Smuggling Blood Read online

  Despite the strong words from the government, Dr. Patel was acquitted with a jury returning to give a verdict in less than one day.

  A high-standing member in his community, Dr. Patel was often sought to work on many different boards of philanthropy and community involvement throughout the city of New Delhi. His actions and work with the community have earned him high notoriety and friendships with many members of the local government, including the Mayor in New Delhi.

  "They say no good deed goes unpunished, but I don't really believe that," said Dr. Patel, speaking on the steps of the courthouse after his acquittal. "I am a man that's just trying to do something for the people, and I understand that the government also has its systems that need to be kept in place. I'm glad that they understood that what I was doing was for the good of the people and not something that was designed to harm anyone. It's just going through the government system for blood has become paralyzing for people here in New Delhi and throughout India. The difficulty in getting the services that are needed in a country that has such a high population is something that needs to be addressed and more aggressively pursued. If I were to send my patients into the hospitals to use that blood, it means that other people in emergency situations wouldn't have it. I was lucky enough to have other patients that were willing to donate their blood to help their fellow man."

  Patel has insisted that all operations he had to transfer blood from one donor to a recipient has stopped at this time. Within the agreement with the government, he has stated that all future transactions will be processed through a government-regulated facility, and he will no longer engage in providing blood transfusions or the purchasing of blood for his patients or others in the community.

  Gabriella's eyes rose up from the laptop, looking over the balcony at the ocean ahead. Thousands of miles away in India, Dr. Patel sat, continuing his business despite the trepidation of heading through a trial. Her eyes tightened, knowing that men like this came upon her over and over again in her line of work. Men that started out for good, men that started out thinking they were doing something to help others, but then the vision of money clouded their minds and their hearts, putting them into a situation where the good part of what they started to do had been evaporated into greed and lust for money, and control of the people around them.

  "Dr. Patel, what made you go astray? You're educated, you come from a good background, and you've always had at least some money. So, what made you turn the other way? What was it that made you give up on everything you held so dear?" She was curious as she searched deeper into Patel's background.

  "Ah ha, is that it?" she spoke to herself as she had made a discovery, and looked at the story that now rose up on her computer screen.

  "Lost your wife and child in a car accident." Gabriella stared at the story as it opened up before her. "There wasn't enough blood at the hospital."

  Reading through the story, Gabriella searched for quotes and meaning from Dr. Patel, but there were none. The story said he refused to speak, so enraged by the lack of services for his family and vowing to do something about it.

  "Well, that's where you wanted to do it for good, but what made you change to the bad," Gabriella muttered, letting her fingers roll rhythmically on the side of the keyboard. "There's something missing here, something much more intense that changed your life, doctor. And I'm gonna find out what it is, and I'm gonna use it to bring you in."

  Four

  Dr. Patel glanced out the window of his office, folding his arms in front of him, listening to the concerns of the middle-aged man who had just wiped tears from his eyes. It was all too common of an occurrence for the doctor, who had seen countless people come in and out, unhappy with the treatment that they had received in the past.

  Every doctor knew the challenges of making people feel at ease and developing a camaraderie with them that would aid in their treatment and allow the doctor to practice to the best of his abilities. But with Dr. Patel, the decisions were vastly different. Based on monetary gain, his decisions in his medical practice became warped and unjustified, creating more and more of these encounters with angry parents and relatives who were searching for answers.

  "Dr. Patel, I know you are a great man and I have lived here many years," said the older man looking for answers. "I just don't know how this happened. My boy needed the transfusions, and we came to you. After that, he just became so much worse."

  "Mr. Chatterjee, I cannot help how someone reacts to the medications that we give them." Patel had a listless sound to his voice, indicating a man who is only half entered into the discussion. "All I can do is prescribe what I think is best, and from there, we see what happens. There is a reason that they call it practicing medicine, because many times we just don't know."

  "I understand that, Dr. Patel. But what I'm asking you, is if there is a reason why this happened to my son? Is it just some side effect?" Mr. Chatterjee asked. "Could this be something else that happened, some strange thing that just took my son's life?"

  "Again, Mr. Chatterjee, I am not a man that can predict the future. All I can do is what I feel is best. If it's a second opinion you're searching for, you can find those easy at many of the clinics. But you came to me for a specific reason, and I think it's because you heard that I've helped many people."

  "But my son, he's gone now. He died, and people are questioning why that happened. What can I say to them?" asked the man whose son had slipped away just days before. "His illness wasn't terminal, he just needed help. The transfusions were supposed to work, you told me that."

  Patel shifted his body, looking at the man but still holding his arms folded in front of him. He donned the lab jacket that he always put on before visitors would come to see him, whether it be professional or for personal purposes. The lab jacket held a mystique, and earned immediate respect amongst the people. The jacket also held him in a place of expertise that people dared not question in most situations.

  "Sir, I don't know what I can tell you at this time. I am sorry for your loss. Your son, he was a very good boy. I enjoyed being with him every time I spent with him. But as we know, the time comes where we all get called back." Dr. Patel added a religious tone to his conversation that had been well-rehearsed with others before this encounter. "You understand the scriptures. It doesn't matter if it's Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Catholics, any of them. There is all a time that we all go back, and all of us understand that there is a plan for us and that the Gods will bring us back no matter what it is. Maybe you can find some solace in that."

  Sitting in the chair, Mr. Chatterjee, glanced his eyes upward, looking at Patel. Their stations in life were different. The honor and respect of a physician who had been educated in the West and returned home to help his people was far higher than the middle-class man working an industrial job, even though he was considered wealthy by many of the people around him.

  "Dr. Patel, did you give my son the wrong blood?" the man asked sheepishly, looking down to the ground. "A friend of ours who's a nurse stated that maybe if the wrong blood had been given to my son, it would cause this kind of a reaction."

  "Are you questioning me, sir?" Patel walked himself to the front of his desk and stood less than two feet from the man. "Because if you're questioning me, I have twenty years of experience and a degree in medicine from the New York School of Medicine. The diploma is there on the wall if you want to see it."

  "No, doctor, I did not mean to insult you, but mistakes can happen. The woman that came out to give my son the transfusion didn't seem up to par." The older man, again, lifted his head and made eye contact with the doctor who treated his son. "You see, I don't even know if she was really a nurse. She seemed to lack basic skills and knowledge. Even when she went to put the needle in my son's arm, it took her several tries when prior nurses were able to take care of things in one shot."

  "Sir, I can understand at a time like this, you're lashing out and trying to find something to blame for the loss of your son. And if yo
u need to focus that anger on me, then that's fine, but just know for yourself that it is not what my operation is all about. My connection with your son was done as a favor to a friend who referred you to me. I wanted nothing more than to help the boy, and now, for you to now walk in and accuse me of supplying him with the wrong blood... "

  "No, doctor, I didn't accuse you. I thought maybe it was the nurse... " the boy's father began before being interrupted.

  "If it's a member of my staff, then it's me. Everything ends with me. I hold all responsibility for anything that happens under my practice, no matter how big or how small. So, when you come in here and you say that your son got the wrong blood, and that a member of my staff pumped that into his body, a full liter, and didn't know if it was correct or not, well, then, sir, you are directly saying that to me." Dr. Patel moved himself over to the door behind the man. "It's at this time that I need to ask you to leave, sir."

  "I need answers, doctor, not just a push out the door." Chatterjee exclaimed, finding some backbone. "I have come here for answers and I demand them. Why did my son die? The autopsy's been done. What does it say?"

  "Sir, I will no longer have you wasting my time, it is time for you to leave." Dr. Patel pulled the door open and stood to the side. "Good day, sir."

  "You will not push me aside. You will not make me deal with the death of my son with no answers. You have access to the report that I don't. How did he die?" Tears began to fill the older man’s eyes.

  "If you're going to blubber like an old woman, then you'll need to leave faster than I even asked you." Patel’s eyebrows furrowed in the middle with a look of confusion and disgust. "If you want to conduct yourself in a professional manner with me, then I suggest that you don't blubber and cry like a little schoolgirl. My office is a place of business and a place of healing. And just because one of the times that I had tried to help and someone failed, does not mean that everything is a failure."

  "You're changing the subject, sir. You're changing it to be about your whole practice when all I want to know about is my son." The man placed his hands in front of him in a prayer-like position, pleading with the doctor to give him the information. "All you have to do is go into the computer on your desk. You could can pull up the information at any time you want. Have you even looked at it yet?"

  "Sir, I said good day to you, and I will say it again. Good day." Frustration built in Dr. Patel’s voice and anger filled his eyes.

  "I'm not leaving, Dr. Patel. In the name of my son, I will stay here until you give me the information that I need." Mr. Chatterjee placed himself back down in the seat. "You can do and say what you want, but I'm not leaving until you look at that report and you tell me what killed my son. But I have a feeling that you already know, and there's a reason you don't want to tell me what killed him."

  Closing the door to the office, Dr. Patel walked his way behind the desk and sat down, leaning back in his chair. "So, this is how it's going to be. You're going to attempt to strong-arm me into giving you what you want. But, sir, that is not going to happen. You will comply with what I say within my business. And since you won't leave, I'll have to take other steps."

  Picking up the phone, Patel dialed a short number and waited for a click at the far end.

  "Ah, yes, I need three men here in my office right now. I'm having a trouble with one of my patients who's not ready to leave." Patel then hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

  "So, you'd rather get security to get rid of me than simply tell me what happened with my son?" the man asked with deep sadness filling his face. "Tell me, is it that you just don't want me to know because you think it'll be harmful to you, or is it just pure apathy and that you don't care what happened to my son or how it's affecting me or my family."

  "It's none of the two, sir." Patel leaned forward in his chair and placed his forearms upon the desk. "It's the fact that I will not be a scapegoat for you. I am not going to let you lay the blood of your son on my hands. He was a sick boy. I did what I could, but you now have to realize that you do not dictate how I will run my practice. And you will not dictate what I do. You would have been better off coming in and asking nicely rather than pushing your agenda upon me and my staff."

  As the final words left Patel's mouth, the door opened, showing three strong, wide-shouldered men who entered the room. Their skin was lighter in tone and the makeup of their bodies and face reflected someone from Russia and its former Soviet States.

  "Dr. Patel, you want me to remove this person?" asked the largest man wearing sunglasses in a strong, thick Russian accent.

  "I do, gentlemen. His son was a patient of mine who lost his life, and this man is now struggling to understand that doctors are not God."

  "Dr. Patel, why do you have men like this working for you?" Mr. Chatterjee asked, surprised. "I've never seen a doctor that's got private security. If they do, it's simple boys and young men looking to make some money, but your people seem to have come from somewhere else, men that wouldn't be satisfied with a low paying job."

  All eyes in the room centered on Mr. Chatterjee, looking at the man and in his keen observation of what was around him in the room.

  Placing his hand on the man's shoulder, the largest of the guards squeezed tight on Chatterjee's old shoulder.

  "Sir, it's time to leave. I'm giving you one request. If you don't comply, we'll move you."

  "I'm here to learn about what happened to my son," he said defiantly, holding a tone of aggression, hate, and desperation.

  Not moving his hand from the man's shoulder, the large Russian grabbed a handful of shirt and lifted the man out of the chair. Quickly joined by the two men around him, Chatterjee's arms and legs were quickly held by the three as he was carried down the hallway to the front of the office.

  "You're not gonna get away with this, Patel. People will learn," Chatterjee yelled, desperate to make his plight known.

  "It doesn't matter if they know, they'll always keep coming back," Patel said quietly as he shut the door to his office and went back to his desk.

  Five

  Drifting through the streets of New Delhi, Jay stared at the ground only lifting his eyes to avoid the inevitable bump into the person in front of him. The massive number of people in the capital city was unlike anywhere in the world. For a country that had over a billion people, New Delhi held a massive amount, and it always felt to Jay as if everybody was out at the same time. A suffocating feeling of not being able to be alone or with one's thoughts even in times of deep tragedy.

  Finally, Jay reached the family home that was better than most. An apartment that in terms of the Indian middle class was something that others would dream of. Individual bedrooms for the family with a large living room, a kitchen and a dining room all due to the hard work that the man put in, day in and day out providing for his family the best way he knew how. He was not so foolish as to think that his success did not come with a bit of luck. As a young man, he was able to get in on construction jobs and work them to the best of his ability, slowly raising his skills to the point where he could effectively work on his own in the labor industry, having a small business that catered to people much like himself.

  Outside the door, Jay lifted his hand and placed it upon the knob. He didn't wonder if the door was locked or unlocked, knowing that his family was safe and secure within the building. But his hand would not move, frozen in place, not turning one side or the other, being held rigidly from guilt, fear, and the words that his wife, Priya, may say to him after the loss and the lack of information about their son, Honey.

  "Oh good, it's you," Priya said as she opened the door with her coat on and her bag in her hand. "Seems like it's perfect timing."

  "Oh, sure. Perfect timing," Jay joked, trying to give an impression of a man who is comfortable, but still could not get himself to show the emotion.

  "Come in, darling. Don't just stand in the hallway," said the woman who years before had married Jay for love rather than the ar
ranged marriage her parents wished for.

  "Yes. I was down with Patel. I can't stand that guy," Jay said, walking past his wife and moving quickly to the kitchen and pouring a glass of water.

  “He's a bastard," Priya agreed. "I think he doesn't care one way or another what happened to our son."

  "He gave me nothing," Jay sighed, as he put both of his hands on the counter in front of the sink and leaned forward, looking down. "I pushed him to give me the information, I refused to leave but then he called in the security men. Big Russians, they grabbed my arms and legs and threw me on the sidewalk out front. The biggest one said if I return, he'll kill me."

  "You need to call the police. He can't get away with that. Nobody can get away with that," Priya threw her hands in the air, searching for why the man wouldn't give her husband such simple information as a cause of death to their child.

  "The police aren't gonna help us," Jay shook his head. "Guys like Patel, they know people all over the place. The guy went to court trying to fight this whole thing about him smuggling blood, and he got away with it. He got away with it, Priya, and now he's doing it to us."

  "We knew about that before we saw him. We knew about the trial and that's why we went to him, 'cause we thought he'd do something for Hani."

  "I know!" Said Jay turning back to the woman, "Do you think I've forgotten? Do you think I forgot that I was the one that suggested this, that I was the one that said, we should do it? You didn't want to, I talked you into it, and now we don't have a son."

  "You can't do that, Jay, you can't blame yourself. He had a medical problem that needed attention, his kidneys were shot, his body was failing, and the doctors said if he could get the transfusions that he'd live." Priya placing her hand on Jay’s shoulder. "Stop blaming yourself. I know it's easier to say than to do because I keep blaming myself too. Why didn't I check the bag before they put it into him? Why didn't I ask the nurse when I felt like she didn't seem confident in what she was doing? We could keep doing this all the time but if we do, it's only going to get worse, he's only been gone a few days."