“Yes, your honor. For now.”
“Would the defense care to cross-examine the plaintiff?”
“Well, let’s see,” Harvey says sarcastically. “They presented so much evidence. Where to start? Oh, how about the police report. Nothing much in there. She said one thing, my client said another. The plaintiff’s son couldn’t tell who started what. Oh, right. The pictures. But you can look at those yourself, your honor.”
“I already have.”
“So, okay, this PTSD thing.”
“You don’t have to go there, Mr. Nussbaum. I have already stricken Ms. Oppenheimer’s unsubstantiated remarks from the record.”
“Thanks. But let’s say, hypothetically, an emergency-room nurse did wind up with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder right after her best friend in the world was horribly murdered. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that this same hypothetical nurse realized what was happening to her and went to her employers to ask for a long-term leave of absence.
“Furthermore, let’s say the folks at, oh, let’s call the hypothetical hospital Mainland Medical, thought so highly of this young trauma nurse that they helped her find a in-house treatment program, which everyone agreed would be kept strictly confidential, thereby putting it under the protection of the federal government’s HIPAA Privacy Rules.
“How could anybody but the hypothetical nurse and her hypothetical doctors even know about this hypothetical incident? Unless, of course, somebody, let’s say another hypothetical doctor, maybe a hypothetical plastic surgeon, whose favorite customer was a hypothetical woman named Mrs. Oppenheimer, violated the young nurse’s privacy rights as stipulated under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act of 1996.”
Harvey stops.
The courtroom is stone cold quiet.
“I’m just sayin’, your honor,” he adds with a shrug. “Hypothetically.”
I never take the stand.
Judge Guarnery has no choice but to toss out the temporary restraining order. He totally expunges its existence from Christine’s record. He even suggests that Mrs. Oppenheimer “have a little chat” with her “hypothetical” plastic surgeon friend and advise him to obtain legal counsel, as he could be brought up on charges for his “flagrant violation” of HIPAA regulations.
I guess the whole PTSD deal was one of the things Christine and Harvey Nussbaum chatted about last Saturday after Ceepak and I left the room. Ceepak could relate. When he first came home from the horror show over in Iraq, my partner had been prone to nightmares. Especially when he was awake and someone set off fireworks, like an M-80 tossed into a dumpster.
The second we’re outside the courtroom, Christine jumps into my arms to give me a big hug. Full disclosure? She does, indeed, have a great bod.
“Where’s Mr. Ceepak and his mom? I want to thank them, too!”
“Um, they’re both kind of busy. The Free Fall opens tomorrow.”
“Huh?”
Christine is confused. Can’t blame her. What I just said makes absolutely no sense.
Unless, of course, you know that skeevy Joe Ceepak is coming to town.
Saturday morning, Ceepak and I are off duty but both of us are carrying our sidearms.