When Jack entered Tess’s room, Marc was setting up the portable ultrasound machine. A wide-eyed, third-year medical student stood next to him studying his every move.
“How’s she doing?” Jack asked.
Marc shook his head. “Not great. She’s still in a deep coma and she spiked another temp about two hours ago.”
“Still no idea what’s causing it?”
“Not a clue. We’ve checked everything.”
“What do you think?” Jack asked him.
“I’d say she’s getting worse by the hour. I don’t know how much longer she can go before she needs medications to keep her blood pressure up. And her breathing’s becoming more rapid and shallow,” he added. “Putting her on a respirator can’t be too far away.” Marc checked the settings and selected a probe. “Unfortunately, we’re finding the same thing in almost all of the other patients.”
“Did Tess have the MRI?” Jack asked, studying the monitors.
He nodded. “Earlier this evening. I called the radiologist who read it. He told me for the first time he’s seeing subtle evidence of brain swelling.”
A number of possibilities, none of them good, flashed into Jack’s mind. Swelling was a sign the brain tissue was deteriorating. The disease was progressing even faster than he had anticipated. He assumed that whatever was happening to the patients at Southeastern was being played out in every hospital in the country. Jack had never been good at concealing his emotions. He assumed the look on his face betrayed his mounting desperation.
“What’s next?” he asked Marc.
“Apart from keeping a careful eye on things, we have no specific plans. Hopefully the ultrasound will show the baby’s still doing okay.”
Having no new ideas or suggestions, he said, “I’ll check in with you in the morning.” Finding his way to a small consultation room, Jack sat down for a few minutes to gather his thoughts. Through the open door, he stared without purpose into the ICU. When he was as ready as he was going to be, he reached for the phone and dialed Mike’s number. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I’ve been waiting for your call. I figured you’d check on Tess before going back to the hotel. What do you think about the fever?”
“Almost all of the GNS patients have a fever. I’m assuming it’s just part of the whole picture.”
“Do you think she’s getting worse?”
Jack was anticipating the question. “I think she’s a little worse…but still stable.”
“Stable?” There was a lengthy pause, and then in a voice painted with despair he said, “I guess there are a lot of questions I could ask, but at the moment, I’m too afraid.”
Understanding the immense weight of the emotional pain Mike was shouldering, Jack said, “I realize we haven’t made much progress as yet, but I’m hopeful that will change in the next few days.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jack realized he sounded vaguely and unjustifiably optimistic.
“I spoke with Dr. Sinclair,” Mike said. “He claims he’s within days of finding the cure for GNS. He wants to meet with me as soon as possible to discuss his treatment plan. What do you think?”
“I would encourage you to talk with him, but I also think we should discuss any treatment proposals before you agree to proceed.”
“Okay.”
“You sound exhausted. Get some sleep. I’ll see you over at the hospital in the morning.”
Jack realized that Mike’s growing sense of doom was probably no different than Bud Kazminski’s or any of the other family member’s across the country gravely worried about their loved one with GNS. Jack was consumed with concerns on every level, but at the moment, his greatest fear was that within a few days, Mike Ryan and thousands of others would find themselves faced with making the hardest choice of their lives.