Jeffrey was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone had changed. “You’re asking for a war, Garrison. Hospitals protect physicians. Boards move slowly. This will be ugly.”
“I don’t care how long it takes,” I said. “My son nearly died because a doctor was too lazy and too prejudiced to do his job. If Ethan goes in there looking like a pre-med in khakis, he gets labs and imaging within the hour. Instead, Vance saw tattoos and decided the diagnosis before he touched him.”
Another pause. Then: “All right. Then we do it properly. We document everything. Every chart. Every nurse’s note. Every witness. Every call. Every timestamp. Start keeping a written timeline now.”
“I already have.”
“That’s why I like you,” he said. “Call me the moment surgery is over.”