Marissa obtained the viral samples and left the room with a heavy heart. She hated making a diagnosis of a disease with no available treatment. The fact that she’d been able to uncover information that mirrored the earlier outbreak was small compensation. Yet the information reminded her of a question that had troubled her in L.A.:
Why did some of Dr. Richter’s patients catch the disease and others not?
After changing into fresh protective clothing, Marissa visited Dr. Brian Cester. She asked the same questions and got the same replies, except when she asked if he was one of Dr. Zabriski’s patients.
“No,” said Dr. Cester after a spasm of abdominal pain subsided. “I’ve never been to an ophthalmologist.”
“Do you work with him?” asked Marissa.
“I occasionally give anesthesia for him,” said Dr. Cester. His face contorted again in pain. When he recovered, he said, “I play tennis with him more often than I work with him. In fact I played with him just four days ago.”
After obtaining her samples, Marissa left the man, more confused than ever. She had begun to think that fairly close contact-particularly with a mucous membrane-was needed to communicate the disease. Playing tennis with someone did not seem to fit that mold.
After sending off the second set of viral samples, Marissa went back to Dr. Zabriski’s chart. She read over the history in minute detail and began the same type of diary she’d drawn up for Dr. Richter. She added what material she’d learned from Mrs. Zabriski and the secretary, knowing that she would have to go back to both of them. Although such work had not resulted in determining the reservoir of the virus in the L.A. outbreak, Marissa had hopes that by following the same procedure with Dr. Zabriski she might find some common
element in addition to both doctors having been to the same eye conference in San Diego.
It was after twelve when Dubchek, Vreeland and Layne arrived. Marissa was relieved to see them, particularly because Dr. Zabriski’s clinical condition had continued to deteriorate. The doctor taking care of him had demanded some routine blood work be done to determine the state of the patient’s hydration, and Marissa had been caught between the conflicting demands of treating the patient and protecting the hospital. She finally allowed those tests that could be done in the patient’s room.
After a cursory greeting, the CDC doctors all but ignored Marissa as they struggled to get the mobile isolation laboratory functioning and improve the isolation of the patients. Dr. Layne had some large exhaust fans brought in, while Dr. Vreeland immediately went down to the administration area to discuss improving the quarantine.
Marissa went back to her charts but soon exhausted the information they could supply. Getting up, she wandered to the isolation lab. Dubchek had removed his jacket and had rolled up his sleeves while he labored with the two CDC technicians. Some kind of electrical bug had developed in the automatic chemistry portion of the apparatus.
“Anything I can do?” called Marissa.
“Not that I can think of,” said Dubchek without looking up. He immediately began conversing with one of the technicians, suggesting they change the sensing electrodes.
“I would like a minute to go over my findings with you,” called Marissa, eager to discuss the fact that Dr. Zabriski had attended the same San Diego medical meeting as Dr. Richter had.
“It will have to wait,” said Dubchek coolly. “Getting this lab functioning takes precedence over epidemiologic theories.”
Going back to the nurses’ station, Marissa seethed. She did not expect or deserve Dubchek’s sarcasm. If he’d wanted to minimize her contribution, he had succeeded. Sitting down at the desk, Marissa considered her options. She could stay, hoping he might allow her ten minutes, at his convenience, or she could go and get some sleep. Sleep won out. She put her papers in her briefcase and went down to the first floor to rescue her suitcase.
The operator woke Marissa at seven o’clock. As she showered and dressed, she realized that her anger toward Dubchek had dissipated. After all, he was under a lot of stress. If Ebola raged out of control, it was his neck on the line, not hers.