‘At the moment, this is a public health concern, not a military concern. You know we can’t just yank this right out from under CDC. At the worst, what we’ve got is an outbreak of some sort. And that’s what they do best.’
‘Tangier Island should be quarantined.’
‘We’ll talk about that after the autopsy.’
‘Which I plan to do,’ I added.
‘See how you feel,’ he said as a nurse appeared at the door.
He conferred briefly with her on his way out, then she was walking in, dressed in another blue suit. Young and annoyingly cheerful, she was explaining that she worked out, of Walter Reed Hospital but helped here when they had patients in special containment, which, fortunately, wasn’t often.
‘Last time was when those two lab workers got exposed to partially thawed field mice blood contaminated with Hantavirus,’ she said. ‘Those hemorrhagic diseases are nasty. I guess they stayed here about fifteen days. Dr Fujitsubo says you want a phone.’ She laid a flimsy robe on the bed. ‘I’ll have to get that for you later. Here’s some Advil and water.’ She set them on the bedside table. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Cheese and crackers, something like that, would be nice.’ My stomach was so raw I was almost sick.
‘How are you feeling besides the headache?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
‘Well, let’s hope that doesn’t change. Why don’t you go on in the bathroom, empty your bladder, clean up and get under the covers. There’s the TV.’ She pointed, speaking simply as if I were in second grade.
‘What about all my things?’
‘They’ll sterilize them, don’t you worry.’ She smiled at me.
I could not get warm, and took another shower. Nothing would wash away this wretched day, and I continued to see a sunken mouth gaping at me, eyes half open and blind, an arm hanging stiffly off a foul deathbed. When I emerged from the bathroom, a plate of cheese and crackers had been left for me, and the TV was on. But there was no phone.
‘Oh hell,’ I muttered as I got under the covers again.
The next morning, my breakfast arrived by pass box, and I set the tray on my lap as I watched the ‘Today’ show, which I ordinarily never got to do. Martha Stewart was whipping up something with meringue while I picked at a soft-boiled egg that wasn’t quite warm. I could not eat, and did not know if my back ached because I was tired or from some other reason I would not contemplate.
‘How are we doing?’ The nurse appeared, breathing HEPA-filtered air.
‘Don’t you get hot in that thing?’ I pointed my fork.
‘I guess I would if I stayed in it for long periods of time.’ She was carrying a digital thermometer. ‘All right. This will just take a minute.’
She inserted it into my mouth while I stared up at the TV. Now a doctor was being interviewed about this year’s flu shot, and I shut my eyes until a beep said my time was up.
‘Ninety-seven point nine. Your temperature’s actually a little low. Ninety-eight point six is normal.’
She wrapped a BP cuff around my upper arm.
‘And your blood pressure.’ She vigorously squeezed the bulb, pumping air. ‘One hundred and eight over seventy. I believe you’re almost dead.’
‘Thanks,’ I mumbled. ‘I need a phone. No one knows where I am.’
‘What you need is to get lots of rest.’ Now she had out the stethoscope, which she pushed down the front of my scrubs. ‘Deep breaths.’ It was cold everywhere she moved it, her face serious as she listened. ‘Again.’ Then she moved it to my back as we continued the routine.
‘Could you please have Colonel Fujitsubo stop by.’
‘I’ll certainly leave him a message. Now you cover up.’ She pulled the blanket up to my chin. ‘Let me get you some more water. How’s your headache?’
‘Fine,’ I lied. ‘You really must ask him to stop by.’
‘I’m sure he will when he can. I know he’s very busy.’
Her patronizing manner was beginning to really get to me. ‘Excuse me,’ I said in a demanding tone. ‘I have repeatedly requested a phone, and I’m beginning to feel like I’m in prison.’