. To see her inner fears printed and articulated by a stranger cut her to the core.

  Jenna whispered, as much to Randy as to herself, “It’s my fault.”

  “No, Jenna,” said Randy sternly. “It is most definitely not your fault. You weren’t the drug abuser. You weren’t the thief. You are just as much a victim as the patient. You were preyed upon and taken advantage of by a criminal. This event is unprecedented. There was absolutely no way you could have seen it coming.”

  All Randy could hear on the other end were muffled sobs.

  “Jenna, are you listening to what I’m saying?”

  “Sort of.”

  Randy sounded distant, jumbled, and foreign. Overcome with humiliation, remorse, and profound sadness, Jenna also felt tainted. She had been branded a villain, and there was no going back. Jenna figured it was only a matter of time before the whole world knew the extent of her incompetence and the ugliness of her actions.

  Relentless in his approach, Randy continued to pummel her with logic.

  “You have to understand that their claim of a ninety-nine percent DNA match to Hillary Martin’s virus is just that – it’s a claim. It may or may not be true, but at this point in the game they haven’t provided any evidence to back it up. Their words are designed to intimidate and scare you. I will have to admit that this letter is particularly nasty, but remember they are only words. It’s no more than kids on a playground taunting each other. Do you understand?”

  Jenna did not answer his question. Instead, she asked sorrowfully, “What do doctors do if they aren’t doctors anymore?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Randy, deeply troubled by Jenna’s tone.

  “I mean, what if this destroys my career and my reputation? What if this destroys me?”

  Jenna was suffocating in misery. Her darkest fears poured from her mouth.

  “What if no one wants to work with me anymore? Once these lawyers are through with me, what am I going to be left with? My colleagues will shun me. They will condemn my actions. Patients may recognize my name and refuse to allow me to be their doctor. Things will never be the same. All the years, all the pain, all the hard work . . . it will be meaningless.

  “Other doctors that have been through lawsuits – have any of them just decided it’s not worth it anymore and dropped out of medicine? There must be some that have thrown in the towel. What do those doctors do?”

  Randy thought carefully about how to respond. It was unusual for a physician to come to terms with what a malpractice suit could do to their career so early in the litigation process. Jenna Reiner was either very prophetic or extremely pessimistic. Either way, her insights had Randy deeply concerned.

  He finally said, “Most physicians don’t leave medicine. Honestly, I hate to say it, but there really aren’t many good options. If you didn’t stay in medicine, you would have to completely start over doing something else.”

  “That’s what I was afraid you’d say,” said Jenna hopelessly. “So, what’s next?”

  “I will contact Jim Taylor, who will be your local attorney. I’m sure he will call you tonight and will probably want to meet with you tomorrow. Give the letter to Jim when you meet. He will forward a copy to me. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Okay,” Jenna said flatly. Hanging up the phone, she felt numb and empty.

  Jenna started her car and sobbed all the way to Mia’s school. She did not call Tom to tell him she was on her way. Jenna was incapable of speaking, so there did not seem to be any point.

  When Mia saw Jenna’s SUV waiting for her outside the schoolhouse, her face lit up. Mia bolted to the car, flung open the passenger door, and immediately asked Jenna, “Hi, Mom. Can we go get ice cream?” It was their ritual whenever Jenna got off early enough to get Mia from school.

  Mia’s grin disappeared when Jenna turned her head to face her daughter. Jenna’s eyes were swollen, and her face looked tired and sad. As Jenna sat in the driver’s seat, strapped down by her seat belt, Mia saw in her mother’s face the same look the tigers had in the zoo exhibit – broken and trapped.

  Mia had never seen her mother in such a state. The little girl sprang over the console and hugged Jenna tightly.

  “Mommy, what’s wrong?’

  The simple question was more than Jenna could bear. She broke down.

  Jenna had to tell her daughter the truth. She clutched Mia’s little body and whispered into her hair, “Everything.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The next day, Jenna found herself downtown amongst the skyscrapers, traffic, and business people. Jostling through the crowds, she made her way to the corner of Broadway and Market. Walking into the immense lobby, Jenna felt irrelevant and small. The two-story high ceilings, glass exterior walls, and the black, polished marble floors all gave the impression of opulence and intimidation. She glanced at the time on her phone – 3:50 p.m. Jenna was scheduled to meet her attorneys for the first time at 4:00. She entered the elevator, pressed the button for the twelfth floor, and watched the doors close. On the twelfth floor, Jenna stepped out into the expansive lobby of Moore and Everett, LLC.

  Behind the reception desk, an older woman with a round frame, gray hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and soft, kind eyes greeted Jenna.

  “Hi there. Can I help you?”

  The woman’s easy-going nature helped put Jenna at ease.

  “Yes. I’m Jenna Reiner. . . Dr. Jenna Reiner. I have a four o’clock appointment with Jim Taylor.”

  “Please sign in on the registry and have a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  Jenna scribbled her name and walked over to a group of leather chairs positioned in front of a wall of windows. Once seated, Jenna took in her surroundings. The people walking through the lobby moved with a sense of purpose and urgency.

  Restless, Jenna stood and gazed out the large window down on the little people and cars below her. She wondered if any of their lives were falling apart, or was she the only one?

  Ten minutes later, a clean-cut man who appeared to be in his late fifties approached her. He wore perfectly pressed slacks, a collared shirt with no tie, and expensive, Italian loafers with tassels on top. The man had an honest face, brown hair with a hint of gray at the temples, was of medium height, and an average build. He was the kind of person that Jenna would have never given a second gl
ance if she met him on the street. However, as he came up to her, she quickly appreciated his decency.

  “Are you Dr. Reiner?” asked the man.

  “Yes.” Jenna held out her hand to shake his. “Are you Jim Taylor?”

  “I am.” His handshake felt gentle and comforting. Not the firm, bone-crushing grasp that she expected from a lawyer.

  Jim gestured toward a long hallway. “We have a conference room set up back here. After you . . .”

  With the manners of a gentleman, Jim let Jenna lead the way. He directed her through a maze of offices and cubicles, until they finally reached a large conference room. In the center, ten black leather chairs surrounded an oversized oak table.

  Jim told her, “Please, have a seat wherever you’d like. Can I get you some coffee or anything else to drink? My partner, Nancy Guilding, will be working these cases with me. She should be here in just a second.”

  Jenna sat down in one of the center chairs and said, “I’d love some tea, thank you.”

  Jim buzzed a secretary, who quickly appeared with a carafe of coffee and another filled with hot water. The woman set an assortment of tea bags and sugar cubes on a silver tray in front of Jenna. Another assistant filed in behind the first, carrying a tray of coffee mugs. Jenna was taken aback by the luxury and formality of her surroundings. Part of her found it comforting to know she had prestigious lawyers defending her. Another part of her shuddered as she grasped the seriousness of her situation.

  The assistants filed out of the room, and a woman in her late forties entered. The woman dressed conservatively, wearing a plain, gray skirt and jacket, with a white blouse underneath. Her shoes were simple leather flats. The woman’s black hair was cut in a short, conservative bob, and she wore brightly rimmed glasses. Her smile was warm and nurturing. She advanced toward where Jenna was seated and introduced herself, “You must be Dr. Reiner. I’m Nancy Guilding, but please, call me Nancy.”