MAYA HOPE, a medical thriller - The Dr. Nicklaus Hart series 1

by Timothy Browne, MD

  Nick held the phone away from his ear so Maggie could hear the woman bark.

  “You didn’t even have the decency to talk to me before you left,” Anita Roe yapped, “and now you want me to approve another week. Dr. Hart, you are so far out of your contract you have no idea what kind of field day our lawyers will have with you.”

  The California mission students having lunch with them became quiet. Nick felt everyone staring at him as he tried to control his temper. He hated this woman, and everything she represented was what he detested most about modern-day medicine.

  He had not realized how unhappy he was in his practice at the MED until this week in Guatemala.

  Medicine ran in Nick’s blood. As a fourth-generation physician, his destiny was set when he started school. He really never thought about another career. He loved the stories of his great-grandfather riding a horse-drawn buggy to make house calls. Legend had it that his faithful horse, Smoke, would find the way home with the good doctor asleep in the buggy after being up all night with a laboring mother.

  That kind of romanticized practice of medicine had given way to production charts, procedure coding, battles with insurance companies, fending off lawyers with frivolous lawsuits, and overall greed. Nick heard the sucking sound trying to pull him back to the treadmill in Memphis.

  “I don’t give a flip about the poor people in Guatemala; we have plenty of poor people here in Memphis, and this is where you belong,” Anita Roe barked. “This is where your contract is.”

  Nick could see her cold, merciless expression. “Well, Ms. Roe, I’m not exactly asking for your permission. I’ve already talked with my colleagues, and they’re fine with it. They’re going to pick up my call.” A long silence followed. “Look, Anita, you called me. I just want to let you know what I’m doing and that things at home are covered. I don’t know what to tell you except that I’m really needed here.”

  Nick thought she had hung up. He had never used her first name before and thought he had offended her. He looked at the phone to see if he was still connected and put it back to his ear.

  “Okay fine.” She was still there, and her voice had softened. “But come see me in my office when you get back.”

  As he hung up the phone, Nick realized that the team around him was praying.

  * * *

  The next day, Maggie and Nick stood outside the exit of the airport in Guatemala City, watching the people file out with suitcases and fall into the arms of waiting loved ones. They waited anxiously for Buck and for Tod and his family to make their way through immigration and customs.

  What a difference a week makes.

  Last week Nick had felt like a fish out of water when he faced long lines of people seeking medical help and jabbering in Spanish. This week he was at ease with the Hope Center’s chaos; it was as though he belonged here. Even though he hated the drive over the pass with the possibility of being held up, robbed, or worse, he was comfortable with the sights, sounds, and smells of the jungle. Just the same, he was glad Joseph had come with them and brought his shotgun.

  After his assault on Maria, Maggie had seen to it that Joseph was reinstated to his post. She had spoken with them both and told them that God is a God of reconciliation and encouraged them to forgive each other. In truth, Maria and Joseph were relieved of the heavy burden of guilt and shame. Nick observed the amity between them and noticed Joseph checking on Maria and the baby the night before.

  * * *

  “I hope they get through customs okay,” Maggie said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ve got the team praying, but you just never know.”

  “Yeah, anything can happen. Buck’s bringing a bunch of supplies for us. I don’t know what we’d do if he got delayed in customs.”

  “Lord, we ask for your favor and the favor of the custom agents as our friends come through,” Maggie prayed.

  “I say Amen to that.”

  Maggie smiled at Nick.

  Watching the exiting crowd, Nick saw the young hucksters that had accosted him on arrival in Guatemala. They were plying their trade on an elderly couple.

  “Hope those folks are holding tight to their wallets.”

  Then he saw the man with the badly infected leg wound lying on the ground in the same spot.

  “His name is José,” she said, following his gaze

  Nick wasn’t surprised she knew him. “Why doesn’t he do something about his leg?”

  “I know. It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it? John stopped every time and talked with him, prayed for him, and gave him a little money. He offered many times to pack up José right then and there and take him to the Hope Center for treatment. His leg is so bad; it really needs to be amputated.”

  “And the guy never wanted to go?”

  “He told John that he didn’t know what he would do besides beg. That’s all he knew for the past twenty years. You remember the story of Jesus going into Jerusalem when He saw a crippled man lying by the side of the pool of Bethesda?”

  “Does it have anything to do with Thing 1 and Thing 2?” Nick grinned and deflected the biblical lesson with an allusion to his mentor, Dr. Seuss.

  Maggie gave him a dirty look. “You’re impossible.”

  Nick sighed, knowing he had to take the medicine. “I’m afraid I don’t know that story.”

  “The man had been an invalid for thirty-eight years, and Jesus asked him this crazy question: ‘Do you want to get well?’ It sounds absurd, right? Who doesn’t want to get well? But I think about it every time I see José. John and I asked him the same question, and his answer was always no. He didn’t want freedom. It’s so sad, I can hardly stand it.”

  “It is sad.”

  “But honestly Nick, we all tend to have a bit of that in us. Jesus is asking us all the same question. Whatever our wounds are, Jesus is asking: Do you want freedom from that bitterness, that anger, that addiction? Whatever it is, He is offering freedom.”

  Before she could amplify her story, Nick waved his arm at the exiting passengers. He’d spotted Buck’s square jaw as he walked out the doors. Wearing a huge smile, Buck was pushing a large cart stacked full of plastic containers.

  “Thank you, Jesus,” Maggie whispered and gave Nick’s friend the once-over. “You’re right. Buck is handsome.”

  Nick rolled his eyes at her.

  Maggie shrugged. “Just saying.”

  But Nick’s attention had moved on. He pushed through the crowd to greet Buck when he saw Tod and his family behind his friend.

  CHAPTER 29

  * * *

  Faithfulness

  The room buzzed with exhaustion and anticipation as the entire team gathered in the Hope Center’s dining room long after the orphans were asleep. Everyone was tired, but no one was in any hurry to go to bed. Besides, there wasn’t much night left for sleep, after the drive from the airport and two hours spent examining the children. It seemed like the perfect time to worship.

  One of the young Californians strummed his guitar, and the team sang Great is Thy Faithfulness. They were all suffused with God’s faithfulness for their own lives, for the team the Lord had put together, but mainly for the six young lives that would forever be transformed as they grew from shame to wholeness, from lame to healed.

  A cool, refreshing breeze drifted through the room, making the candles flicker.

  Collectively, they decided tonight was the ideal time to take communion. It had been Buck’s idea, and Maggie loved it. Of everyone, Buck was the most undone when they examined each of the children; the big man was a puddle of tears by the end of the evening. Nick asked Buck to sit with him and Tod when they had a chance to reexamine the children’s feet and give them an overall medical assessment to make sure they were healthy and ready for anesthesia. Buck had to leave the room several times to regain his composure, especially when Isabella shuffled in. Buck understood perhaps more than anyone what it meant to get your life back.

  The adventurous young Californians were happy to make the
mountainous trek to retrieve Isabella and her family, and her parents were pleasantly surprised to see them return so soon.

  Isabella’s father bonded instantly with Buck when he learned the big man was a soldier who gave his legs and almost his life for his country. Isabella’s father fought in the Guatemalan conflict as a young man and lost countless friends; he understood the cost of war.

  That night in the dining room, Maggie held a small loaf of bread. “Just like on that night before Jesus gave His life for us, He sat with his disciples and took bread and broke it, saying ‘This is my body that is given for you. Take it in remembrance of me.’ ” She split the loaf in two and passed the halves around the room; everyone broke off a small piece and ate it.

  Then Maggie held a carafe of wine and said, “Then He took a cup of wine and said, ‘Drink this. This is my blood which is shed for you for the forgiveness of sin.’ ” She poured the wine into small Dixie cups and passed them around.

  Holding her cup in front of her, she prayed, “Blessed are you that show mercy, for mercy will be given to you. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for giving your life for us. For giving your life for the children, that they would find redemption. Now Lord, I pray your protection over them. I pray that you guide everyone’s hands and thoughts and minds tomorrow as you, Lord, bring healing to these children. Give everyone here the rest they so desperately need tonight. Thank you Lord for covering us with your blood of mercy and grace over these next three days, as you do every day of our lives. Amen.”

  A resounding “Amen” issued from the team, and everyone drank from their communion cups.

  Nick realized it had been almost twenty years since he had taken communion and then only when he was home visiting his parents at Christmas. He had to admit this was different. He even found himself praying. “God, help me,” he’d said and believed he meant it.

  Tod put his arm around Nick’s shoulders. “Man, thank you so much for asking me down here. Kim and the girls may never want to leave.” He pointed over his shoulder to where his girls were huddled close to Carmen, the local anesthesiologist, already practicing their Spanish.

  Nick shook his head with wonder. “Tod, I just don’t know what I would have done. You have no idea how grateful I am for you. When all these kids started coming in with clubfeet, it was like I lost confidence in myself as a surgeon. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced that in my life.”

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” Tod laughed, “my knees are shaking. I work on kiddos day in and day out, but we hardly see clubfeet like this any more. I’ve been reading like crazy the last few days to figure out how to do this. I thought before we go to bed, me and you could review the anatomy and our exposure for tomorrow.”

  “That would be great.”

  “I’m still awful nervous about Isabella,” Tod said. “We know we’re going to have to be real careful not to overstretch her vessels or nerves. Her feet won’t survive an insult like that.”

  “Agreed.”

  “This is what I’m thinking. Let’s start with that three-year-old boy with the one side clubfoot. We can do that one together. I’ll show you the approach and how to isolate out the neurovascular bundle, what ligaments to cut, the tendons to lengthen, and then how to pin it in place. It’s too easy to either undercorrect or overcorrect these darn little feet.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “Then we’ll do the other three-year-old with the bilateral clubfeet. I’ll do one side, and you do the other.”

  Nick grimaced.

  Tod hooted. “You know, the ol’ see one, do one, teach one. You’ll be the local expert when we’re done.”

  Nick wasn’t sure.

  “We’ll do one step at a time. Together. I figure we could get two kids done tomorrow and three on Thursday, and when we’re really feeling confident, we can tackle Isabella on Friday.”

  “That sounds good,” Nick nodded. “I’m just not sure I’m ever going to feel confident.”

  “You know, that’s when God meets us the most, when we are at the end of ourselves.” Tod squeezed Nick’s shoulder. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I brought you something.” He reached for his backpack, pulled out a wooden box just right for holding small pencils, and gave it to Nick. “I figured you didn’t have a pair of these with you.”

  Nick opened the box. Inside was a pair of brand new loupes, surgical magnifying glasses. “Oh my gosh, Tod,” he exclaimed.

  “You have a pair of these?”

  “I don’t. In my world of fixing big bones, all we need is a splash shield. We don’t fix anything small enough to use them.”

  Tod slapped him on the back. “Welcome to the microscopic world. The nerves and vessels are going to be tiny. These should help you stay out of trouble.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.” Nick knew the special glasses cost a couple thousand dollars.

  Tod slapped his thigh. “There you go. I’ve made famous trauma surgeon Nick Hart speechless twice in one week. Payment enough.”

  CHAPTER 30

  * * *

  Mumps

  Hwang swerved the SUV into the oncoming lane, hit a howling mongrel dog, and caused the small trailer attached to the FOCO vehicle to careen wildly. Hwang and his seatmate Cho laughed.

  “I don’t care about the dog, but I sure the devil care about the equipment!” Suk snarled from the back seat. He looked back to see the severely injured dog collapsing beside the road.

  Suk was glad that CA13 from Santa Benito to Dolores had little traffic and that no one saw Hwang’s reckless escapades. Hwang liked to kill things, a trait that had been useful when the miguk, that American doctor, snooped into their business. Still, Suk had been surprised at how much Hwang enjoyed killing. As a microbiologist, Suk was fascinated by life; Hwang, on the other hand, was fascinated by death.

  “How much farther?” Cho asked Suk.

  Suk checked his GPS unit. “Just under an hour.”

  “Pull over,” Cho snorted, “I gotta piss again.”

  “For a fat man, you certainly have a small bladder,” Hwang snorted, “just like the size of some of your other body parts.”

  Cho shoved Hwang who nearly lost control of the vehicle.

  “Okay, okay. Pull over so he can urinate,” Suk shouted. He could hardly stand another day with these clowns. He often wondered who would win if they ever got into a fight. They’d tear each other apart like two rabid dogs. He shuddered to think about it.

  Hwang eased the SUV and the trailer off the road onto a turnout, Cho jumped out.

  “Should we leave him?” Hwang grinned, gunning the engine.

  Suk ignored him and surveyed the surrounding fields of agriculture. This area in the northeastern corner of Guatemala was considerably flatter than the rest of the country and covered with large fields of maíze.

  Cho climbed back in the SUV. “What’s the plan today?”

  “I talked with the town’s mayor so they know we are coming,” Suk replied. “They’re welcoming us with open arms.”

  “I suppose drilling a few wells helped,” Hwang said.

  “Now that we are satisfied with the virus,” Suk explained, “we move into Phase 2—The Miasma Theory. At the other small villages, it was easy to infect everyone when we told them we were vaccinating them for the flu. They never knew we actually gave them nasal doses of the virus.”

  “Sure didn’t help much with the flu,” Cho laughed.

  “What’s miasma?” Hwang asked.

  Suk was surprised he had grasped the word. “It means bad air. It was an ancient Greek theory that disease was caused by bad air. It was before we understood about microbes.”

  “Huh?” It was Greek to Hwang.

  “The people think we’re doing them a favor by spraying for mosquitos,” Suk explained. “In eight days, they will all have a very mild cold. We need to evaluate the effectiveness of aerosolization of the virus. That’s the plan.”

  * * *

  Professor Kwon worked under the isolatio
n hood. The thick gloves of his hazmat suit made it difficult to work the pipette. He pried off the top of the blood vial as best he could, inserted the tip of the pipette into the blood, and withdrew one cubic centimeter of fluid.

  Now that he understood the effectiveness the virus, there were two immediate goals—mass production of the virus and development of an effective vaccine.

  He watched the blood droplets fall from the pipette into a small tube. Finding the virus had been no easy task. Kwon’s faith was in his own intelligence, but he had admitted to Pak how surprised he was by the discovery.

  Kwon loved riddles and read extensively about the Maya civilization. He was fascinated by their gods. In their time, the Maya were one of the most advanced cultures on the planet, and Kwon admired their development of a written language and their mathematical and astronomical achievements.

  As he watched the blood drip from the pipette, he thought about the difference between the Maya and the Aztecs, the other great civilization of the time. The Aztecs practiced human sacrifice, while the Maya believed in blood offerings. The Maya were equally acquainted with the spiritual world, both the divine and the demonic.

  So why would such an advanced culture pass into oblivion?

  Kwon aspirated another cubic centimeter of blood into the pipette.

  Theories abound as to the reason for their demise—meteorites, infectious diseases, war, over-population, and drought. But Kwon found it strange that such an advanced civilization that recorded every detail of its history had nothing to say of its downfall.

  From what he understood of microbiology, his theory of extinction centered on an infectious disease. But his studies of the great epidemics told him populations did not simply disappear in one fell swoop. It took time—enough time for the great Maya to have recorded the devastation.