elfs | The Jury, Episode 2: Frank and Miss T

After lunch, we're let into the courtroom for the start of the actual trial. The first witness is the plaintiff, Miss T, a young woman now 30 years old. We learn the details of her case.

In April of 2002 she was in a car wreck. She was turning from SR 509 onto SR 518 when Frank t-boned her car. She was headed southbound on the large freeway there (you can see about ten cars in the exit ramp) turning left to get onto the other freeway headed east. I'm very familiar with this interchange; I live near it and I drive on it, through it, or under it two or three times a week. The north-south freeway is how I get to Seattle; the east-west one leads to the major shopping center, the Southcenter Mall Complex of Tukwila. This interchange is the end of SR 518 and has traffic lights controlling it. I can completely understand how this accident happened. But we've been told to accept that the accident happened and that Frank was responsible. It's how much responsibility Frank has we're to assess.

She talks about the accident, what she doesn't remember, what happened afterward. She was cut out of the car, she says, but she only knows that because she was told so afterward.

I'm going to be brutal in my assessment of her. She said she was "so freaked out" by the screaming and frenetic activity of Harborview Trauma Center, by the fact that her gurney was left in the hospital hallway because they were out of beds and she could hear the other patients moaning and screaming, that she checked herself out of the hospital only a few hours after the accident. She did so even though, she testifies, she could not feel her legs below the waist, could not feel her arms below the shoulders. The hospital would not allow her to leave unless she could do so under her own power, so she "sort-of scooted out of there" on a pair of crutches.

I have my doubts about these claims because I don't know if you have enough proprioception at that point to stay upright even with crutches. I think she was completely stupid to try that. I don't care how bad it was: you listen to the doc and follow his advice. What she did was stupid.

There follows a long litany of agonies and various medical procedures. The agonies go on for months as she describes her slow recovery to walking. The standout point is that all of her diagnosis and therapy was carried out by the same doctor, a Doc L, whom we'll later meet. She never sought a second opinion, never saw a physical therapist, an orthopedist, or even consulted a psychologist for her depression. We don't learn about this guy's qualifications to treat her at this time; all we learn is that he was recommended to her after the accident, once by someone at her church. She makes the case that she's serious about her rehabilitation, does her exercises regularly, goes to the gym for two hours every day five to seven days a week. She talks about being on the "diathermy" machine. What the hell is a diathermy machine? She fumbles, saying she can't explain it. She says over and over again that she doesn't have the medical training necessary to even remember all the words.

When my stomach started to bug me, I read up on it so much I corrected my physician on one point (she kept referring to my pyloric valve; it's my esophogeal valve that has the problem).

Man, if there's a lesson in here for me, it's never move anywhere where I don't have a support network. It bugs me no end that she has little real understanding of what's going on.

That gives Koenig his in on cross-examination. He walks her through a series of questions about how she managed to find and keep work full time, go back to school, complete four quarters of college, get her degree as a paralegal, and find work, eventually ending up at the law firm she's currently at. He establishes that despite her injuries she apparently has a very ordinary and normal career path, with nothing in it to indicate that she has suffered any major impairment.

I really feel sorry for the poor woman, I do. She looks so sad during her testimony, and when she's sitting next to her lawyer at the plaintiff's table. There's not much more I can say about her other than that. I'm having a "shit happens" moment here, and really, our question will ultimately come down to, how much is Frank on the hook for Miss T's shit?

In this building, the Regional Justice Center, downstairs in the law library, there is an entire rack of books with collections of questions that a lawyer should have on hand when interviewing a person of certain expertise or experience. I picked one up at random, once, and opened to a page on how to walk the maintainer of a piece of large carpentry machinery (like a lathe or bandsaw) through a series of questions to determine whether or not the machine was maintained and operated properly. As I'm listening to both lawyers question Miss T, I realize that many of them are using sequences of questions out of a book exactly like that one. I'll recognize this later when the doctors are interviewed.

Koenig asks her to repeat her diagnosis. "It was too medical," says Miss T. "I don't have the training to repeat or even pronounce it." Wait, you don't know what your problem is called? After six years? Koenig randomly tosses in the word "ridiculopathy," which sounds ridiculous, but we never get a definition for it. Koenig clearly knows his stuff, and Landry's face reflects unhappiness with the progress being made.

While we're there, a few law students sneak in and sit in the back of the pews. Who knew first year law students were so gosh-darned cute? They're like little puppies.

There's also an annoying 50kHz hum in the courtroom, and the lighting does nobody any favors at all. The hermetic, sealed nature of the courtroom makes knowing the passage of time difficult.

The court reporter is a gorgeous big woman who smiles a lot and types a gazillion miles a minute on a customized keyboard that attaches via a USB cable to her laptop. She sits with her back to the jury most of the time.