Deros by John Vanek

Author:John Vanek
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ptsd, amateur sleuth, catholic, vietnam, ohio, priest detective, oberlin
Publisher: Coffeetown Press

Chapter Twenty-Two

Monday, July 3, 8:00 a.m.

My long white coat and red staff badge had transformed me from Father Jake into Dr. Austin. I took a seat next to Harvey Winer in the back row of the auditorium. Interns and residents streamed in, switched their beepers to vibrate, and collapsed into soft seats. Their short, white coats and blue nametags indicated their low rung on the hospital totem pole. Many looked disheveled, having just finished twenty-four-hour shifts. Some dozed off.

A young man stepped up to the microphone. He was as lean as a greyhound, probably from missed meals, long hours, and the physical demands of caring for sick patients. Intern and resident were simply modern terms for indentured servant.

He tapped the mic and said, “I’m Neil Katkey, second-year resident. I’ll be presenting with Dr. Taylor this morning.”

An image of St. Joseph’s Hospital appeared on the projection screen.

Katkey shuffled some papers. “Our patient, EC, is an eleven-year-old Hispanic female with a chief complaint of progressive lower extremity weakness and tingling paresthesias, which began two days ago. Upon examination, she was unsteady, with a wide-based, tentative gait. Initial history and physical exam were otherwise unremarkable. We admitted her to Pediatrics and consulted Dr. Taylor in Neurology.”

He pushed a button, and the results of extensive blood work replaced the photograph of the hospital.

“As you can see, her labs were unremarkable except for a slightly elevated white blood cell count. Imaging was also inconclusive.” He flashed through a series of X-rays and MRIs.

Dr. Taylor approached and the room lights came on. He carried himself with the same air of self-importance that he had displayed when I’d first met him at Oran Burke’s hospital room. His involvement suggested that Oran’s collapse at the reunion might have been due to an underlying neurologic disorder, but patient privacy laws would keep him from being forthright with me about the cause.

Taylor touched his young resident on the arm and said, “Let’s stop for a moment, Dr. Katkey, and field some questions.” He turned to the audience and pointed to his right. “Yes, you there.”

A dark-skinned man in a turban stood. “Should we not be considering genetic and infectious causes?” he asked, his accent thick. “Are any relatives affected?”

“Her family history is unremarkable,” Taylor replied, “and none of her close contacts are ill. CSF was normal, and we found no evidence of active systemic infection. Next. Yes, over here.”

A series of questions followed, some thoughtful, others just wild guesses. The answer to each was the same. Negative. When no more hands waved, the room lights dimmed again, and Neil Katkey resumed his slide show. A few more interns slumped into dreamland. Vibrating pagers occasionally droned like cicadas on a summer night.

When Katkey finished his presentation, Dr. Taylor took command.

“Since admission, EC’s arms have become weak, her speech slurred, and she’s more disoriented. Her legs are now completely paralyzed.” He motioned to his left, the room brightened, and a nurse entered the stage, pushing a young girl in a wheelchair. A frazzled woman trailed after them.

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