While she waited for the phone to ring again, she slipped on her robe and glanced at the time. It was 4:00 A.M.; that meant it was 2:00 A.M. in Phoenix. There was little doubt in her mind that someone had discovered another suspected case of Ebola.
The phone jangled again. “Dr. Blumenthal,” said Marissa.
The voice on the other end of the wire was anything but calm. The caller introduced himself as Dr. Guy Weaver, the Arizona State Epidemiologist. “I’m terribly sorry to be phoning at such an hour,” he said, “but I’ve been called in on a severe problem at the Medical Hospital in Phoenix. I trust you are familiar with the Medica Hospital.”
“Can’t say I am.”
“It’s part of a chain of for-profit hospitals which have contracted with the Medica Medical Group to provide prepaid, comprehensive care in this part of Arizona. We’re terrified that the hospital’s been hit with Ebola.”
“I trust that you’ve isolated the patient,” said Marissa. “We’ve found that-”
“Dr. Blumenthal,” interrupted Dr. Weaver. “It’s not one case. It’s eighty-four cases.”
“Eighty-four!” she exclaimed in disbelief.
“We have forty-two doctors, thirteen RN’s, eleven LPN’s, four lab techs, six of the administrative staff, six food service personnel and two maintenance men.”
“All at once?” asked Marissa.
“All this evening,” said the epidemiologist.
At that time of night, there was no convenient service to Phoenix, though Delta promised the most direct flight available. As soon as she dressed, Marissa called the duty officer at the CDC to say that she was leaving for Phoenix immediately and to please brief Dr. Dubchek as soon as he came into the Center.
After writing a note to the Judsons asking them to please collect Taffy and pick up her mail, Marissa drove to the airport. The fact that the new outbreak had started with eighty-four cases overwhelmed her. She hoped Dubchek and his team would arrive by the afternoon.
The flight was uneventful, despite two stops, and was certainly not crowded. When it landed, Marissa was met by a short, round man, who nervously introduced himself as Justin Gardiner, the assistant director of the Medica Hospital.
“Here, let me take your bag,” he said. But his hand was shaking so, the bag fell to the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, he apologized, saying that he was a bit upset.
“I can understand,” said Marissa. “Have there been any further admissions?”
“Several, and the hospital is in a panic,” said Mr. Gardiner, as they started down the concourse. “Patients started checking out-staff were leaving, too-until the State Health Commissioner declared a quarantine. The only reason I could meet you was that I was off yesterday.”
Marissa’s mouth felt dry with fear as she wondered what she was getting herself into. Pediatrics began to look a lot more attractive than this.
The hospital was another elaborate modern structure. It occurred to Marissa that Ebola favored such contemporary edifices. The clean, almost sterile lines of the building hardly seemed the proper setting for such a deadly outbreak.
Despite the early hour, the street in front of the hospital was
crowded with TV trucks and reporters. In front of them stood a line of uniformed police, some of whom were actually wearing surgical masks. In the early light, the whole scene had a surreal look.
Mr. Gardiner pulled up behind one of the TV trucks. “You’ll have to go inside and find the director,” he said. “My orders are to stay outside to try to control the panic. Good luck!”
As she walked toward the entrance, Marissa got out her identification card. She showed it to one of the policemen, but he had to call over to his sergeant to ask if it was okay to let her pass. A group of the reporters, hearing that she was from the CDC, crowded around and asked for a statement.
“I have no direct knowledge of the situation,” protested Marissa, as she felt herself buffeted by the surging journalists. She was grateful for the policeman, who shoved the press aside, then pulled one of the barricades open and allowed her through.
Unfortunately things on the inside of the hospital were even more chaotic. The lobby was jammed with people, and as Marissa entered, she was again mobbed. Apparently she was the first person to pass either in or out of the building for several hours.