DECEMBER TWENTY-THIRD
NUMBER OF CASES: 9,123
NUMBER OF DEATHS: 52
Lying wide-awake in bed, Jack stared overhead at an antique-style ceiling fan. It was six a.m. To say the least, it had been a restless night’s sleep. He had been at Tess’s bedside until midnight before he finally left the hospital and returned to his hotel.
Tess had shown no real signs of improvement. Watching the fan making the slowest revolutions it was programmed for, Jack tried to convince himself to the contrary. But in his heart he knew her coma was just as deep as the day Dr. Willwade had removed her thyroid gland.
He threw back the covers and sat on the side of his bed for a minute or two staring aimlessly across the room. Finally, he picked up his phone from the nightstand and dialed the ICU.
“How’s she doing?” he asked the nurse caring for Tess.
“Dr. Fuller’s here. I’ll put him on.”
“Hi, Jack. Tess had a stable night. I see no sign there’s been any change in her mental status. Her vital signs are holding but she’s still in a coma.”
“I was hoping for a little better news than that.”
“Let’s see how she does today,” he suggested. “By the way, I’m concerned she may be getting blood clots in her legs. I’d like to start her on some heparin. It won’t dissolve any of the clots that are already there but it will prevent the formation of any new ones.”
“I think that’s a good suggestion, John. I should be there in the next hour or so. Have you seen Mike?”
“He finally left a few minutes ago. He said he’d be back in a few hours.”
“I should be there in about forty-five minutes.”
“I’ll see you when you get here. I assume you’ve heard.”
“Heard what?”
“The hospital officially informed everybody that the Vitracide program will begin the day after Christmas. They’ve already started scheduling the first group of C-sections.”
Through sliding glass doors leading to the balcony, Jack watched the last few minutes of the dawn. His mind wandered in several directions but he kept coming back to the same thing: Two days earlier he was convinced that removing Tess’s thyroid gland would cure her, but during the last twenty-four hours, his conviction had eroded.
He got out of bed and walked over to the coffeemaker. Reaching for a cup, he thought about his conversation with Fuller. He was just about to hit the Brew button when it suddenly struck him. He closed his eyes and threw back his head. It wasn’t a revelation or realization born of careful thought. It was like a crack of thunder followed by somebody shaking him to wake up and see the obvious.
“Shit,” he muttered, as he grabbed for his phone to call Madison.
“I think I screwed up,” he told her.
“What are you talking about?”
“Tess isn’t going to get better. I missed something. I’m certain of it.”
“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“I just got off the phone with Dr. Fuller a few minutes ago. It was something he said. He wanted to let me know he was putting Tess on a blood thinner. He mentioned he was going to use heparin. He reminded that it would take care of new clots but not the old ones.”
“And that comment made you realize you had overlooked some critical piece of information? Excuse me for saying this, Jack, but you’re starting to sound like somebody who’s ready to stick his head in an oven.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is you’re panicking. It’s only been a couple of days since Tess’s surgery. You need to give this more time.”
“I’m not saying we should have seen a complete recovery. I’m saying we should have seen at least some subtle signs of improvement by now.”
After a quiet few moments, Madison said, “I’m not trying to be harsh or unfeeling, but do you think it’s just possible your relationship with Tess and Mike is clouding your objectivity, and that you’re becoming a little desperate? Jack, we’ve done everything we can. Helen told us it’s over the morning of the twenty-sixth. She’s not going to change her mind. If Tess doesn’t start to improve pretty soon…well, I guess we’re both going to have to get on board with what the hospital officially recommends.”
“I’m not going to worry about politics and deadlines right now, he said.”
“What are you going to do then?” she asked.
“One of our assumptions has to be wrong. I have to make another phone call. Then I’m going to get back on the computer. I have a suspicion…no, call it an inkling, of where I went wrong.”