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

"Rebecca, what on earth has gotten into you?" he asked in a soothing voice.

"No matter how upset you might be feeling, this is no way to behave."

"I want my records," Mrs. Ziegler said.

"Every time I come in here I get the runaround. There is something wrong in this place, something rotten. I want my records. They are mine."

"No, they are not," Dr. Wingate corrected calmly.

"They are the Women's Clinic records. We know that infertility treatment can be stressful, and we even know that on occasion patients displace their frustration on the doctors and the technicians who are trying to help them. We can understand if you are unhappy.

We've even told you that if you want to go elsewhere, we will be happy to forward your records to your new physician. That's our policy. If your new physician wants to give you the records, that's his decision. The sanctity of our records has always been one of our prized attributes."

"I'm a lawyer and I know my rights," Mrs. Ziegler said, but her confidence seemed to falter.

"Even lawyers can occasionally be mistaken," Dr. Wingate said with a smile. Dr. Carpenter nodded in agreement.

"You are welcome to view your records. Why don't you come with me and we'll let you read over the whole thing. Maybe that will make you feel better."

"Why wasn't that opportunity offered to me originally?" Mrs.

Ziegler said as tears began to stream down her face.

"The first time I came here about my records, I told the receptionist I had serious questions about my condition. There was never any suggestion

I would be allowed to read my records."

"It was an oversight," Dr. Wingate said.

"I apologize for my staff if such an alternative wasn't discussed. We'll send around a memo to avoid future problems. Meanwhile, Dr. Carpenter will take you upstairs and let you read everything. Please." He held out his hand.

Covering her eyes, Mrs. Ziegler allowed herself to be led from the room by Dr. Carpenter and the guard. Dr. Wingate turned to the people in the room.

"The clinic would like to apologize for this little incident," he said as he straightened his long white coat.

A stethoscope was tucked into a pocket, several glass petri dishes in another. Turning to the receptionist, he asked her to please call housekeeping to clean up the mess on the floor.

Dr. Wingate walked over to Robert, who'd taken the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit to dab at his split lip.

"I'm terribly sorry," Dr. Wingate said as he eyed Robert's wound. It was still bleeding, although it had slowed considerably.

"I think you'd better come over to our emergency facility," Dr.

Wingate said.

"I'm okay," Robert said. He rubbed his shoulder.

"It's not too bad."