Part 7
A/N: I got a few responses to my question! So I guess hits are how many times people click on your story and visitors are the actual number of different people that look at it. Seems a little odd to me, still. That would mean that last Thursday, each person would have had to hit my page four times to get that many hits, which is, in itself, improbable that the statistics would work out that way. It would basically be like maybe one person hit it like seven times, another three, and so on and so fourth…Who would hit the same story more than twice in a day? I don't know, but that's the explanation I got so there ya go, unless someone has anything else to offer otherwise. :)
Jill drags a very zombie-like Hank back to her office where Divya is waiting. As soon as they enter, she stands, her features creased with worry and questions.
"How is he?" she asks.
Hank answers without looking at her, keeping his glazed-over eyes staring ahead at nothing. "Vomiting blood…" He then adds to himself, "What did I miss?"
"Exactly, Hank," Jill says, "Do you remember anything unusual, anything at all outside of the normal flu symptoms?"
He continues looking straight ahead, furling his eyebrows as he loses himself in thought. Jill cups his face with her hands, turning his head so he has to look at her. "Go over it with me, Hank," she instructs as a teacher would a young child, "Walk me through it again. Tell me everything."
He blinks a few times before his eyes actually focus on her and he comes to his senses. Taking a step back, he puts a hand up to his forehead as he thinks out loud. "I don't know – he started off a little fatigued, feverish…that was followed quickly with the nausea," he begins to pace around the room.
"Keep going, Hank," Jill encourages.
"Um, he was feeling hot, of course - I know he was experiencing chills, too, since he couldn't seem to make up his mind whether he wanted the blankets on or off…They were just normal flu symptoms. I'm sure Divya already told you all this."
"It doesn't matter," Jill says, "Just keep listing them. There has to be some small thing that'll help us figure out what's wrong with him."
Hank gives Divya a "help me" look, so she chimes in, "He couldn't keep down any liquids, so we put him on a standard I.V. drip. His breathing was normal, his heart rate was what you'd expect from a high fever-"
"Wait," Hank interjects, "His heart rate…"
"What about it, Hank?" Jill asks.
"It was high, before, like normal…but back there, I glanced at his vitals for just a second – didn't think anything of it at the time."
Divya looks impatient. "Hank, get to the point," she demands.
"His heart rate is slow, now. It's slow, even though his fever's back, which is backwards – it should be just as high as it was before."
"So, what does that mean?" Divya asks.
Hank thinks for a second before he looks back up at them in alarm. "The nosebleed," he says, "Oh, God, please don't let it be what I think it is."
He turns and throws the door open again, rushing back towards Evan's room. Divya and Jill look at each other, then follow right on his heels.
"Hank, what is it?" Divya asks.
"I want to be sure," is the only answer he gives.
When they get into the room, they see that most of the nursing staff has cleared out, leaving only one nurse and a doctor to monitor Evan. His face is now cleaned of the blood and he appears to be sleeping peacefully. The doctor looks up as the three of them enter.
"You can't be-" he starts to say, but Jill cuts him off.
"It's okay, they have my permission to be here," she tells him.
Hank leans over his brother. "You sedated him," he states, a touch of anger in his voice.
"He started to panic," the doctor explains, "We were unable to continue with treatment without the sedation."
"You should have called me back here," Hank says, voice rising, "I could've calmed him down." Without asking, he reaches over and snags the pen light out of the doctor's pocket. Gently, he pulls open one of Evan's eyelids and shines the light in his eye.
"Hank, will you please tell us what you're looking for?" Divya asks.
"Signs of jaundice," he answers, pulling the light away, "He isn't there yet."
Jill steps forward, "Jaundice? And what do you mean by 'yet?'"
"Think, Jill, think about his symptoms. A fever for three days, followed by a short period of remission, bleeding from the nose and eyes, black vomit, the slow heart rate, and look here," he points to some bruises that have formed on Evan's wrists and upper arms, "Unless your staff is overly rough with their patients, he's bruising too easily."
"And now you suspect jaundice?" a male voice says from the doorway.
Hank looks up. "Charlie - of course, you'd be the expert on this. Please tell me I'm wrong," he nearly begs.
Charlie steps into the room, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I can't, Hank, I've seen it too many times before."
"Will someone fill in the blanks for me, please?" Divya demands.
"Evan seems to have somehow contracted yellow fever," Charlie informs her, "and if we don't find out how, and fast, we could be looking at an epidemic all across the Hamptons."
Hank taps his finger nervously on Jill's desk as he holds his phone to his ear, waiting for the person on the other end to pick up. Finally, he hears a click, then a "Hello?"
"Oh, Mr. Brinkley, thank God," Hank breathes out, his whole body relaxing, "How are you feeling?"
"Dr. Lawson?" Mr. Brinkley asks, and Hank confirms that it's him. "Oh, yes, I'm fine thanks to you. Why? Or is this just a routine follow-up call?"
"Mr. Brinkley, this is very, very important. I need to know if you've been traveling recently, particularly to Africa or South America."
"No, no traveling. I'm happy right here in my home. Why do you ask?"
Hank ignores the question for the time being. "Have you been around anyone that's traveled recently to those areas?"
"Dr. Lawson, what exactly is this about?" Mr. Brinkley asks.
Hank takes a breath. "Mr. Brinkley, I believe I misdiagnosed your symptoms. A…situation has come up that leads me to believe that you may have experienced the first stage of a disease called yellow fever, which is virtually extinct in the U.S., so I need to know where you may have gotten it from."
"The first stage? Will I get sick again?" he asks, sounding worried.
"No, the third stage comes very quickly after a remission – you would have been very sick by now if the disease had progressed."
"Very sick? How sick? What would have happened?"
Hank looks frustrated, and has to fight to keep that out of his voice. "Please, Mr. Brinkley, that isn't relevant - can you please just answer my question?"
"Isn't relevant? Now I don't mean any disrespect, but you say you misdiagnosed me and I would very much like to know what might have happened had I entered this third stage. What could I have been facing?"
"…In the advanced stage of the disease, the virus begins attacking your whole system internally. It inhibits your body's ability to clot blood, may lead to cardiac arrhythmia, shut down your liver and kidney function, and…" Hank looks down, moisture building in his eyes.
"Dr. Lawson? Are you still there?"
Jill puts her hand on his shoulder. "You want me to finish the call?" she whispers.
He shakes his head, swallowing back the tears. "Yeah, yes, I'm still here," he continues. "Uh, anywhere roughly between ten and fourteen days after you start experiencing symptoms of this toxic stage, one of two things happens."
"What is that?" Mr. Brinkley pushes when Hank is silent for another few seconds.
Hank takes another deep breath before speaking again. "You either recover, or you fall into a short coma and then you die."
"…and what are the odds of survival?"
Hank practically chokes on the next words, "Fifty percent. There's a fifty percent survival rate once you reach the toxic phase." Unable to hold back the tears anymore, Hank brings his hand up to his face. Divya rushes forward and grabs the phone out of his other hand while Jill comforts him.
"Mr. Brinkley, this is Divya Katdare-"
"Let me guess, the lawyer? You just let your client admit that his misdiagnosis might have resulted in my death. What do you suggest we do about that?"
Divya purses her lips in anger before continuing. "I am not his lawyer, I'm his physician's assistant, and he didn't have to tell you about the misdiagnosis if he didn't want to – he could have let you continue to think that you just had the flu, which is what any doctor would have diagnosed you with had they been in Hank's position. The only reason we discovered the mistake is because now his brother, after visiting your residence, has also come down with the disease. Once he figured it out, Hank's first concern was to call you to make sure you were all right, and second to try to prevent the disease from spreading further than it may already have. Now, what I suggest you do is to answer his questions before more people get sick."
There is a long pause on the other line. "…Evan's sick?" is all he says when he finally speaks again,
"Very."
Another pause. "…My son, he likes to travel. He sends me souvenirs from all over the world. The last one – it was a walking stick from Sierra Leone, a skull with snakes crossing down the shaft."
Divya looks up at Charlie, who has been standing quietly out of the way. "He says his son sent him a walking stick from Sierra Leone," she tells him.
"There's been a recent outbreak of yellow fever in Guinea," Charlie informs them, "Is the stick hollow?"
Divya repeats to Mr. Brinkley the question, to which he responds, "No, not the whole stick. The eyes on the skull are hollowed out. Why?"
"Because the disease is transferred through mosquito bite," she tells him, "and a hollowed-out skull would be a very likely place for a mosquito to hide."
"Here, hand me the phone," Charlie requests, and Divya does so.
"Mr. Brinkley, my name's Charlie and I'm a doctor here at Hampton Heritage. There are a few things I'm going to need you to do for me." He waits until he gets confirmation from the other end before continuing. "Okay, first, I need you to make a list of anyone who's been at or near your residence since you received the walking stick and send that list to me. Second, make certain to cancel any plans with any potential house guests until I give you the okay that it's safe to have people over again. And third, I'm going to personally call in a special extermination team to clear your property and the area surrounding it of all mosquitoes. Are you clear on those things?"
"Yes, I understand. And I'll be sure to inform you if anyone I know begins to show flu-like symptoms."
"Great, I'd appreciate that, thanks."
"…May I speak to Dr. Lawson again?" Mr. Brinkley asks hesitantly.
Charlie looks at Hank, who seems to have calmed down and is regaining his composure. "He wants to talk to you again."
Hank nods and reaches for the phone. "Hey, it's me," he answers.
"Dr. Lawson – Hank – I'm sorry about Evan. He's a good kid, a bit unfocused, but a good kid all the same. I hope he gets better, and I sincerely mean that. I'll be praying for his recovery."
"Thank you, Mr. Brinkley, that means a lot to me. And you have no idea what that'll mean to him."
"Will you let me know, whatever happens?"
"Yeah, I'll let you know."
They say their goodbyes and Hank hangs up, looking suddenly very tired. Charlie gives him an apologetic look before speaking.
"Hank, I need some information from you, too," he says, and Hank waits for the question. "I need to know where Evan's been since he got sick so we can contain this as much as possible."
"We went to a football game, Charlie," Hank says, shaking his head, "At a stadium with thousands of people attending."
"Well, that is not good news," Charlie states the obvious as he exchanges worried looks with the other three people in the room.
A/N: And there you have it – the dreaded information chapter. Not the most exciting, but at least you know what Evan has now. And how do you like them 50/50 odds, huh? I know, I know, I'm a big padoodie-head.
