The moment the patients regained consciousness and seemed a little better, they were quickly discharged to make room for others and then others. Some protested, with more or less intensity, that they still did not feel well; but the hospital had no more room. The other hospitals also claimed they had no space left.
Loukas and his colleagues had requested reports from the Hellenic National Meteorological Service, from the National Observatory, from environmental organisations, from the air analysis laboratories. No one had reported anything out of the ordinary: no solar explosions, no changes in air composition, no unusual atmospheric pressure variations, nothing... Only endless queues at the museum, heat and long hours of standing up. Those were the only explanations they could discuss during the meetings, regarding the flood of sunstroke symptoms and the crowd of unconscious tourists brought to the hospital, weakened and disoriented. He sent them back to their hotels, reminding them to drink water and rest. He had written hundreds of prescriptions with mild sedatives, calcium, magnesium, and sometimes even beta-blockers, as many had palpitations. The other patients seemed particularly disturbed by the invasion of the ill-faced pretenders. They are right! Loukas sighed. No one had time anymore to care about “the really sick people” properly - the chronic patients were yelling at nurses. They needed tests, complex treatments, tranquillity, because they were suffering from “real diseases”, but the entire medical staff was running all over the place, carrying infusions for “the fainters from the museum”.
Dr Loukas furrowed his brow and crossed his arms, arranging, in an imaginary chart, young and old patients, their symptoms and their emotional status. He waved his hand, to drive away a buzzing thought, which kept distracting him. “Poor people! Adrian, you are not bored!” he whispered. He had seen and examined many, he had written recommendations for psychological support as well. The young and healthy ones were frightened because they could not accept the state of weakness that had overcome them. The older folks were completely demoralised, for they imagined they would no longer be able to travel. Some more pessimistic cases were driving their nurses crazy, asking every half hour for a doctor because "I feel I will die soon!"
Loukas stared out of the window one more time and took a deep breath, then leaned over the desk, squinting at the monitor and massaging his neck. He had a stack of papers had to fill out. He looked at his assistant. She had dark circles under her eyes; she poured coffee into her mug, but it was already full, and the black fluid spilled over the keyboard, making her swear in a pitched voice. Not much of a helper! he thought. He had to finish writing the charts because he was about to have a day off. A couple of hours, to finish everything, should be enough. Two hours to write a few dozen recommendations for the following day's discharges... he was prescribing the same indications for rest and hydration, and return to further control after a certain period, over and over again. He started using “copy-paste” for entire paragraphs of the medical letters. His thoughts flew to the following day and an idea arose in his mind: he would equip himself with water, a hat, a thermos of coffee, he would eat well before, and he would go to face the crowd at the museum, to admire the miracle that was the cause of the avalanche of exhausted and dehydrated tourists. He had to observe the organisation of the museum with great care. What angry letters he would write and what acrid interviews would give if he noticed any danger to the health of the visitors... The weekend was coming, probably a lot of people would come to see the exhibition, and the waiting time would be terribly long. He summarised in his mind the hours of hiking and gym and his lab test results: his vital capacity had drawn smiles and fluttering eyelids from the nurse from Pulmonology. Furthermore, it would have been a shame not to admire the Trojan Horse, when it came so close to him. Making plans in his mind for the following day, he smiled. Maybe he would manage to say hello to Marion Karides. Marion would find a few minutes for him, despite the hordes of journalists thronging to elicit spicy declarations from her. She has changed so much! - he thought. He had watched her press conferences. She didn't stutter. Loukas remembered her in her youth and shook his head: She would have stuttered if her father had stood beside her... He had treated the old archaeologist, but, despite his efforts, her father had died. After a while, Marion had contacted him, inviting him to become the physician of the expedition on board Ulysses. He had declined her offer, as he was involved in other projects.
He turned back to the schedule he had composed. In his mind, he reiterated the threats that he would make to the museum, if he were to discover a chaotic and dangerous system for the health of tourists. An uproar was to be caused if he found the museum to be at fault for endangering the tourists who had now besieged the hospital. He had to see with his own eyes how things were going at the museum. It was eight o'clock in the evening, so he finished working and walked home.
Twenty hours later, he woke up dumbfounded and looked around. He was back at the hospital in one of the reserves, lying on the bed. He moved slightly. The skin of his wrist stretched. The perfusion was dripping, and every part of his body was hurting. The reserve had only three beds, but now six people had been crowded in, because the nurses had managed to squeeze another 3 folding beds into the free space. It was no longer possible to separate people by gender because ambulances, taxis and even buses continued to bring unconscious visitors from the museum. He tried to get up but his muscles loosened, so he crashed back on the pillow and fell asleep.
***
Timea had heard the nurses talking, but she couldn’t understand what they were saying. Then they shuddered, as they had seen Dr. Loukas waking up. They rushed to help him. Timea smiled, as that kind of rustle coming from a nurse could be justified only one way. The man next to her was a doctor. She had been dizzy when she had arrived at the hospital, but she was almost certain he was the doctor who had consulted her at the emergency unit. The nurses were addressing him in the same way as when he was consulting patients. It seemed his name was Loukas.
One hour later, the activity within the hospital had slowed down. Dr. Loukas woke up again. He seemed… more aware. That was what Timea had been waiting for. She knew that the hospital was full of tourists from the museum. She had even talked a bit with some of them. A doctor In Athens should speak English. She recognised his face from the museum screens. He had also talked to her in English when he examined her. She could not remember what she had muttered then, half-fainted. She recapped her speech in her mind: should she call the young doctor open-minded? It will be too much... she shook her head. Discussing with a colleague about suspicions, intuitions or subjective feelings was unacceptable. So she said in English:
“Doctor Loukas?”
“Mmm...” he nodded
“My name is Timea Dulay. Doctor Timea Dulay. I believe that it's all wrong what's happening at the museum. We should find a scientific explanation for this phenomenon.”
Loukas' back straightened. His eyes widened, almost to an expression of alertness.
Well, at least I provoked you... Timea thought, tightening her facial muscles to retain a smirk. She added:
“I'm well aware that this endless wave of sunstroke and exhausted tourists could cap anyone's enthusiasm, but we should research... there must be a logical connection, an explanation...”
Loukas called a nurse and began to ask for details about what had happened. He had been brought to the hospital in a state of unconsciousness. He had fainted at the museum, and he had been recognised, because people had seen him so often on the screens talking about the importance of hydration and protection from the burning sun. He was now receiving a cocktail of electrolytes and vitamins to put him on his feet faster. He answered Timea:
“What explanation, doctor?! It's about sunstroke, dehydration and hypotension generated by prolonged orthostatic posture! It's simple! What is there to research? The effects of the postural hypotension? They've been known since the time of Jesus!”
I would bet anytime on your thoughts. I can almost hear them. I've
been in your shoes many times... I'm annoying and bothering you, the same way all physicians around the world are bothered by patients who have the same profession. - Timea said in her mind, admitting to herself: This situation doesn't lack irony... As any patient who is also a physician, she thought she knew more than her doctor! Who now had become her ward mate!
“What a stupid situation!” he muttered.
Timea didn't answer. Something was wrong, but without finding yet a logical, rational mechanism that would explain the phenomenon; this thought was enveloping her. The orthostatic posture could have been an explanation, but it was not enough. At least, not for what her symptoms, beyond objective scientific facts. She had told herself the same words that she was now hearing from the doctor. She asked him, using the same tone as she did on her patients:
“Did you stay that long in the sun? Also, how long did you stand vertically?”
Dr Loukas squinted, rubbing his chin.
“When did you faint?” Timea continued.
“I... I don't remember exactly. But the previous events are quite clear in my mind!”
The night before, he had managed to sneak effectively past the tourists, so he had arrived home sooner than expected. That evening, he had relaxed and even managed to dispel the hospital problems from his thoughts. He had eaten a little, gone to bed early and fallen asleep like a baby. He had woken up in the morning, rested, fresh and ready for a demanding visit to the museum.
“Indeed, I remember... I didn't stand up in the sun...” he whispered. “Not even a bit!”
He had worn a hat the whole time and drunk plenty of water. He had found nothing to blame the organisers for. He had arrived around eleven o'clock at the museum. He had had the impression that the opening hour was nine o'clock, but the old schedule was no longer valid. In order to reduce the waiting time, the program had been extended and become non-stop. With the help of professional associations and volunteers, the museum had made a significant change in the timetable and could now receive tourists 24 hours a day. There were many who had visited the exhibit in the middle of the night or planned to go to the museum late or very early. This had considerably diminished the queues both at the ticket booths and at the entrance. Adrian had only waited for an hour before he had managed to enter the large gallery. It was chilly inside, and there were baskets with candies and fruits for the visitors. He had munched on some figs, drunk water and a few sips of coffee, so when he had entered the big hall, he didn't feel tired at all. He had admired the quartz Horse and heard that Marion was at the museum. He wanted to send her a message, in order to meet her. But just when he was typing the first words on his phone, his sight had darkened and everything had begun spinning around him.
“From that moment until I woke up at the hospital, there is a black hole...” he whispered again.
“There must be a connection to the museum...” Timea said. “Don't you think?”
He looked for his phone. He called a nurse, who gave it to him right away. The message to Marion was saved in drafts. He had stopped in the middle of a word.
“You haven't answered my question...”
Loukas scratched his head, frowning.
“Well...” he said, but agitation in the corridor interrupted them. Nurses were running. A young man in his white coat passed, pushing a defibrillator towards a ward. Then the image repeated itself, but with a nurse. It seemed that two patients had entered cardio-respiratory arrest at the same time. During this time, her phone vibrated. It was Ryan. He had spent the night at the hospital, on a chair, waiting for her to wake up. He had been with her all morning. Then he had rushed to the hotel, to take a shower and change his clothes, then he had done some grocery shopping. The overcrowded hospital was unable to feed the patients. “Are you strong enough to go down and get some fresh air?” - Timea read his message. She sighed, counting in her mind how many metres were between the ward and the hospital courtyard... She went down, step by step. Ryan was expecting her with all kinds of packages, bags and bottles, so she started laughing.
“How much do you think I could eat and drink?” she asked, still laughing.
“I don't even want to hear about this! Everything!” he said and kissed her.
He began to ask her how she was, if the conditions were decent, if she needed anything else.
“I feel better.” she answered. “I don't think they will keep me here much longer. I have seen that tourists who fell sick at the museum are quickly discharged.”
He embraced her, burying his face in her hair and sighed.
“You really scared me, you know...” he said. “I shouldn't have forced you... You've never done this before! You've always been so...”
“What? Resistant? Maybe I'm getting old!” she said. A grimace tightened his face. She caressed his cheek. “Hey! I'm kidding! I'm OK, really! But you look tired. Did you sleep last night?”
She knew the answer. He couldn’t possibly have slept on a chair in a cold waiting room. She tried to persuade him to go to the hotel because he had to eat and sleep. She had to promise him she would take care, eat all the provisions he had brought and call him as soon as her discharge would be decided. Half an hour later, she persuaded him to take a cab and she returned to the ward, carrying the bags with delicacies. Inside, the agitation had cooled down. She started nosing about in the other wards, searching for the poor exhausted nurses, to offer them some treats. The moment she wanted to enter one, the door opened. Two stretcher-bearers came out, gesticulating for her to step aside. One was holding the door and the other one came out pushing a stretcher on which a human silhouette was clearly visible, although covered by a white sheet. A few seconds later, from an adjacent ward, two other stretcher-bearers came out, also pushing a dead body. Timea leaned against the wall for a few seconds. Then she walked to her ward where only two men had remained. The doctor was dozing and the third patient smiled to her and saluted. He was also a tourist, an English student who, during vacations, was wandering around the world with a backpack and little money. Timea smiled back at him, resisting her impulse to pinch his cheeks and delaying lecturing him about the possible drawbacks of being such a dreamy young man. She started rummaging through the bags that Ryan had given her. She asked him if he wanted something to eat, and he admitted, blushing, that he was hungry. She offered him some pastries. The young student did not have answers, and Timea pursed her lips. But the lady she had identified as the head nurse had. Timea had heard her talking with tourists in English. Ryan had brought a candy box that looked very fancy, as well as some freshly-squeezed orange juice. Perfect! Let's hope she's on duty... Timea found her in a small study at the end of the corridor. The nurse was sitting at her desk, the computer monitor lighting up her face, a pile of files beside her. Big hospital, head nurse... Timea shrugged. Not easy to approach, but not impossible either... Before the nurse could react, Timea had already recommended herself in English, had informed her that she was a physician and had praised her for her skills and dedication, then told her that she would not accept a refusal and that she deserved to take a break, taste the candies and refresh herself with a glass of fresh juice. The poor women did not have time to admonish Timea for having the nerve to barge into her office just like that. Hearing the patient's words, she smiled and leaned back in her chair. The patient was smiling, showing all her teeth, water drops trickling down the blurred bottle with orange juice that she was holding. So she invited Timea to take a seat, apologizing for the mess.
Not long after, the two women were conversing as if they had known each other for a very long time. Timea soon learned miscellaneous news from the hospital. The nurse confessed to her that she was really exhausted because patients from the museum continued to be brought in - in a rather precarious state. Timea searched for soothing words:
“Although there are many, they are quickly discharged. I guess you are going to discharge me pretty soon, right?” Timea asked.“I don't know what to say. Doctor Loukas was supposed to decide the
discharges in our section, but now that he's hospitalised, nobody has time for anything. Nobody is willing to sign anything! I have no idea when they'll let you go.”
“Well... they have to discharge me. I’m keeping a bed occupied for nothing... The hospital needs vacant beds for the new patients.”
“Space has begun to free up...”
Timea frowned. So, the wave of tourists affected by this strange and unidentifiable phenomenon from the museum had started to diminish. That was a motive to feel relief, and she tried to present things in this manner to her new friend. The head nurse's hands quivered for a short moment. Then she shrugged and said, yawning, without covering her mouth:
“You don’t get it. There aren't fewer patients, there are more and more of them! We’ve just started to lose them. They enter cardio-respiratory arrest and we are unable to resuscitate them. Today we've lost at least ten.”
Timea couldn’t breathe. The dead bodies on stretchers... they were probably tourists as well... The nurse confirmed that.
“That's why I don't think you'll be discharged. We need to run detailed tests on you... on everyone! The doctors are going crazy! They're searching for explanations, reasons that could explain why we've lost so many! Nothing has leaked to the press yet. But when they find out, they will be all over us! I don't even want to imagine what's waiting for us. Statements, cross-examinations, investigative commissions, trials, lawsuits ... The hospital can’t afford to pay so much in damages. It'll be a nightmare.”
The Trojan Horse Pandemic Page 2
