The Golden Goose of Los Angeles Extended Edition

by Travis Adams Irish

protein strains present in the donor blood. The unknown protein with a surface expression on liver cells and T-Cells is finite and may require many years of research to properly engineer. Further, we have had no progress understanding the Advanced T-Cells in the donor blood other than observing that the introduction of these cells produces a recalibration of the recipient immune system. Producing a synthetic vaccine that emulates these results may take decades of research and billions of dollars in funding.

 

  Attempts to Grow Donor T-Cells: We have introduced the donor blood to other healthy Type O Negative blood donors, but have been unable to reproduce the same recalibration of the immune system that is provided by the original donor blood. As the blood is mixed into another vascular system, it becomes diluted to the point where the original effect is no longer possible. This was also true when trying to reproduce the results by growing the Advanced T-Cells in laboratory rodents and apes. Regardless of a high or low potency infusion of the blood, secondary donors cannot replicate the immune response created by the original donor. This presents an issue as none of the ten secondary donors were able to provide even nominal change in second tier recipients. Further testing will be required to determine what is diluting the blood when it enters a secondary donor or laboratory animal. Perhaps there is an antigen present in the original donor blood or some other immune system trigger that will help us to reproduce these results. At this time, we have not identified any such triggers.

 

  “So, what is this part about negative side effects?” Rory asks with clear concern as he points to the case study and looks at Doctor Yahmir.

 

  “Yes,” the doctor begins placing his hands together in discomfort on the glass tabletop as he begins, dipping his balding head and raising his thick eyebrows as he speaks, “that woman was infected with Hepatitis C, and she experienced a radical autoimmune response to the treatment.”

 

  “What does that mean?” Rory asks, clearly shocked to see these results. “The transfusion caused problems with her bladder and large intestine?”

 

  “Unfortunately,” the doctor agrees with a sigh. “The autoimmune response was extremely powerful after the transfusion-“

 

  “Speak fucking English!” Rory demands with frustrated rage.

 

  “After the transfusion, her immune system started attacking her body, especially her bladder and large intestine. Despite our best efforts, she passed away from cardiac arrest when the lining of her large intestine burst and flooded the body with waste.”

 

  “Jesus, how long did it take for that to happen?”

 

  “We noticed the inflammation almost right away, but she died within 72 hours of administering the treatment.”

 

  “Did she have a family?”

 

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Rory. Think of all the lives that we have saved-“

 

  “Did she have a family!?”

 

  “Of course she had a fucking family!” The doctor retorts with rage. “Don’t most people have a family? This is the hard truth about the medical industry, Rory, you can’t save everyone...”

 

  “I’m sorry,” Rory says with sincerity after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “I just didn’t know we had results like that. How often does that happen with transfusions?”

 

  “I’ve never seen it before in my career, or read about it in any medical journal.” Doctor Yahmir states with blistering honesty. “It seems that when a patient has an allergic reaction to your blood, the end result is similar to Ebola Virus, except in this case, the body is dying from an attack by its own immune system instead of a pathogen.”

 

  “That is fucking crazy!” Rory exclaims with a look of shock and confusion.

 

  “That is medicine, my friend,” Doctor Yahmir says with a sober expression. “It isn’t always a sweet little girl smiling up at you after recovery; sometimes it’s a little girl who choked on her own vomit during the night due to leukemia, or a little boy who goes into cardiac arrest from a simple nightmare because his body is too weak to handle the stress… That is medicine, Rory, but I have seen a lot less of those dead faces since you have been here.”

 

  “Your little boy?” Rory asks with a sudden sadness in his eyes.

 

  “I beg your pardon?” The Doctor asks, clearly trying to avoid his emotions.

 

  “Your little boy died from cardiac arrest after he had a nightmare, didn’t he?”

 

  “Yes, my little boy,” Doctor Yahmir says as he chokes up with sadness. “My little boy had lymphoma. He was admitted here, and I had to look him in the face and tell him that Daddy was going to take care of him.” Tears begin to stream forth as the full weight of this emotion impacts the doctor. “How can you tell your child that his chances of survival are one in ten-thousand when he sees Daddy saving people’s lives all day? How do you prevent breaking your code of ethics when experimental drugs are right at your fingertips? If you had entered my life nine months ago, Rory, I would have kissed you… I would have fucking kissed you, but… that is medicine.”

 

  Rory closes his eyes for a moment, unable to imagine the weight this man has had to bear for so many months. He looks at the doctor now with unflinching respect, and reaches up to rub his shoulder like he would a brother. His mind is swimming with uneasy emotion now realizing that this man has had to witness so many patients being cured almost overnight while knowing that his son will never return. Although Rory has other questions about the case study, he chooses instead to sit quietly with his friend in the conference room to honor the memory of his lost little boy.

 

  “I wish I could have been there for you and your boy,” Rory says warmly after several minutes of silence.

 

  “Trust me, my friend,” Doctor Yahmir begins with a half smile, “if I had known back then that your blood held the key to saving my little boy’s life, there’s nothing that would have kept me from coming to see you, even if I had to drain the blood out of you myself.” The doctor jokes with a quiet laugh.

 

  A shiver of fear suddenly shoots down Rory’s back as he hears his good friend say these words, and both men look at one another with haunted expressions for a moment, realizing the statement is more profound to human nature than it is jest.

 

  Several hours later, Rory finds himself seated in the lobby of the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center waiting for the press conference to begin. Kelly is sitting to his right wearing an expensive black and silver evening gown that has a circular cutaway on either side of the mid-section, showing off her petite, sexy abdomen. Her hair is pinned up tediously in a glamorous fashion, and she is wearing an emerald studded necklace. Rory’s hands are sweating as he and Kelly sit in the uncomfortable, black plastic chairs that the hospital rented for the event. Not only does he feel out of place in his suit, but he wants to crawl out of his skin. His foot taps repeatedly on the immaculate, shiny tile flooring of the hospital lobby, and despite the familiar, decorative Lumicor panels providing soft lighting and a warm atmosphere, he feels suffocated.

 

  “Are you okay, baby?” Kelly asks, sensing his tension. “You look really pale.”

 

  “Yeah, I’m all right; just wish that we waited a little longer to do this,” he says, brushing his hair back nervously.

 

  “It’s too late now, sweets, the press release and case studies were published at one this afternoon.” Kelly winks and smiles wide at her boyfriend. “Everything will be fine; we just need to give them what they want.”

 

  Rory fakes a half smile and
turns his attention to the hospital’s executive staff. Corba is wearing a reworked classic red dress from the 1950s; or so she has told at least four people that he knows about. She said that the designer calls it ‘Mustang Sally,’ but from Rory’s perspective, it looks more like ‘Driving Miss Daisy.’ Her blonde hair is taught behind her head in a smart ponytail, and she looks like a woman on a mission. As he gazes to the left of her, he sees the almost charming Doctor Anderton wearing a tuxedo that is too short for his tall frame; however, he manages to look sharp with his small glasses and short, cropped hair.

 

  Further to the left, Doctor Yahmir is standing with his left hand clasped over his right wrist. When he notices Rory looking in his direction, he gestures with a friendly wink and smile, pointing in their direction for a half second. The doctor has elected to wear his regular lab coat and thick glasses. He sticks out from the crowd like a duck in a henhouse, but Rory feels relieved somehow seeing his friend just being himself for the evening. He returns Yahmir’s gesture with a subdued nod and a smile.

 

  Corba and the two doctors continue to mingle with members of the press on the main floor while the rest of her staff members sit patiently behind the glass podium that was also rented for the event. There is a buffet on the far side of the room that is as out of place as the ice sculpture near the entrance in the lobby. The sculpture is a rough looking swan placed on a table that bears a hideous dark red topper. Clearly most of the planning for this lackluster event went into the speeches and contacting the right members of the press. Rory leans back and puts his arm around Kelly