Lemuria by Burt Clinchandhill (most popular novels of all time .txt) 📗

“Please sit down.” The doctor moved one of the chairs next to the bed for her. Then he took the other chair, moved it next to it, and sat down. “I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Tell me.” Sylvia didn’t take her eyes from her daughter.

“I’m sorry to say that we diagnosed your daughter with Naegleria, a rare and unusual brain infection. Now, in 95 percent of the cases, the infection is fatal. The good news is that your daughter falls in the other 5 percent category.”

Now Sylvia turned and stared the doctor in the eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means Jennifer will survive the infection.”

“But is she going to be okay?”

The doctor paused for a short moment. “Well, to be honest, that’s hard to say at this point. The infection is caused by the Naegleria Fowleri amoeba. A bug that causes a disease called primary amebic meningoencephalitis, resulting in brain inflammation and destruction of brain tissue.”

From the bed came a soft grunt.

“She’s waking up.” Sylvia took her daughter’s hand in both of hers and squeezed.

“Ouch,” Jennifer uttered softly.

Sylvia quickly released her daughter's hand a bit. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear.”

“Here.” The doctor handed Sylvia a glass of water with a straw. “She’ll be thirsty.”

Holding the glass, Sylvia put the straw to her daughter’s mouth, who took small sips. “That’s good,” she spoke comfortingly.

“Where am I? What are you doing here, Mom?” Jennifer looked around the room. “A hospital? What happened?” Then she looked at the doctor and frowned. “I know you. Don’t I know you?” Her voice sounded panicky. Waking up, realizing she was hospitalized, in an instant, reminded her of her father in his last moments when she was with him at the hospital. What is this? Why am I here? Will this be my end?

“It’s okay, honey. It’s going to be okay.” Sylvia tried to calm her down. “Can she talk this much, doctor?”

“That’s not a problem,” the doctor reassured her. “We gave her something that will clear her mind quickly now. Hello, Jennifer. It’s Dr. David Elder.” He moved his head closer to hers. “I treated you briefly in Hebron. You remember?”

“Vaguely,” Jennifer answered, slowly regaining her calmness. “What am I doing here?” She squinted her eyes.

“This better?” The doctor dimmed the lights above her bed. Jennifer nodded slowly.

“Do you know your name?” the doctor asked.

“Sure. Jennifer Porter,” she reacted promptly.

“Do you know where you live?”

“Orange Street, East Rock, New Haven.”

“Date of birth?”

“None of your business.”

Her mother gave a tiny grin.

“Good, very good.” He smiled. “Do you remember getting unwell?” he asked while testing her pupil response with a small flashlight.

“I’m not sure.” She paused for a moment. “I remember giving a presentation at the university, but from there, nothing, I think. How long have I been here, and where is here?”

“You fainted during your presentation almost three days ago. You are now at the Tropical Medicine Practice at Mass General. You were brought here from Yale hospital because of the nature of your illness. You’ve been in and out consciousness the past forty-eight hours, and we’ve been able to keep a good eye on you and perform some tests.”

“How are you feeling, honey?” Sylvia asked scowling.

Jennifer moved her shoulders, arms, legs and head. “I think I feel okay. What happened? Am I okay, doctor?”

Dr. Elder took a deep breath. “As I was explaining your mother, you were infected by the microscopic Naegleria Fowleri amoeba.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Jennifer interrupted. “The brain-eating bug. But isn’t that always fatal?”

“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Sylvia spoke fast. “Oh, what are you always doing in those godforsaken faraway countries?”

“Please let me explain,” the doctor said. “First of all, it’s a misunderstanding that Naegleria fowleri Amoeba is indigenous to third world countries. Actually, in the U.S. alone, millions of people are exposed to the amoeba each year, but only a handful of them ever get sick from it. What we know is that the amoeba is commonly found in freshwater lakes, rivers and hot springs. So, the greatest chance to get infected is while swimming or doing other watersports. Once exposed, the amoeba travels up the nose and to the brain, but we don’t know why some develop naegleria, and others don’t. In your case, we were lucky to identify the cause soon enough to treat you with an antifungal drug called amphotericin B, which, let’s say, kills the bug in about 5 percent of the cases.”

“And the other 95 percent?” Jennifer asked.

“I’m afraid they die.”

“How do we know the bug is dead?” Sylvia asked.

“Jennifer?” the doctor asked. “Have you been ill in the past few days? Any headaches, fever, vomiting or a stiff neck?”

Jennifer thought for a moment. “I am. I was. I thought I had a bit of the flu or something.”

“And how long have you been feeling unwell?”

“Three, four days, perhaps.”

The doctor took his stethoscope and pointed at Jennifer’s chest. “Do you mind?”

Jennifer shook her head.

For a few moments, he listened to her chest. “That sounds fine.”

“So, you asked how we know the bug is dead.”

Sylvia nodded.

“Well, that’s as crude as it is simple. Your symptoms started at least three days before passing out, add three days hospitalized, and that makes six. At six days, everyone infected who doesn’t survive is at least in a coma. Ninety-nine percent of them are dead in six days. I think it’s safe to say you’re fine.”

“So, she’s going to be okay?” Sylvia asked.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor corrected. “What I meant to say was that we can safely assume that the amoeba is dead. I’m afraid that still leaves us with the damage done.”

Sylvia grabbed Jennifer’s hand again and squeezed it tight. The doctor’s tone of voice immediately reminded her of her husband’s doctor, when he gave her the message that there was nothing left to be done for her husband.

“You’ll live,” the doctor responded hastily when he saw the impact of his remark. “But we observed your brain activity through the sensors on your head and on