Part Ninety-Five
When Jo arrived at court on the Tuesday morning, her head was foggy and aching. This was entirely her own fault she knew, but that didn't exactly make her feel any better. Tom Campbell-Gore would be on the stand today, and she luckily couldn't foresee any major problems with his testimony, or the questions that the prosecution might fire back at him. She was standing outside on the steps, having a cigarette to try and clear her head, and to prepare herself for the onslaught to come. When Tom himself walked through the heavy, swing doors behind her, she gave him a slightly wan smile. "You here already?" She asked, not having thought he would arrive till almost the last minute. "I wanted to be here in good time," He told her, eyeing her cigarette and following it up to the slightly bloodshot eyes that were squinting at him through the flame. "Are you all right?" He asked, thinking that he'd seen that look far too often on himself over the years. "It's entirely my own fault," Jo found herself admitting. "So I don't expect any sympathy." "Try diet coke," Tom told her matter-of-factly. "It's the best hangover cure in the business, and I should know." "Thank you," Jo replied with a smile. "By the way, I hope you're aware that the time prior to your recovery might be something that the prosecution could choose to focus on." "Oh, don't you worry," Tom told her confidently. "There isn't anything they can throw at me that I didn't have thrown at me at the time. The surgeon who discovered my predilection to drinking was less than impressed to say the least." "Just as long as you're ready for it," Jo said, feeling a duty to look after this man while he was on the stand, no matter how ready for it he thought he was.
When the court reconvened, Tom took the bible in his right hand and intoned the oath, wondering just how many people had stood here like this before him. "Mr. Campbell-Gore," Jo began, sounding a lot more calm and confident than she really felt. "In your experience in cardio thoracics, what treatment might you have attempted, if you had been presented with a patient such as Henry Mills?" "There is no doubt," Tom replied amicably. "That Henry Mills' cancer was extremely developed, with the possible options for treatment being considerably limited. I may have attempted some form of surgery, in order to relieve his immediate difficulties, though this would not have had any meaningful effect on the time he had left to live." "What opinion would you give," Continued Jo. "On the surgeon who decided that operating on Henry Mills was not a viable option?" "To give Mrs. Beauchamp her due," Tom said carefully. "The fact that she decided against surgery as a possible treatment option, does not mean that she was in any way derelict in her duties. One professional opinion is as good as another in this case, and surgery would only have made a slight difference in his general condition." "What life expectancy would you have given Henry Mills, from the time of his diagnosis?" "I would never have given either him or his wife a precise idea of how long Henry Mills would live," Tom said firmly. "When giving any such patient an idea of how long they might have to live, it is always safest to be less precise than Mrs. Beauchamp apparently was, for example to say months rather than years, or days rather than weeks. I would have said to Henry Mills that he may live a few weeks, or that he may live a few months, and that I couldn't possibly be more precise than that. This is because all cancers affect their sufferers in different ways, meaning that each patient will cope in a different manner, which can mean the difference between living weeks or months."
"Taking your years of experience into account," George said, rising to her feet as Jo sat down. "What would the increasing amount of pain done to Henry Mills' state of mind?" "I am not a psychiatrist," Tom said with half a smile. "But I can suggest that the pain, which would have undoubtedly increased as time went by, may possibly have rendered him vulnerable to feelings of depression and a wish for it all to end. No one could possibly blame him for seeking such a way out." "Do you believe this to be what happened with Henry Mills?" George asked, thinking Tom's description to be a particularly poignant one, all to the good where the jury was concerned. "I have no particular reason for believing otherwise," Tom said without a flicker. "I did not personally deal with Henry Mills at the point of his diagnosis or palliative care, but having since discussed this case with his wife, I do not believe that she could possibly have killed him, no matter how much he might have wanted to die."
"Mr. Campbell-Gore," Brian said as he rose swiftly to his feet. "Do you ever take risks?" "Frequently," Tom replied mildly. "But only ever in my patient's best interest." "Does the name Kate Louis mean anything to you?" Brian asked silkily, immediately putting both Jo and George on the alert. "Seeing as both Kate and Louis are fairly common names," Tom replied amicably. "No, they don't." "Kate Louis was a patient of yours, back in January 2004. She was suffering from Marfan's Syndrome. Would you like to explain to the court what Marfan's Syndrome is?" "Marfan's Syndrome is quite literally a bulging of the aorta, the main blood vessel leading from the heart that supplies the rest of the body. As the patient's blood pressure increases, the stress point in the aorta becomes steadily thinner and more inclined to rupture." "When you diagnosed Kate Louis as having Marfan's Syndrome," Brian continued. "You decided, in your professional judgment, that you could operate on her to repair her aorta, an operation that would involve putting her into deep hypothermia. Please would you explain to the court what this means for the patient concerned?" "Putting a patient into deep hypothermia involves draining their heart of blood, and therefore depriving their brain of a blood supply for no longer than forty-five minutes. It is extremely risky, but in this case, I felt that it was Kate Louis's only option if she wanted to live." "What are the risks involved in performing such a procedure?" "If the brain is deprived of oxygen for too long, any amount of physical or mental disabilities can occur. The patient was warned of the risks, but she chose to take the chance to live." "Might I take this opportunity to inform the court," Brian said with a sadistic smile on his face. "That you chose to perform such a dangerous and risky operation, after you had fulfilled the requirements of an entire day's list, and whilst you were involved in a very busy nightshift, therefore meaning that you were possibly not at your best. Do you deny that this may have been a possibility?" "I do not operate on patients unless I can offer them my absolute best," Tom said firmly and clearly.
"Mr. Campbell-Gore," Brian continued almost conversationally, giving no warning whatsoever that he was about to hopefully topple the witness. "Do you deny that you are a recovering alcoholic?" "Not in the least," Tom said mildly, having been well and truly prepared for this. "However, might you seek to deny that you did, on numerous occasions, operate whilst clearly intoxicated?" "To my utmost displeasure, no, I do not deny such a fact." "Did your drinking ever cause you to take unnecessary risks in the operating theatre?" "No, I don't consider that it did." "But how can you be sure?" "Mr. Cantwell," Tom replied firmly and with a slight hint of anger in his voice. "I may have found it necessary at one time to take a swig of vodka before entering the operating theatre, but under no circumstances did my addiction put any of my patients at risk." "Taking your addiction into account, why should the court take one word you say with more than a pinch of salt?"
"Mr. Cantwell," John broke in firmly, demanding his and everyone else's immediate attention. "You will not continue with this line of questioning. I am certain that the court will agree with me, when I say that to overcome such an addiction and to come out the other side of the relevant treatment for it, is an undoubtedly enormous achievement. Such an achievement can only be commended, and will not, in my court, be used as ammunition to attempt to discredit this or any other witness." "I am much obliged, My Lord," Tom told him, seeing a real depth of understanding in this judge, and wondering just how far Jo Mills' drinking put her at risk from the same traumas as he had been forced to endure.