Z Children (Book 1): Awakening (15 page)

“So, Duke, it
says here you’re not feeling very well. How long have you been sick?” I turned
my back on the mother and son as I put on a pair of size small, blue gloves-
latex free since six of my current patients were allergic. Duke didn’t answer.
When I turned back around, his eyes were closed.

“Well… I guess
he started feeling like crap… Oh, I’m sorry.” Mrs. Morgan blushed, as if she’d
just cursed explicitly.

“It’s okay,
Denise; I’ve heard worse in my life.” I chuckled and smiled at her. She didn’t
smile back, as if my brushing off the ‘bad’ word was nearly as tasteless as her
saying it.

 “Duke just
hasn’t been right since that last battery of shots… so that was last Thursday,
wasn’t it? Could it be a reaction or something??”

“I doubt it, but
let’s take a look and see what’s going on here. Duke can you turn your head so
I can look into your ear?” I reached for a magnetized wall plate that held an
otoscope, stethoscope, and an assortment of other tools. Patiently, I watched
as the boy slowly responded to my words- turning his head, his eyes shutting
tighter, as if the movement took some effort and caused him discomfort. “Does that
hurt, Duke? To move your head like that, I mean.”

“A little.” His
voice was a croak and my mind started listing off any diagnosis that could
account for the lethargy, joint pain, and paleness. It was as if Duke was
having trouble understanding and directing his body to respond appropriately.
Physical and cognitive symptoms. A reaction to a vaccine or a vaccine additive?

I’d rarely
encountered a severe vaccine reaction in my career; normally it was mild-
faintness, moderate diarrhea, a low-grade fever. I’d once had a little girl
experience a seizure after receiving the DTaP- that had scared the shit out of
me, but she’d recovered. Duke’s symptoms didn’t overtly point toward vaccine
complications, but that’s when Mrs. Morgan had said he’d begun to feel unwell-
at his last wellness check, when he’d received his 11 year Tdap and his HPV4.
 

I peered into
the boy’s ears. They were clear, as was the sinus cavity. “Duke, can you open your
eyes for me?” He groaned, but complied, parting his eyelids barely enough for
me to get a decent look. The eyes. The eyes- which had seemed normal when I’d
first entered the room- were coated in a thin milky film; beneath the film, I
could make out traces of broken capillaries.

My mind raced,
processing hundreds of possible causes in a split second. Hemorrhagic fever?
West Nile? Lyme? I checked Duke’s head quickly for trauma and then behind both
ears for swelling or redness. Mastoiditis, a middle ear infection, could cause
the fever and lethargy. No dice. I frowned, trading the otoscope for the
stethoscope.

“Take a deep
breath for me, Duke.” I held the instrument against his chest beneath his tee,
moving it three times and repeating my instruction, then moving to his back and
once again listening intently. He was struggling to breathe and the sound of
air exiting his lungs was raspy and unsettling. Straightening up, I placed my
hands on my hips and the stethoscope around my neck. Looking from the sleepy
boy to the anxious mom, I stood up and walked to the door.

“Denise, I’m
going to step out for a moment and talk to my Nurse. Hang tight. Feel free to
turn on the television if Duke would like to watch some cartoons.” I pointed at
the small TV nestled in the corner of the room near the ceiling.

“Is he alright?”
Denise was close to tears.

“Oh, I’m sure
he’ll be just fine, Denise. Probably just a severe case of conjunctivitis
paired with a virus of some sorts. I wouldn’t worry over it too much. We’ll
have him mended and getting into trouble before you can blink.”

I waited for a
nod before I exited the room. Denise’s voice followed me out into the hall. “Do
you want to watch something, Baby? Can I get you some water or something?”
Duke’s reply was so weak that I couldn’t make out his words as I closed the
door with a click.

“Kayla?” I
called, walking towards the break room- where she could normally be found when
not needed (and when she was needed). If I couldn’t find her, I’d have to get
Leslie. She was manning the front desk today since our receptionist was out on
maternity leave. “Kayla?” Hints of ham and cheese wafted to my nose from the
break room. Barely an hour into our work day, and Kayla was already taking a
break for a snack. No wonder the woman looked like she weighed 400 pounds plus.

As I entered the
staff lounge area, I wasn’t surprised to see Kayla chewing noisily with a
microwavable breakfast sandwich glued to her hand like an extension of her
body. I frowned and something inside of me clicked. We were short-staffed, I
needed her, but I didn’t have to work with her. Mentally asking my patients to
forgive me, I decided to have Leslie and Kayla switch jobs for the day. “Kayla,
I want you to work the desk today. Leslie can help with the appointments.”
Without another word, I turned around and left the room. I could hear Kayla’s
protest, muffled by a large bite of English muffin and dry egg product.

“Leslie, can you
come help me with the appointments? I’m going to have Kayla work the front.”
The reception desk was separated from the file room by a moveable partition-
Leslie couldn’t see me, but the separation was thin enough to hear me. In a
matter of seconds, Leslie’s head popped into view, her kinky brown curls
bouncing with life.

The look on her
face was confused. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? There are a lot of sick
kids and agitated parents out there and… well, Kayla’s not the most calming
person.”

“I’m sure.” What
I wanted to say was that I’d rather save myself from Kayla than save my patients
from her, but voicing the truth would only add to my selfishness.

“Okay, well, I
just checked in the Fields family and they’re the last scheduled until 11
o’clock, but we’ve had a ton of walk-in patients.”

“All sick?”

“Yeah. They all
look the same, actually. Kind of pale and exhausted. Jim Marsh had to carry his
girl in, because she was so tired. I suggested he hit the emergency room, but
he insisted on seeing you.”

“Was Duke Morgan
the first walk-in?”

“Yeah. You know
how Mrs. Morgan gets if she isn’t put into an exam room immediately.”

I nodded. Mrs.
Morgan would pace at the receptionist window until her needs were met. “So,
I’ve got a waiting room full of kids that look like Duke. Maybe a new flu
strain?” I paused, thinking. “Can you bring all the patient files to my office,
tell Mrs. Morgan I’ll be back shortly, and put one of the other children with
similar symptoms into exam room B?”

In my office, I
quickly made a second cup of coffee- sitting down just in time to take the
stack of tan folders from Leslie’s grasp. “Thanks, Leslie. You know, I was
thinking it might not be a bad idea to do a full blood panel on Duke Morgan.
Can you draw the blood and label it for send-out? Sorry, I know I’m piling a
lot on you this morning.”

“No problem,
Doctor Lynn.” Leslie smiled. “It is definitely one of our busier mornings in a
long time.” Leslie turned to leave and then spun back around. “I put Jennifer
Marsh in room B. Her dad’s really agitated.”

“Okay. Just try
to keep everyone calm. I’m sure it’s just a virus.”

Leslie didn’t
close my door all the way, but I was too engrossed in the patient files to get
up and finish the job.

I got halfway
through my coffee before a disturbing coincidence had me frozen.
They’ve all
recently had vaccinations. Different ages. Different vaccinations. Some
receiving their first year shots, others receiving the tail end of the HPV. Is
there a common additive sourced for the different vaccines? Different
manufacturers… What was making these kids sick?

I needed to get
a look at Jennifer Marsh. See if there was anything different about her
condition. Picking up Jennifer’s file, I made my way to exam room B. When I
opened the door, Jennifer looked like she was sleeping and her Dad was sitting
on the rolling stool next to the exam table. His arms were crossed across his
chest and his face was contorted with worry.

“Hi, Jim. How’s
our little Jennifer today?” The little girl was barely moving, her chest rising
and falling slowly. I examined her gently, not asking her to move until I needed
to listen to her lungs. Her father had to help sit her up. I’d never seen a
small child so weak. And her eyes were the same as Duke’s- coated with a film,
broken capillaries, dilated like she was on drugs.

“Well? What is
it? Does she need an antibiotic? We’ve got really good prescription coverage
now that I’ve been at my new job six months.” Jim Marsh spoke quickly, his
nerves obviously frayed.

“I’m honestly
not sure, Jim. I’ve just seen another patient with the same symptoms. It could
be a particularly nasty virus or some sort of autoimmune response.” I knew the
second explanation was improbable. An autoimmune disorder would affect the
eyes, but to have multiple patients develop similar autoimmune disorders… or
even different autoimmune disorders at the same time… it wasn’t just highly
unlikely, I’d call it improbable. Maybe there was an environmental factor I
wasn’t considering?

“What can I do
then? She’s miserable. She doesn’t want to eat, she barely drinks anything.
This has been going on for days.” Jim’s voice grew louder with each word, until
Jennifer groaned and tried to shift her body and open her eyes. “Sorry, honey.
Just relax. Daddy will be quieter.” Jim’s hand stroked his daughter’s
wheat-colored hair. She was sweating now, and some of the strands were
plastered against her forehead. Nurse Leslie had taken her vitals before I came
in; her temperature had been in the normal to mid-range.

I re-took it
now, gently placing the thermometer tip in her ear and waiting for the beep.

105 degrees.

More than a six
degree spike in under 30 minutes.

“What is it?
Does she have a fever?” Jim was standing now. I’d forgotten how tall he was,
well over six feet. Even a teddy bear of a man could make me nervous if he
towered over my petite frame like Mr. Marsh did.

“Yes. It’s
spiked since you’ve brought her in and I’m worried she’s going to become more
dehydrated. I think we should give her a dose of Tylenol to reduce the fever
and consider admitting her to the hospital for observation until we can figure
out what’s going on. They can at least give her fluids. I’ll have Nurse Leslie
take blood for a panel.”

The big man’s
shoulders were slumped and he looked back at his sleeping daughter. Of its own
volition, my hand found its way to Jim’s shoulder. “Jim, it’s going to be okay.
Jennifer is a healthy girl, whatever this is, she’ll fight it off. We just need
to give her a little help.” I watched as his hand rubbed away the first of,
what I guessed, would be many tears. I couldn’t imagine having a child, let
alone a child suffering.

“I’m going to
get in contact with some people, see if these symptoms are showing up in other
towns. A few phone calls and maybe we’ll discover this is an easy-to-treat
issue that’s running through the country.”

Jim didn’t say
anything, he just nodded and sat back down next to Jennifer.

“Nurse Leslie
will be back in a few minutes with the medicine and to take blood. I’ll have
her bring you both some water. Can I get you anything else?”

Jennifer was
stirring again; she seemed so small on the exam table, her knees scrunched
against her chest and little tremors racing up and down her frame. Tiny little
earthquakes on a tiny little landscape. I loved working with children, but
seeing them sick… it physically pained me. Every damn time.

This time, when
I went into my office, I locked the door behind me.

Drumming my
fingers against my desk, I stared at my grandmother’s cup.
What the hell is
going on?

I logged into
the medical data base; I spared no expense when it came to  accessing the
continually changing world of medicine. Just because I lived in a backwoods
Texas town, didn’t mean I had to leave the modern world completely behind.

Unfortunately,
it didn’t take me long to eliminate every remote possibility… every virus,
bacterial infection, disorder, and obscure ailment that could account for the
acute symptoms in multiple patients with similar gestations. After that, my
only option was to reach out- send email after email to colleagues. I didn’t
expect an immediate response. Most of these people led busy lives- research,
double shifts, grant meetings. At best, I hoped someone would contact me before
the end of the week.

So I nearly
jumped out of my chair when my desk phone rang shrilly.  

“Hello?”

“Virginia? It’s
Stephen.”

“Jesus, Stephen.
It’s been nearly a year! How’s Pensacola treating you? How’re Miranda and
Tanya? I miss seeing pictures of her; you need to post more online!” I forgot
my troubles for a moment; it was nice to hear from a friend on a rough morning.

“Look, Virginia,
I read your email.” Stephen’s voice was serious, more serious than I’d ever
heard it. “It hasn’t hit the media yet… God… the public would be in a frenzy
already if it had… Miranda’s not answering the phone. Tanya was sick. Jesus…
I’ve got to get home.”