Perfect Poison Read Free Page A

switched Jagodowski’s position in bed.
    â€œI don’t want to turn over. You’re hurting me,” Jagodowski kept repeating. “Stop it . . .”
    â€œOh, come now. Just help us out here, Mr. Jagodowski,” Scott said. “We go through this every night.”
    Shortly after they were finished, Begley and Scott watched RN Carole Osman as she checked Jagodowski’s IV to make sure it was in good working order. Osman said it looked fine. Like Scott and Begley, she also agreed that Jagodowski had no edema (body swelling) or mottling (graying of the skin because of lack of oxygen)—frequent ailments that plague diabetics.
    After Osman finished, Scott and Begley, who had assessed Jagodowski as “stable,” walked out of his room, stood outside the doorway and chit-chatted.
    It was 8:20.
    A short time later, as they continued to talk, twenty-seven-year-old Kristen Gilbert, a well-respected RN who had been working at the VAMC since 1989, came walking down the corridor toward them.
    She was holding a syringe in one hand and an alcohol swab in the other.
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    Many of the nurses and doctors who had worked with RN Gilbert over the years agreed the good-looking bleached blonde was one of the most intelligent nurses on the ward. As far as codes or cardiac emergencies were concerned, Gilbert was probably the best the VAMC had to offer. Since she’d started working at the VAMC, Gilbert had built a stellar reputation for being the “go to” nurse during cardiac arrests, and many said she excelled during medical emergencies and had no trouble keeping her mind focused during all the chaos.
    This was exceptional. In reality, codes weren’t the picture-perfect, sterile scenes depicted on television shows like ER and Chicago Hope, where nurses and doctors acted in unison, always complementing each other’s work. To the contrary, codes were disorganized and feverish. Nurses tripped over one another. Orders were barked out in desperation. Nurses and doctors made mistakes.
    But Gilbert had become known as the “take charge” nurse. She’d give accurate orders at the appropriate times, and usually lead the emergency team the entire way.
    Her expertise, however, went much farther. Her knowledge of medications was by far her strongest asset—which was one of the main reasons why she was assigned to the med cart and administered medications on most nights.
    Nurses would often go to Gilbert with medical questions and she would always come through, giving a detailed description of each drug and its side effects as if she were, as one doctor later put it, a “virtual medical textbook.”
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    Insofar as Begley and Scott were concerned, Stanley Jagodowski wasn’t scheduled to receive any meds. But doctors would order medication all the time without letting the entire nursing staff know about it. So they assumed Gilbert was on her way to give him a shot that had been ordered by one of his doctors.
    But less than a minute later, at 8:40, Begley and Scott’s discussion was interrupted by a piercing scream.
    â€œOuch! Stop! Stop! You’re killing me,” Jagodowski yelled.
    Just then, as if in slow motion, Gilbert walked out of the room and made her way up the hallway in an uneventful manner.
    Startled by the outburst, Begley and Scott rushed into his room.
    â€œAre you all right, Mr. Jagodowski?” Scott asked.
    â€œYes,” Jagodowski said, holding onto his arm.
    Yet Scott could tell by his facial expressions that he was in a great deal of pain.
    â€œEverything okay?” she asked again.
    â€œMy arm hurts,” Jagodowski complained.
    There was no doubt that Stanley Jagodowski was a chronic complainer and generally had something nasty to say about everything the nurses did. But Scott had never heard his voice sound so troubled and panicky. What was more, why would Gilbert, an experienced nurse, after administering a shot, just walk