Big Data: A Startup Thriller Novel

Chapter 51

Helen checked Ms. Moore's vital signs. She was crashing. What had gone wrong? She'd been fine just thirty minutes ago. Damn Dr. Fernandez for not installing that pacemaker. He worked too many hours and probably skipped it so he could meet his girlfriend for drinks. Helen paged him anyway. It would serve him right to have to cut his social life short.

"What's going on here?" came a voice from the hall. "I just checked on her a few minutes ago," said Dr. Fernandez, dashing into the room. "She was doing fine."

Helen bit her tongue. She might have been wrong about him going home early but not about him pulling too many hours.

"No idea. She started crashing when I walked in," said Helen. Chelsea began coding. Helen instinctively began doing CPR. Dr. Fernandez looked at the Ancien-powered device next to Chelsea's vital signs.

"Give her one milliliter of epinephrine," said Dr. Fernandez.

"Now?"

"Yes, now," said Dr. Fernandez, indignantly. "Hurry."

Against her better instincts, Helen stopped administering CPR and injected the epinephrine. They both stood there and waited. They watched the vital signs on the Ancien dashboard. Nothing.

"Come on, come on, come on," said Dr. Fernandez. Was that a bead of sweat on his forehead?

"Should I get the charging paddles ready?"

The doctor checked the screen. Helen already knew what it was suggesting. She'd read it already.

"No, let's wait a few more seconds."

Helen bit her lip. She had seen so many patients code before. She knew the steps. Knew the order. Give CPR a chance. Then electricity. Only when that failed were they supposed to give the patient epinephrine.

"There we go," yelled Dr. Fernandez. The heartbeat stabilized. Ms. Moore was alive again. "And that is the last time I will have you questioning my decisions."

"You mean Ancien's decisions. You think that you would have skipped over CPR and electroshock therapy that quickly if the computer hadn't told you to?"

"It worked, didn't it? Look, I'm her doctor, and ultimately it's my call. If you can't deal with that—"

"What? Go ahead. Finish your sentence."

"Don't question me again. Are we clear?"

Helen wanted to smack him so hard. She wanted to knock a tooth out. She wanted to leave a big mark. Something to remember her by.

"Yes, sir. We're clear. I'm sorry," she said as she shoved past him through the door. Helen was fuming. This was not how doctors should act. This was not the kind of treatment Ms. Moore deserved. And at a teaching hospital no less. These kids were being trained from med school to trust these machines above their own instincts. Soon medical students wouldn't feel the need to study so hard. Why bother, when the machines will tell them what to do? That was the problem with this whole generation. Kids didn't need to learn to read maps anymore; everybody used GPS all the time. They didn't need to know how to do math anymore; their phones were sophisticated calculators. They didn't need to learn history when they could Google everything.

She paced up and down the hall to blow off some steam. As far as Helen was concerned, this whole world was going crazy. The brains of everyone from children to esteemed doctors were rotting. And people were complicit in this. They welcomed it with open arms.

Helen wasn't going to be part of the welcoming party. She was determined—even if it meant she was the last one standing—not to trust these machines. She was going to keep doing things the old-fashioned way. And when she couldn't do that anymore, she planned to pass on those ways to as many open minds as she could reach. She was not going to let humanity forget how to take care of itself. Not as long as she was alive, at least.

"Helen." She froze like she'd been caught.

"Oh, Deputy Reynolds. You scared me. Is everything all right?"

"No. My replacement's late and I need to use the bathroom. Would you mind?"

"Of course, of course," said Helen. She flipped through some papers in her hands. "I was just about to check on Mr. Jones, anyway."

"You're a doll," said the deputy as he shuffled off toward the restroom.

Helen went into Mr. Jones's room and began talking to him—something she did with all the comatose patients.

"Mr. Jones, how are you feeling today?"

She glanced at his vitals and made some notes in her chart. Phillip Jones's eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and steady. Helen took out her stethoscope and listened to his chest and bowels.

"Everything looks good. You're doing great. Sorry to bother you. I'll just change your IV fluids and let you get back to sleep."

Helen got a fresh bag of saline solution. She carefully removed the nearly empty bag and placed it on the bed as she hooked up the new one.

"Oh my, it looks like we need to replace your colonoscopy bag, too. I'll be right back."

Helen was about to leave the room when she heard something hitting the ground behind her. She turned and saw Mr. Jones's hand dangling from the bed and the empty bag on the floor.

"Mr. Jones?"

His eyelids began to flutter.