"Cook, Robin - Vital Signs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Robin)

"Come on," Robert urged. He was gripping Marissa's hand and had sensed her momentary resistance. He glanced briefly at his watch. They were already late.

Marissa tried to hurry. Today's egg retrieval was to be her fourth. She well knew the degree of discomfort she could expect.

But for Marissa the fear of the pain was less of a concern than the possibility of complications. Part of the problem of being both a doctor and a patient was knowing all the terrible things that could go wrong. She shuddered as her mind ticked off a list of potentially lethal possibilities.

Once Robert and Marissa were inside the clinic, they skirted the main information booth and headed directly to the In-Vitro Fertilization Unit on the second floor. They had traveled this route on several occasions, or at least Marissa had.

Stepping into the usually quiet waiting room with its plush carpet and tapestry-upholstered chairs, they were treated to a spectacle neither had been prepared to see.

"I am not going to be put off!" shouted a well-dressed, slim woman. Marissa guessed she was about thirty years old. It was rare in any of the clinic's waiting rooms to hear anyone speak above a whisper, much less shout. It was as surprising as hearing someone yelling aloud in a church.

"Mrs. Ziegler," said the startled receptionist.

"Please!" The receptionist was cowering behind her desk chair.

"Don't Mrs. Ziegler me," the woman shouted.

"This is the third time I've come in here for my records. I want them now!"

Mrs. Ziegler's hand shot out and swept the top of the receptionist's desk clean. There was the jolting shatter of glass and pottery as pens, papers, picture frames, and coffee mugs crashed to the floor.

The dozen or so patients waiting in the room froze in their chairs, stunned by the outburst. Most trained their eyes on the magazines before them, afraid to acknowledge the scene being acted out before their eyes.

Marissa winced at the sound of the breaking glass. She remembered the clock radio she had so wanted to smash not half an hour earlier. It was frightening to recognize in Mrs. Ziegler such a kindred spirit. There had been several times Marissa had felt equally pushed to the edge.

Robert's initial response to the situation was to step directly in front of Marissa and put himself between her and the hysterical patient. When he saw Mrs. Ziegler make a move around the desk, he feared she was about to attack the poor receptionist. In a flash, he shot forward and caught Mrs. Ziegler from behind, gripping her at the waist.

"Calm down," he told her, hoping to sound commanding as well as soothing.

As if expecting such interference, Mrs. Ziegler twisted around and swung her sizable Gucci purse in a wide arc. It hit Robert on the side of his face, splitting his lip. Since the blow did not dislodge Robert's grip, Mrs. Ziegler cocked her arm for yet another swing of the purse.

Seeing the second blow in the making, Robert let go of her waist and smothered her arms in a bear hug. But before he could get a good grip, she hit him again, this time with a clenched fist.

"Ahhhh!" Robert cried, surprised by the blow. He pushed Mrs. Ziegler away. The women who had been sitting in the area fled to the other side of the waiting room.

Massaging his shoulder, which had received the punch, Robert eyed Mrs. Ziegler cautiously.

"Get out of my way," she snarled.

"This doesn't involve you."

"It does now," Robert snapped The door to the hall burst open as Dr. Carpenter and Dr.

Wingate dashed in. Behind them was a uniformed guard with a

Women's Clinic patch on his sleeve. All three went directly to Mrs. Ziegler.

Dr. Wingate, director of the clinic as well as head of the in vitro unit, took immediate control. He was a huge man with a full beard and a slight but distinctive English accent.