by Barbara Ebel
“We heard the CDC brought a proposal to the FDA. Did they accept?
“We heard a rumor a drug has been manufactured from a dog?”
“Has the FDA swiped your research? Is it going to take months before they release their results?”
The press corps pushed and prodded and the docs answered. As they learned the facts, they pressed with more questions. Some of them didn’t know whether to pursue the doctors or get their coverage live on television or zoomed to their headquarters. The public would know shortly that help was on the way. Major networks covered the details, which streamed to foreign countries, and discussions began about the believability of the cure.
The news coverage was creative. One reporter on prime time news said, “A medical catastrophe that not only began spreading like wildfire through saliva is now going to see its cure with saliva.”
The 9 p.m. nightly news said, “Do you know where your Chesapeake Bay retriever is? Chances are he or she is a precious commodity because what’s thought to be the cure for meningoencephalitis is coming from the breed.”
A headline newspaper blared out, Now famous Nashville neurosurgeon’s dog and hand injury may hold cure to continental epidemic. And the next day’s major national newspaper announced, The silent fear of the perfect pandemic may be drawing to a close.
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Back home in Nashville, the team met Monday morning at 8 a.m. at the bedside of a patient infected with Naegleria salivi. The twenty-three year old student had caught it in their own hospital while training to become a nurse. She had not lapsed into a coma, had been diagnosed by MRI the evening before, and jumbled her words. She wore a pretty nightgown and had a nursing book on the end table. The team hoped she’d get back to that book and reuse her sleepwear under better circumstances in the future.
“Here, Claire,” Joelle said. “This is the new medication you and your family signed for. We hope it cures you of the disease you caught.” Joelle handed her a small cup with apple juice and Claire reflexively took the pill and washed it down.
The team left Claire’s room. “I wish Bill could have been one of the first,” Danny said.
“Nevertheless,” Joelle said cautiously, “we’ll wait and see. Maybe we’ll know in a day or two.”
“Peter and Timothy,” Danny said, “I’ll order an MRI on her for two days from now. You all call me to let me know how she’s doing.” Everyone stopped in the hallway, ready to part. “That’s it, then,” Danny said. “The writing’s on the wall in two days?”
“In two days,” Joelle said.
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Danny’s desk swelled with files and small messages in front of the phone. Other than seeing patients, his office work had piled up. He scoured the notes of people who had called. He could be picky choosing his news interviewers. It was mid-week and 5 p.m. Bruce rounded the corner. “Come on, the MRI you’ve been waiting for just came in.”
Danny jumped out of his office chair and followed Bruce to the viewing room. The solo large gray envelope sat on the aluminum table. “She’s only twenty-three. A nursing student,” Danny said. He jimmied the new film onto the viewing box and as importantly, the last two films for comparison. Bruce adjusted his bifocals and also studied Danny’s films.
For a second Danny hesitated with fear. What if DakTilmycin hadn’t done a thing?
“You all have made a medical breakthrough,” Bruce said, looking at the film and interrupting his thoughts.
The inflammation of the patient’s meninges had subsided and Danny felt his pulse subside. He saw the beginning of a marked brain improvement as well and tried to dampen his excitement. He wanted to shout like a kid. Plus, it also mattered if the nursing student had a better neurologic exam now and how she looked clinically to the rest of the team.
Bruce shook his hand. “I think by tomorrow you’ll have a confirmed cure,” he said. “Congratulations, Danny.”
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At home, Danny pulled into the driveway alongside Sara’s car and sprang out of his vehicle. When he opened the door, Nancy handed him Julia and Dakota gave him a rambunctious hello. He pulled Nancy’s head towards him, gave her a kiss, and squeezed Julia. His fingers inched into the baby’s hand and he mimicked a dance with her.
“We came over, Dad, because Mary just got back her wedding pictures and we haven’t seen their honeymoon pictures. We’re not staying long though, because Annabel and I haven’t done our homework yet and Mom has school stuff to do, too.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Dad, I’m not kidding, at school it’s like we’re the daughters of some medical rock star.”
Danny shot her a glance. “I’m sorry. I hope that’s not a bad thing.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I can live with it.”
Danny walked toward the inside coffee table where Casey, Mary, Annabel, and Sara gloated over an album. “Come see the pictures,” Mary said as Danny’s pager went off.
“I’ll be right there.” Danny held his breath. It was Joelle, calling from her condo. He placed Julia on the counter facing him, her little hands patting his face, as he used his cell phone to call.
“Joelle,” he said. “The MRI looks so much better. I can’t say great, but the meninges swelling is less pronounced. Please, tell me, does that correlate with the clinical picture?”
“Hallelujah,” she said. “Our first experimental patient to take DakTilmycin has had four doses of the drug. Claire’s neuro status has improved. I had an almost perfect conversation with her an hour ago. Peter, Timothy, and I are pleased. We believe it’s working and there seem to be no problems. Even her labs are better.”
Danny hung on every word as he watched Julia wistfully apply a smile. He tried not to be a guy who would cry, but he couldn’t help it, and two tears made their way down his cheek. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. I’ll see you tomorrow, Danny Tilson. Why don’t you go spend the evening with your family?” she asked, eyeing Bell.
“I will. Joelle?”
“Yes?”
“Your mother would be proud.”
Joelle closed her eyes. “Thanks, Danny. I appreciate that.”
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Danny slinked into the room so as not to disturb everyone’s delight over the group pictures. Annabel crunched on a potato chip and gave him a little wave. He sat next to Sara, cross-legged on the floor and Dakota nestled in behind him.
“Hey,” Casey said. His toned body sat on the couch hovering over the pictures, pointing from one to the next with a wide smile. “Here’s you with the girls,” he said to Danny, “and Dakota on the back lawn.”
Danny’s eyes settled on Sara. “Nice,” he said.
“Does that go for the picture as well as your ex-wife?” Casey asked.
“For sure.”
“How is the new drug working out?” Mary asked.
“Like a charm,” Danny said. He cradled Julia with his left arm and his right hand went to Sara’s on the floor between them. He laced his strong fingers through hers. She surprised him by raising his hand to her lips and planting the most meaningful kiss he’d received in a long time.
About the Author
Barbara Ebel is a physician-turned-author. Since she practiced anesthesia, she brings credibility to the medical background of her plots. Even this book was based on an organism that really exists. She lives with her husband and pets in a wildlife corridor in Tennessee and has lived up and down the East coast.
The following books are also written by Barbara Ebel and are available as paperbacks and as eBooks:
The first book in the Dr. Danny Tilson series:
Operation Neurosurgeon: You never know… who’s in the OR
- excerpt follows -
Outcome, A Novel: There’s more than a hurricane coming...
Younger Next Decade: After Fifty, the Transitional Decade,
a
nd What You Need to Know
(nonfiction health book)
Visit the author at her website: http://barbaraebel.weebly.com
Also written and illustrated by Barbara Ebel:
A children’s book series about her loveable therapy dog:
Chester the Chesapeake Book One
Chester the Chesapeake Book Two: Summertime
Chester the Chesapeake Book Three: Wintertime
Chester the Chesapeake Book Four: My Brother Buck
The Chester the Chesapeake Trilogy (The Chester the Chesapeake Series) – eBook only
http://dogbooksforchildren.weebly.com
Operation Neurosurgeon:
You never know … who’s in the OR
By Barbara Ebel, M.D.
A Dr. Danny Tilson Novel.
Chapter 1
- 2009 -
Through the desolate winter woods, she could see a run-down single story house. She firmly pressed the accelerator to climb the hilly, rutted road as pebbles kicked up from the gravel, pinging underneath her sedan. All around her, tall spindly trees stood without a quiver, the area still, quiet and remote. On this damp, cold February afternoon, she had come to conclude a deal with a man named Ray.
The road narrowed past the house, fading over the hill, but she veered slowly to the left, a barren area in front of the peeling house, where a dusty red pickup truck stood idle and a black plumaged vulture busily scavenged. Deliberately she left her belongings, clicked the lock on her car and walked to the front door. She threw the long end of her rust scarf behind her shoulder. The raptor grunted through his hooked beak as he flew off to the backwoods. The door opened before she knocked.
“Nobody visits a feller like me,” the man said, smiling at her while adjusting his baseball cap, “unless we’re buying and selling. You must be the lady with the book.”
The tidily shaven man wore a salt and pepper colored beard and mustache and an open plaid cotton shirt with a tee shirt underneath. The boots peeking out from under his blue jeans had seen muddy days.
The woman smiled pleasantly at him and went in the front door empty handed. If the man had any furniture, she wasn’t aware of it. Car parts lay strewn everywhere, which made her wonder if he slept in a bed.
Ray followed her glance. “You nearly can’t find one of them no mores,” he said, pointing to a charcoal colored, elongated piece of vinyl plastic on the floor. She looked quizzically at him and shoved the woolen hat she’d been wearing into her pocket.
“It’s an original 1984 Mercedes dashboard. See, the holes are for vents and the radio. Got a bite on that one from a teenager restoring his first car.” She didn’t seem interested though. She eyed the dust, in some spots thick as bread.
“Are you sure you have twelve-thousand dollars to pay for this?” she asked, unbuttoning her jacket.
“You come out thirty miles from Knoxville? That baby in your belly may need something,” he said, pointing to her pregnancy. “You want a soda or something?”
“No thank you,” she said, grimacing at him.
“Oh, yeah. I got the money,” he said. “All I got now to my name is seventy-five thousand dollars. I got ruint in Memphis. Was a part owner in a used car dealership. Went away for a little while, and the other guy cleaned me out. Can’t afford nothing like a lawyer to chase ‘im down.”
She tapped her foot.
“Anyhow, I won’t bother yer with all that. I got a thing going good on eBay. I got a reputation, it ain’t soiled. You can trust me, I give people what I tell them, whether I’m buying or selling.”
A beagle-looking mutt crawled out from behind a car door. “Molly, you’re milk containers are dragging on the floor. Better get out to your pups,” the man said, prodding her out the partially closed door.
“You like dogs?” he asked.
“I suppose so.”
“I got no use for people who don’t care for dogs. Something not right about people like that.”
The woman turned and followed the clumsy dog outside, grabbed a bag from the front seat, and came back in. She took out a book, opened the back cover, and handed him a folded piece of paper. Certificate of Authenticity, the man read, from a company in New Orleans, verifying the signature on the front page to be Albert Einstein’s. He inverted his hand and wiggled his fingers, gesturing to her if he could hold the aged book.
“Where’d you say you got it?” He observed her carefully.
“It’s been in the family for years. I took my precious belongings with me when I left New Orleans because of Hurricane Katrina. Since I lost my house there, I decided to stay in Tennessee. Now I’m selling my expensive things. I have to make ends meet, especially with a baby coming.”
“Good thing you got this certificate with it, then. Twelve-thousand dollars, we’ve got a deal.”
He walked away to the back of the house while she held on to the physicist’s 1920 publication. He came through the doorway with a stack of money and a brown paper bag. She nodded once when she finished counting the bills, so he handed her the empty bag.
“I still got your email address and phone number,” he said. “I keep track of what goes and comes.”
“You won’t need them,” she said and left abruptly.
He watched her back out and stood there until the car disappeared out of sight down the gray road.
