„I should have reloaded while running," said John, "and you?" "I should have taken off for today," said Tim. John looked at Tim, who gave him a relieved look. But immediately something distant mixed into the initially clear look. "Bradford, you should sit down," John recommended. Because there was no immediate reaction, he changed his tone of voice: "Bradford, sit down!" He would have liked to help him, but his hands were full of the assassin's blood. Luckyly, Lucy was there and grabbed Bradford, who was already swaying, under his arms from behind. He quickly found himself on the stretcher. His: "I'm fine!" sounded ridiculously weak and was answered by the doctor in the protective suit with careful pressure on his chest, which was supposed to stop him from getting up. Being honest to himself, he felt very well, that his condition was far too bad for getting up. He was feeling dizzy, though he was laying on this stretcher. But he hatet losing control. Especially losing control in front of his rookie Lucy Chen, who watched him now full of sorrows. He would have liked to close his eyes. But he knew that all people arround him would have taken this as a sign of a new lifethreatening collapse. He wanted to avoid that at all costs. So he decided to show an expression as indifferent to annoyed as possible and stare upwards.
They pushed him passing his colleagues and the injured ones into the clinic. "What's happening to him," Lucy wanted to know. "We are investigating him - after all, the vaccine is not officially approved and what looked like the beginning of a seizure hast toll be taken seriously. He also has to stay in quarantine for two more days to make sure he doesn't spread the virus." Lucy put her hands on her halter and nodded. "You'll also come with me for a moment, I'd like to take some blood from you, just to be on the safe side. The ambulance will then take you home. You are a second degree contact person. You too have to be in isolation for two days. Don't visit anyone, don't get any visitors. And report any symptoms immediately, got it?" Lucy nodded. She realized it wasn't over yet. The danger was only knocked out, it was not yet defeated. Lucy looked around. John nodded encouragingly at her. She nodded back, trying to the hospital itself, waiting for her blood to be drawn, she saw through the window of the isolation ward how Tim Bradford was brought into the room next to her. They put his belt, smartphone and gun in a box, locked it and took everything out of the room. Obviously this did not suit Tim at all, he looked pissed. He also demanded to be allowed to go home, but seemed too weakened to even sit up. The doctor in the protective suit put an Ohio mask on him as she spoke, "Forget it, Bradford. Your life is in danger."
Lucy was like frozen - she hadn't expected it to be that clear. But in the next moment she thought that Bradford would only listen to clear instructions - the doctor had probably just assessed him correctly. This exact doctor was just loading a perfuser. Then she continued:
"Bradford, you are my patient. The epinephrine and your endogenous epinephrine from your short-acting are wearing off. We need to keep your circulation going. Also: we don't know if that was an incipient seizure earlier, and you had unprotected contact with a man who died before your eyes from a hemorrhagic fever. A man who coughed blood on you earlier. We gave you the vaccine. This is a chance. But no safety, not for you, not for all the people out there." Lucy saw Tim put his chin up and stretch his head over. Surely he was sighing almost haughtily right now, yet resigned to his fate. The doctor put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly while a nurse, also in full protective gear, came in. She pulled the blinds closed so Lucy couldn't see Tim being undressed, again given a clip to monitor oxygen saturation, ECG glue on his chest and a venous line. The doctor connected the IVs to the perfusor and put him off, "I'll be right back!"
"Well, you've been through quite a bit today," the doctor now came over to Lucy. Lucy nodded. "But if that's your instructor, you're used to suffering. I'm going to take some more blood from you now, I'll come by your house tomorrow and the next day and we'll do it again. I'll see if there's any change in blood clotting or other signs of infection. Just to be safe." Lucy nodded. Resistance was futile anyway. "I assume we all got off lightly once again - thanks to the brave efforts of your colleagues!
Tim Bradford stared at the ceiling. By now he was wearing a hospital-shirt and he could feel that he was really not well. Everything on and in him seemed to itch. Wheals were spreading all over his torso. He would have wanted to scratch it all up and tried convulsively to control himself. The mask on his face was unfamiliar and tight, but he felt the oxygen was doing him good. At first, the hissing had annoyed him. Now he tried to concentrate on it to better block out the itching. The doctor came back to him with a large tube in her hand. "So, now back to you. How are you doing - honest answer please!"
Bradford breathed as best he could though he felt a resistance he hadn't known before, avoided the gaze and said, "Been better."She turned up the IV full blast. "Well, you're itchy, blood pressure's down, you're tachycardic, and you're sweating, although you're feeling cold..." "Yes.""You're in shock."She took his legs and placed them on a pad. While rubbing his reddened torso with the cooling gel, she asked: "And on top? Tightness in your throat? Shortness of breath?"
"Not really," he audibly squeezed out. The doctor looked up at the ceiling, somehow annoyed. Sometimes unconscious patients were just easier! "If this gets just a little worse, we'll have to act fast. Can I count on you to respond right away?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay, I'm still assuming that your main problem is a severe allergic reaction to the vaccine, not a hemorrhagic fever. However, please don't scratch it! You will get a mixture of lots of fluids, some norepinephrine, antihistamine, and a glucocorticoid, and also a virostatic for safety. There may be side effects, I'll say that up front. Be sure to let me know how you're doing, even though that's not usually your style. Okay?" Bradford nodded. The doctor turned to leave, but then came back again:"One more thing, Bradford: You don't have to be strong here. You don't have to torture yourself or punish yourself for anything. There's no rookie here for you to prove anything to, either, okay?"
He nodded again. She left him alone. This woman seemed to be a very good judge of character! Her last words had hit him, all of them. Tim Bradford felt weaker and more miserable than he had in a long time. Sitting up or even getting up was out of the question! In addition these itching, hot Quaddeln everywhere. Whereas the gel was already working - he could clearly better resist scratching. He clearly noticed the tightness when breathing. But no, it wasn't bad enough yet. He didn't want to need any more support, didn't want to be restricted any further. In him rose the image of Peter, the man who had died before him. Was he supposed to end up like that? And he would have had nothing with him now, to cut it short. There would have been no one there either. He felt lonely , so damn alone. It was not now the powerful despair from the quarantine house. It was an all encompassing exhaustion that spread through him. Tears welled up in his eyes and he swallowed them down through his swollen throat. He felt for his much too rapid heartbeat. For a brief moment, he wished Lucy was with him now. Just there, as she had been outside the door. He closed his eyes and imagined Lucy was still in the next room. She would look to him now and then, smile encouragingly at him. He quickly dismissed that thought. She was his rookie. Nothing more. He shook himself. Yes, he really should have taken the day off.
Lucy had meanwhile reached home. She took a shower first and then made herself a sandwich. Actually, she would have liked to lie down, but she was aware that she would not be able to sleep anyway. She set to work on the report. She forced herself to do it, the memories were still fresh. The medication was working. The itching had subsided further, the tightness in breathing was better. A human need stirred within him. Bradford rang the bell and pointed out that he would have liked to visit a restroom. But instead he was shown only a pile of makeshift toilets in the room: Bags whose granules soaked up urine. "What's that?"
"Well, the virus can also be transmitted through urine. That's why this is the safe version. You pee into it, please let me know if it should be reddish or even brownish. Otherwise: just close it with the clip afterwards. It will be incinerated with the clinic trash."
"Tim cursed, but was glad that he didn't have to get up completely - his circulation didn't want to go the way he wanted. And he was really relieved when everything looked the same as usual. He took off his mask, laboriously drank some of the water that was standing next to him. Then - he wondered about his own behaviour for a second - he pulled the mask back again. It was such a relief to breathe in more than the usual 21% oxygen. He wasn't hungry, he was much too tired. Not like normally, rather leaden and completely exhausted. His blood pressure was still too low for sufficient bloodsupply for his head while sitting. He felt dizzy, slightly nauseous. He slowly took the cables of the ECG aside, laid down in an exemplary manner: Legs back on the cushion, arms beside him, head on the pillow. Doing things properly meant having them under control. Two or three breaths later, he didn't want to think about anything. He heard the hissing and beeping around him. It was as if someone had taken all his power away. And he was okay with that.
It had gone well, with the report. She had been able to write fluently. But now, when Lucy got to the point where she would have had to write about Tim's announcement that he was going to end his life on his own terms, she hesitated. Soberly, it was a suicide threat. An officer with suicidal thoughts as an instructor, no way! But in the situation itself, it had been somehow different. Of course, understandable. Could anyone understand that who had not been there? She decided to leave that out for now. She wanted to finish writing the rest, before thinking about how to mention ist. But writing until where? Until the collapse? Until the gunshot? Until Bradford's admission to quarantine? She wrote everything off her chest. It did her good. She noted how unnatural it must have seemed that Tim, still just conciousless , had gotten up two minutes after being medicated and shot. In doing so, he had probably saved people's lives, first and foremost John. What a huge effort that must have been! How was he feeling now? He hadn't really looked that fit earlier. Hopefully nothing bad would follow. She sighed and let herself fall backwards on the sofa. After a few minutes she took her smartphone and googled "allergic shock". What she read there made her understand the doctor's words even more clearly. She still had that creepy sound in her ears that Tim had made in the ambulance. As if he hadn't been able to breathe at all, as if he had been suffocating. Now she knew: He had really been fighting for his life - and this fight was not over just because he had received a short dose of epinephrine. That had become clear with his renewed fainting spell. Hopefully he was doing well!
It was before dawn yet when Tim awoke. He had slept through from late afternoon. Maybe he had been so exhausted. Or maybe he had been sedated. He didn't like just the thought of it. He looked up at himself, followed the tube to the perfuser with his eyes, traced the wires to the EKG, oxygen and blood pressure monitoring. He would have liked to just rip the stuff off and out, walk up and away. But he put the brakes on his impulse. He'd formally learned painfully before that going against doctor's orders was not a good idea. Yes, he'd been through a lot. Could barely count his scars. His father had beaten him whenever he he had survived his childhood and adolescence was a mystery to him today. The tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq had been tough. Yes, he had also made a lot of mistakes. Mistakes no other had realized. Mistakes that had caused death and a lot of suffering. Hell, the doctor had hit him with her words yesterday, like a sniper.
A nurse in a protective suit came in and checked on him. Apparently he wasn't completely alone after all. Reassured, he fell asleep again. In his dream, images from war zones and police operations mingled. Suddenly, all his current colleagues were lying dead and bleeding from all orifices in offices and patrol cars. He alone seemed to have survived, with a syringe in his arm and a gun in his hand.
The patrol car he was now inspecting was theirs. Lucy was sitting in her seat. Dead and bleeding from her mouth and nose. A shrill alarm jolted him from sleep; a nurse came in. "Are you all right? 170 frequency and um.. good blood pressure...I think we better turn off the norepinephrine completely..." Tim was still searching for direction, gasping for breath. "Easy inhale and exhale...okay?" He nodded cautiously. This was awful. When he had calmed down, he conference: „I'm hungry!". Eyes seemed to smile under the protective clothing. "Very nice. I'll bring you something in a minute. But better no coffee yet..."
Tim shrugged his shoulders. He could do without the coffee. The breakfast he got was much better than expected. His joy over it was dimmed when the word "last meal" popped into his head. He listened within, perceiving that he could sit again without feeling dizzy. He was glad that he didn't need the supplemental oxygen now; his saturation remained stable at 99% without it. A piece of freedom back again! The breath was free, the wheals disappeared.
He did not feel feverish at all and he could not see any red spots on his skin or bleeding. He looked as closely as he could with all the cables. He calculated: Peter had already been clearly symptomatic after 24 hours. That was good now. This was also confirmed by the doctor, who looked in briefly. "We will do a EEG on you later. To find out if it was a seizure." She had brought him some old magazines and a remote control well wrapped in foil. Tim was happy, but realized that he was much too tired. Damn, he didn't know it like that! What was it? He decided he'd better get another round of sleep until the EEG.
Lucy wrote another message to Bradford. She had forgotten that he couldn't read it. She only remembered that after she had sent the message to him. She zapped through the TV program, did a few push-ups, read the good wishes of her colleagues. She wrote back that she was already looking forward to the next shift. In the early afternoon, the doctor came by, took her blood. Asked her about symptoms, but fortunately they were all absent. Most pressing to her, however, was one thing:
"How's Bradford doing?"
"Better than yesterday. He's sleeping and has been sleeping a lot. He'll be back to the way you're used to in no time.
Lucy nodded with a knowing smile. She was very relieved that he would probably be fine.
The next day, Lucy frantically cleaned her apartment. It made her feel like she was doing something really useful and kept her busy. The doctor came in the early afternoon, took her blood again and promised to call her right after the results. If everything was unremarkable again, she could get out.
Tim had a similar experience. He was happy to get up again today, was fully awake and already tried a few push-ups around noon. He quickly discovered that he was nowhere near fit enough to do them. The swollen arm with the vaccination also hurt, as if he had caught a bullet there. There was still no sign of hemorrhagic fever in him. Of course, he wanted to go home as soon as his quarantine was over. But the doctor only allowed him to be taken to the normal ward.
"You're a police officer, you must know what caused this severe reaction. Passing out on the street is never a good idea. Certainly not for a Police officer! If it was just the ingredient booster in the vaccine, you need to know that for further vaccinations, it's not a problem for your everyday life. But if it is an ingredient that you might otherwise come into contact with, that is definitely one. We'll wait until the medication is totally worn off, then we'll test the most likely trigger."
Bradford cursed. He fervently hoped this story wouldn't become a problem for his professional future. What else was he going to do? Of course the doctor was right, and secretly he hated nothing more than losing control of his own body. Yes, he wanted to be sure that something like this would never happen again.
At least he got his smartphone back and read all the messages, including the ones from Lucy. He replied, "They had taken my smartphone. I'm fine." He followed up with "I was fine the whole time." Lucy laughed. Of course, Bradford! She had just gotten her own results: Everything was fine!
The doorbell rang. John and Jackson were at the door. "Hey! Your 48 hours of "seclusion" are over, now you have to come back out with us!"
"Nothing better than that!"
"They drove up to a hill and picnicked." "I did a research", Jackson reported. "Anaphylactic shock is really not to be trifled with. I mean, it almost looked funny for the moment when Bradford laid down there on the grass..."
John and Lucy looked at him reprovingly. "Yes, I'm sorry for thinking so. I've read up on it: without immediate medical attention, it can be fatal. The body's defense goes completely berserc! And if you can't remove the allergen, like with a vaccination, that's really dangerous!"
"In the ambulance, before he got the medicine, he suddenly gasped so loudly. A really scary sound," Lucy shuddered.
"Yeah, it was absolutely nothing to take lightly..." said John, taking a deep breath before saying, "Then let's toast that everything went well, for all of us. If Bradford hadn't shown up, I might be in a cold storage right now too."
They toasted the happy outcome, looking down on the city.
"You seem so thoughtful, Lucy, is there something wrong," Jackson wanted to know.
"No,no...I just wonder all the time...you know, Tim was in the room with Peter, the infected one. He saw him dying slowly and agonizingly. There was nothing he could do. He had to stay in distance. He must have been thinking about what it would be like to die too."
John set the bottle down, "Did he say anything?"
"Are you kidding? We're talking about Bradford!"
John and Jackson smiled.
"I'm just wondering how I would react. In a situation like that, when you know the end is going to be horrible. And I have a gun..."
"Lucy, you shouldn't even think about that," Jackson thought... "besides: you could hurt someone else in the process. Or it could go wrong and you'd suffer even more..."
"John shook his head thoughtfully. "I don't think we can really evaluate that right now. We're not in the situation, and we weren't."
"He took a sip from the bottle, then added, "And I hope we never will be."
Lucy nodded. For herself, she decided not to mention anything in the report. That's why she said:"Yes, you're right! Let's drink to that and change the subject. What about your house?"
"John centered his features toward his nose. "Oh, you know... maybe let's talk about this deadly virus instead."
Tim Bradford had spent a day having an MRI scan of his head and various neurological tests. The friendly but somewhat cranky neurologist had also told him the results of the EEG: "We found no epilepsy-type potentials or focal slowing."Tim had not understood it exactly. But he assumed it was good news. The other tests had also been unremarkable. The neurologist had even commented very positively on Tim's quick responsiveness: "I haven't had someone like you in ages...if I may...I'd like to invite you to a study doing clinical tests in a year." Tim had smiled, felt flattered, and most of all, very relieved.
The following day began for him with an allergy test before breakfast. Outwardly, he was as cool as ever as he sat down on the couch in the exam room for it. Inside, however, he was really nervous. What was in store for him? Rightly so: he had just received the first substance after the obligatory histamine prick, and he felt terribly dizzy. He clawed himself into the couch. Cold sweat broke out of all his pores. His heart was racing. The monitor with the ECG began to sound an alarm. It was as if someone had blocked his entire airway inside with one blow and caused every single bronchiole to swell up. The vision blurred before his eyes. Someone grabbed him by his shoulders. He collapsed, gasping for breath. His whole body seemed to be in turmoil. More alarm signals came. He heard hurried shouts from a distance. He felt himself being lifted, someone taking his legs up, someone tampering with his arm, his head being stretched back and something being pressed on his face. He was a piece of meat, a workpiece, without a hint of his own control over himself! Then everything turned black.
The next thing he heard was beeping and hissing. His own breathing, his heartbeat. It took a moment before he had the strength to open his eyes. Then he looked into the smiling face of the doctor.
"Hey, back again?"He nodded slowly. She continued:" Great. I have only good news for you: first, you survived this anaphylaxis, too. Second, you showed no signs of seizure this time. Third, you will be the proud owner of an Epipen from now on. Please also inform your rookie and others who ride with you about this. Fourth: The likelihood of you getting into such a situation again is rather low. You have no other known allergies. The substance tested is no longer used regularly because of its high allergy potential. To be safe, you should get any vaccinations right here at the clinic, from now on."
"Does that mean I can continue to work...as before," he croaked slowly and hoarsely.
"From a medical point of view, there's nothing wrong with that. Not right away, of course. You'll stay here until all the values are back in the normal range and the symptoms have disappeared. Even after that, you'll still be on sick leave for some days. You are supposed to rest. Such severe allergic reactions are hard work for the body."
"Yes, I have that impression, too," Bradford admitted meekly. "Thank you, thank you so much - for everything."
"You're welcome, it's my job." The doctor smiled.
Tim Bradford was left alone with all the wires and tubes monitoring and supplying him. For the second time in a few days, his body had shown him how quickly it could really take his life - even without any shooting or assassination attempts. He looked at the monitors, thinking of the unfortunate Peter, who had been unable to receive any care. He himself had experienced in quick succession how quick professional help could turn a life-threatening situation around for the better. Last week it had been something completely strange to him, in the future he would value these epipens for allergy sufferers as companions as highly as his weapon. It seemed shabby to him now that he had thought about ending his precious life himself. Even though he realized that had been out of the situation - certainly Chen wrote about it truthfully in her report. After all, that was, what he had taught her: To be relentlessly honest. And it was unlikely that he would still be her instructor after that. He had let himself go, and in front of her, too. That was unforgivable.
