I hate to be the bearer of bad news.
Last night at approximately 3:30 AM, Dr. Richard Graham, renowned epidemiologist, passed away due to complications from the Masque strain of MRSA. By the time the antibiotic was given, he had already gone into septic shock. There was nothing the medical staff could do for him.
His life-saving antibiotic went on to help thousands suffering from the same infection, but subsequent tests have revealed that this particular MRSA strain has the ability to quickly adapt to new antibiotics. As always, the best method of protection is to prevent infection in the first place by following proper hygiene and avoiding cross-contamination with already infected people.
Dr. Graham was the most energetic, studious, fun-loving and big-hearted person I knew. He was a joy to have around our lab and he will be sorely missed by everyone here. Especially me.
Thank you for saving my life, Rick, and the lives of thousands. It's just a shame you had to lose your own life to do it. I'll miss you.
- Dr. Allison Jade, Sr. Epidemiologist, Center for Disease Control Maryland Branch
Friday, July 11, 2014
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Allison's Party
Allison's party was crashed last night, and it's one hell of a story on how exactly it was crashed.
I'd arrived at Allison's house around 5:30 that afternoon, carrying my famous mustard potato salad in a large porcelain dish. It's a family recipe, having been passed down from my parents to me.
"Rick, there you are!" Allison cried as I entered, smiling. She wore a cat costume, complete with ears and a tail, while her husband Warren wore a Phantom of the Opera mask and cape. Good old Warren Jade, a dependable man if ever there was one. He was an orthopedic surgeon by trade, skilled of hand and soft-spoken of voice, with eyes and hair such a dark brown that one could easily mistake both for pitch black.
"Dr. Graham, a pleasure to see you again." Warren smiled as I entered and shook his hand. "Food's on the table, you can just set your dish there.
He motioned to the kitchen, where several lab mates of mine were already schmoozing, drinking, and in general enjoying the party atmosphere. On the table was the most wonderful spread of potluck dishes, and in the center of it, a glass punch bowl filled with a spiked fruit punch and sprite medley. I wasted no time in setting my dish on the table and getting my share of the punch; Warren always did make wonderful punches.
The party continued without incident, filled with revelry and camaraderie, karaoke and food, liquor and fond stories shared. Little by little guests trickled in, although surprisingly, Wahlburn was nowhere to be found. Nobody seemed to notice until around ten at night, when a lab tech from Allison's area of the building piped up.
"Hey, wait," he said, dark face marred in confusion. "Where's Dr. Wahlburn? Didn't he say he was coming?"
The entire room fell silent and awkward, with the only sound being that of someone's cellphone going off. The chime was just as quickly silenced. Nobody wanted to express concern, but even so... it was unlike Wahlburn to be late for a party, especially one he could so easily become carried away at.
"He's probably lost," said Allison finally. "Again."
This explanation seemed to quell the tension in the room, and before too long someone agreed to call him. Apparently he was on his way and would be there soon. Something about construction blocking the highway.
All was uneventful until 11:30, when the front door opened with a quiet squeak, and everyone turned to greet at the newcomer in joy... but that joy quickly turned to yet another awkward silence as the guest entered. In the new guest stepped as everyone watched in quiet, shocked thrall.
The guest was about Wahlburn's height and weight, and was in perhaps the most complex costume of all of us. It was clear he'd spent some time on the details and accuracy of it, and perhaps even spent a tidy sum on it, but the attention to detail wasn't what captivated everyone. His cloak was made of what appeared to be genuine leather, and seemed hand-stitched by the look of it, but that wasn't what caught the crowd's eye. His gloves and had were of older make, and seemed to be part of the cloak itself, but that wasn't what held everyone's attention
No, what held everyone's attention was the antique plague doctor mask situated on the guest's face, its amber lenses too dark to see the guest's eyes through. It was foreboding in its antiquity and disturbing in its timeliness, its reference to the recent MRSA epidemic, and not one person dared say a word about any of it.
Not one person, that is, except for Allison.
"Wahlburn!" she cried, outraged. "How... you... Why would you... ugh!"
The entire crowd began murmuring in disapproval then, annoyed at Wahlburn's tasteless costume. Allison began to shake in rage.
"Take that off! That is so fucking tacky, how dare you make fun of that when my mother is in the hospital sick with it?!"
The guest tilted his head, seemingly amused by the question, but made no motion to take the mask off. This unnerved me. Not even Wahlburn would push a crass joke this far... would he?
Wanting no part in the crucible that was the living room, I wandered towards the punch bowl again, intent on getting more to drink. Lord knew I'd need it if the crucible boiled over.
"Seriously, Wahlburn, that's not funny!" Allison was now starting to become seriously upset, her voice cracking. "Take the mask off. Please take it off..."
Warren was... well, let's just say he was not pleased upon seeing his wife's reaction, storming up to Wahlburn in uncharacteristic anger. I stirred the punch bowl, not wanting to get involved. This was their house, and their issue - my interference would only make things worse.
"Why won't you answer her? Can't you see she's upset?" Warren scolded, pulling the now crying Allison close to him. "Take that damn thing off..."
The guest made no motion to remove the mask, his attention turning to Warren in curiosity. I continued to stir the punch bowl, scooping a serving into my plastic red cup.
"Hey, you listening to me or not? Take that damn costume off, or I'm calling the police on you for harassment!"
The guest remained silent a moment, deathly so, eerily so.
I took a swig of punch, and almost immediately gagged on a piece of something slimy before spitting it back into the cup. Had a piece of food gotten into the bowl?
I glanced into the cup, gazing at the flecks of slimy brown inside, and my stomach turned. At the same time I heard others murmur and glance at their own beverages, all thinking the same exact thought as me. They'd seen the brown flecks before. Many times before...
The guest lifted his gloved hands to the mask, preparing to concede to Warren's demands, but I was too busy turning to look at the punch bowl in sick anticipation. In that bowl, I saw the horrible confirmation I had hoped I wouldn't. Little brown flecks, hundreds of them, thousands of them, floating innocently on the surface of the punch, covering it. Covering it like a mask.
I looked up just in time to hear Allison scream in horror, and a cursory glance was all I needed to understand why. The masked guest, dressed in the tacky plague doctor costume, was not Wahlburn. In fact, he wasn't anything.
Because the guest had no face under that mask. There was nothing, nothing but a sick collection of mobile brown biofilm, creeping slowly forward and forward towards the remainder of the guests, who, one by one, began to panic. The brown film spread behind it as it crept, slowly covering the floors and multiplying out over the walls, towards Warren and Allison and all the others.
And then, people began to drop. Dropping one by one, like flies, instantly ill... I remember watching, watching in horror as they collapsed, the brown film slowly overtaking them, their skin necrotizing and sloughing off where it touched, consumed by the biofilm...
The biofilm that was heading directly for Allison.
I don't remember much about what happened after that. I recall scooping Allison up and running, sprinting over bodies and dying souls, tumbling my way out of the front door in terror. I remember collapsing as I begged Allison to run, and then after that, all I remember is the sirens. The emergency sirens...
I still don't know what that thing in Allison's house was. I don't think I want to ever know. All I do know is that Allison's safe.
I'm in the hospital, being treated for exposure to the Masque strain. I pray the antibiotics work, because if they don't... if they don't, this may be my last post. The doctors told me I was pretty cut up when they found me, and I'm lucky to have survived this long.
They gave me the antidote, the antibacterial I tested, through intravenous drip. I pray to God it works, because I am in so much pain... so much pain. They tell me if I make it through this and recover, they'll likely have to do skin grafts to restore the damage the necrosis did to my face, and rebuild my nose. Even then, I'd be lucky to live.
Allison is safe. She's been treated and is back on the job as far as I know. As for her husband... there was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could have done. The disease just devoured him, just as it devoured those other bacteria in its petri dish, just as it pushed back the antibiotics we tested on it...
This cure needs to work. Oh God, please, let it work... if not for me, then for all the others affected. Just for God's sake, let it work...
I'd arrived at Allison's house around 5:30 that afternoon, carrying my famous mustard potato salad in a large porcelain dish. It's a family recipe, having been passed down from my parents to me.
"Rick, there you are!" Allison cried as I entered, smiling. She wore a cat costume, complete with ears and a tail, while her husband Warren wore a Phantom of the Opera mask and cape. Good old Warren Jade, a dependable man if ever there was one. He was an orthopedic surgeon by trade, skilled of hand and soft-spoken of voice, with eyes and hair such a dark brown that one could easily mistake both for pitch black.
"Dr. Graham, a pleasure to see you again." Warren smiled as I entered and shook his hand. "Food's on the table, you can just set your dish there.
He motioned to the kitchen, where several lab mates of mine were already schmoozing, drinking, and in general enjoying the party atmosphere. On the table was the most wonderful spread of potluck dishes, and in the center of it, a glass punch bowl filled with a spiked fruit punch and sprite medley. I wasted no time in setting my dish on the table and getting my share of the punch; Warren always did make wonderful punches.
The party continued without incident, filled with revelry and camaraderie, karaoke and food, liquor and fond stories shared. Little by little guests trickled in, although surprisingly, Wahlburn was nowhere to be found. Nobody seemed to notice until around ten at night, when a lab tech from Allison's area of the building piped up.
"Hey, wait," he said, dark face marred in confusion. "Where's Dr. Wahlburn? Didn't he say he was coming?"
The entire room fell silent and awkward, with the only sound being that of someone's cellphone going off. The chime was just as quickly silenced. Nobody wanted to express concern, but even so... it was unlike Wahlburn to be late for a party, especially one he could so easily become carried away at.
"He's probably lost," said Allison finally. "Again."
This explanation seemed to quell the tension in the room, and before too long someone agreed to call him. Apparently he was on his way and would be there soon. Something about construction blocking the highway.
All was uneventful until 11:30, when the front door opened with a quiet squeak, and everyone turned to greet at the newcomer in joy... but that joy quickly turned to yet another awkward silence as the guest entered. In the new guest stepped as everyone watched in quiet, shocked thrall.
The guest was about Wahlburn's height and weight, and was in perhaps the most complex costume of all of us. It was clear he'd spent some time on the details and accuracy of it, and perhaps even spent a tidy sum on it, but the attention to detail wasn't what captivated everyone. His cloak was made of what appeared to be genuine leather, and seemed hand-stitched by the look of it, but that wasn't what caught the crowd's eye. His gloves and had were of older make, and seemed to be part of the cloak itself, but that wasn't what held everyone's attention
No, what held everyone's attention was the antique plague doctor mask situated on the guest's face, its amber lenses too dark to see the guest's eyes through. It was foreboding in its antiquity and disturbing in its timeliness, its reference to the recent MRSA epidemic, and not one person dared say a word about any of it.
Not one person, that is, except for Allison.
"Wahlburn!" she cried, outraged. "How... you... Why would you... ugh!"
The entire crowd began murmuring in disapproval then, annoyed at Wahlburn's tasteless costume. Allison began to shake in rage.
"Take that off! That is so fucking tacky, how dare you make fun of that when my mother is in the hospital sick with it?!"
The guest tilted his head, seemingly amused by the question, but made no motion to take the mask off. This unnerved me. Not even Wahlburn would push a crass joke this far... would he?
Wanting no part in the crucible that was the living room, I wandered towards the punch bowl again, intent on getting more to drink. Lord knew I'd need it if the crucible boiled over.
"Seriously, Wahlburn, that's not funny!" Allison was now starting to become seriously upset, her voice cracking. "Take the mask off. Please take it off..."
Warren was... well, let's just say he was not pleased upon seeing his wife's reaction, storming up to Wahlburn in uncharacteristic anger. I stirred the punch bowl, not wanting to get involved. This was their house, and their issue - my interference would only make things worse.
"Why won't you answer her? Can't you see she's upset?" Warren scolded, pulling the now crying Allison close to him. "Take that damn thing off..."
The guest made no motion to remove the mask, his attention turning to Warren in curiosity. I continued to stir the punch bowl, scooping a serving into my plastic red cup.
"Hey, you listening to me or not? Take that damn costume off, or I'm calling the police on you for harassment!"
The guest remained silent a moment, deathly so, eerily so.
I took a swig of punch, and almost immediately gagged on a piece of something slimy before spitting it back into the cup. Had a piece of food gotten into the bowl?
I glanced into the cup, gazing at the flecks of slimy brown inside, and my stomach turned. At the same time I heard others murmur and glance at their own beverages, all thinking the same exact thought as me. They'd seen the brown flecks before. Many times before...
The guest lifted his gloved hands to the mask, preparing to concede to Warren's demands, but I was too busy turning to look at the punch bowl in sick anticipation. In that bowl, I saw the horrible confirmation I had hoped I wouldn't. Little brown flecks, hundreds of them, thousands of them, floating innocently on the surface of the punch, covering it. Covering it like a mask.
I looked up just in time to hear Allison scream in horror, and a cursory glance was all I needed to understand why. The masked guest, dressed in the tacky plague doctor costume, was not Wahlburn. In fact, he wasn't anything.
Because the guest had no face under that mask. There was nothing, nothing but a sick collection of mobile brown biofilm, creeping slowly forward and forward towards the remainder of the guests, who, one by one, began to panic. The brown film spread behind it as it crept, slowly covering the floors and multiplying out over the walls, towards Warren and Allison and all the others.
And then, people began to drop. Dropping one by one, like flies, instantly ill... I remember watching, watching in horror as they collapsed, the brown film slowly overtaking them, their skin necrotizing and sloughing off where it touched, consumed by the biofilm...
The biofilm that was heading directly for Allison.
I don't remember much about what happened after that. I recall scooping Allison up and running, sprinting over bodies and dying souls, tumbling my way out of the front door in terror. I remember collapsing as I begged Allison to run, and then after that, all I remember is the sirens. The emergency sirens...
I still don't know what that thing in Allison's house was. I don't think I want to ever know. All I do know is that Allison's safe.
I'm in the hospital, being treated for exposure to the Masque strain. I pray the antibiotics work, because if they don't... if they don't, this may be my last post. The doctors told me I was pretty cut up when they found me, and I'm lucky to have survived this long.
They gave me the antidote, the antibacterial I tested, through intravenous drip. I pray to God it works, because I am in so much pain... so much pain. They tell me if I make it through this and recover, they'll likely have to do skin grafts to restore the damage the necrosis did to my face, and rebuild my nose. Even then, I'd be lucky to live.
Allison is safe. She's been treated and is back on the job as far as I know. As for her husband... there was nothing I could do. There was nothing anyone could have done. The disease just devoured him, just as it devoured those other bacteria in its petri dish, just as it pushed back the antibiotics we tested on it...
This cure needs to work. Oh God, please, let it work... if not for me, then for all the others affected. Just for God's sake, let it work...
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