CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – Public awareness
Jackie Bingham rose from her overnight stay on the leather couch in her office, all too often her home away from home. In times of outbreaks, vis-à-vis the foodborne cyclospora scare last year, she rarely made it to her condo in Marietta.
Her first order of business, after a bathroom visit, was to grab some coffee from the lounge, then back to her office to check out the ILINet data. The data would be fresh since weekly reporting data changed every Sunday morning at 3:00 am. ILI stood for Influenza-like illness. In the US, there are approximately 2,900 outpatient healthcare providers that regularly input to ILINet. Reports are categorized by the age groups of those with symptoms, and geographically vectored into ten regions nationally. The ILINet website also displays a map of the US, delineating every state, and color codes each state in accordance with specific baselines. So far the data, which included all strains of influenza, indicated no red flags, other than region two, the New England area, which was slightly higher than the region’s specific baseline. However region two had no data entry of H7N9 subtype. This being June, the data seemed normal, and at least on a computer screen, no cause for alarm. She knew better.
After grabbing a second cup of coffee, she made her way to the second floor to find Caleb who had also stayed overnight. He was the microbiologist analyzing the blood workup drawn from Sandi Kaiser, the Hampton, Georgia resident.
“Jackie, did you get the update on this patient? It came in shortly after 5:00 this morning.”
“Not yet, I haven’t looked for it. Why?”
“She expired this morning. ARDS, acute respiratory distress. But there was also a cytokine storm, Jackie. Blood poisoning and organ failure. This strain is nasty, and you know what else? It’s genetically recombining, like something out of a Robin Cook novel. Every time I look at the workups from other mortalities that are sent to me, there are noticeable changes in the genome sequencing and phylogenetic trees. It’s sticking its tongue out at us, teasing us, saying catch me if you can.”
Jackie ran her hands through her hair while watching Caleb pull up the electron micrograph schematic of the strain. Tiny spheres linked together into long, serpentine strings; ominous, stealthy enemies searching for a host to invade. She was looking at the killer of Sandi Kaiser.
“I think you’d better get with whoever treated her and do a thorough background. I can’t imagine this being a foul to human infection,” Caleb said. “The migratory birds are long gone from here. I’m betting dollars to donuts this was human to human, and Hampton is too dang close.”
Jackie obtained the preliminary bio that her assistant Shalandra had prepared yesterday. Sandi Kaiser was the finance manager of the Nissan dealer on Jonesboro Road, just south of I-75. According to the sales manager, Sandi had first said she was feeling ill the previous weekend, yet she worked both weekend days due to the annual clearance promotion. She had processed twenty-one deals those two days from her tiny office which would have been populated by at least one customer for each transaction. Sunday was the last day she worked, having called in sick on Monday.
She checked the time…..still too early to call the dealership. She needed to determine if other employees had called in sick since last weekend, and to obtain the customer’s names she came in contact with. The Nissan car agency was just twelve miles south of the CDC, and within five miles of the Atlanta airport. If this strain could be passed from human to human, it was going to get messy. She scribbled a note to Shalandra asking her to find out if the patient had a pet, notably a bird, and also if there was a significant other.
Back at her desk, Jackie debated, then made her decision. She placed a call to the Emergency Operations Center manager. She recommended that he elevate to Level Two, which status, if approved, would dictate that a team room be raised to 24/7 status with singular emphasis on H7N9. In her opinion, even though baselines were in the safe category, this thing was about to go ballistic. Clarence Hill, the EOC manager, reviewed her data, and denied her request.
+ + + + +
Adele sat in her car, waiting. It was 9:30 when the black Lincoln Town Car pulled up next to her in the Starbucks parking lot.
“Sorry I’m a little late. Tyranny of the urgent, you know. There always is,” Patricia said while boarding Adele’s car.
“Not a problem. Another sunless day in the Commonwealth. Can’t you folks do something about that?”
“I’ll put in a request. So, let’s talk. Tell me about your bout with breast cancer, and where you are with it now. And call me Pat, ok?”
“I elected for the complete mastectomy in April of last year. Tough decision, but I told them to take them both. Didn’t want to be lopsided or carry the fear of a second occurrence. After chemo, a subsequent visit revealed I had new tumors in the sentinel lymph nodes. The UK med center got in touch with the Virginia Commonwealth University, who according to the med hotlines had developed two experimental drugs, ibrutinib, and bortezomib. I take both, as well as the NIL, and the tumors are shrinking. That’s where I am at the moment. And you?”
“As I told you, second time around. I take evacet, but I’m worried it isn’t strong enough. I need to know more about the NIL you speak so highly about. What can you tell me?”
Adele reached into the floorboard behind the front seats. “This is a manual describing the various components that make up the NIL formula. And here are two sixteen ounce jars, which should last you over a month. Pat, even though relatively few people know about this, or have experienced it, in every case there has been marked improvement; from Hodgkin’s to the common cold. It is designed to improve health from head to toe.”
“Hmmm, no label, no nothing. So this is not a marketable product. Have you been to the FDA?”
“Not yet.”
“How did you come about being involved with this? Who makes it?”
“Do you have fifteen minutes? It’s a long and interesting story.”
“I have the rest of my life, which I hope is longer than fifteen minutes.”
Adele told the story of Joshua and his background. Her explanation ended with the facility in McCreary County and the expansion plans. In between were individual cases of victories, which included the Mel Kenyon public television interview and a reminder that a second interview would be forthcoming.
“You think you’re on to something, don’t you?”
“With all my heart.”
Patricia didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then, “So how do I take this?”
“I think I’d put one jar safely away in your office, the other at home. All you need is one ounce per day. You will get no more benefit by taking more than that in a twenty-four hour period.”
“What are your plans for the rest of today? If you don’t have anything in the way, let’s go down to the old park service building and meet this miracle worker named Joshua. We’ll take my car. What do you think? You game?”
“Ok, I’ll call both Jack and Joshua to let them know. You are intrigued, aren’t you?”
“That I am. We’ll talk on the way and have us a good old girl’s day out. I’ll call Jill and tell her that I’m out the rest of the day. Let’s give Starbucks some business before we head on out.”
Joshua’s response to Adele’s call was, “Oh, my God,” which were the exact words Patricia said when told about Namanda. She would say the same words three more times before the day was over.
+ + + + +
Joshua stopped the old truck at the intersection of Highway 27. A left turn would mean Somerset; a right turn would mean Whitley City. He paused, shut his eyes, and decided. Whitley it would be. He wanted to see the faces of those who had received the NIL, assuming some in attendance had been recipients. Besides that, there was less chance to keep the Lieutenant Governor waiting.
The service was underway when Joshua and Namanda walked through the double doors. There was an immediate response. The song leader quit swinging his arms as if he was a rooster in pursuit of a fle
eing hen; the pianist lost track of her place in the music; the fiddle player dropped his bow; and the hundred or so parishioners rubbernecked with several audible gasps. There was considerable murmuring ongoing after the music resumed, with some singing, some choosing to whisper. Joshua and Namanda took a seat on the back pew.
The pastor, and elderly gentleman, sat on the dais and appeared unruffled, yet his gaze was fixed on the back pew. The music ended, and the pastor rose to stand behind the pulpit.
“Let me remind you,” The pastor proclaimed, “That anyone and everyone is welcome here. Now open your Bibles to Judges, chapter 15. Judges is in the yellow pages.” The pun drew little laughter. The congregation was preoccupied.
“The sermon is entitled, ‘God uses the broken.’ The story revolves around Manoah, and his barren wife, who lived in the time of undue hardships caused by the Philistine captivity of Israel. Times were hard. Life was tough in those days. To be barren was a sign that God would not bless Manoah’s household. Barrenness was a curse, and those suffering from such an affliction were considered to be broken, and as such were often excluded from the fellowship of humanity. So, the country was occupied by an enemy, and Manoah’s house was in disarray. Manoah and his wife must have been lower than low.
But then an angel of the Lord appeared before the barren wife and told her she would be with child. An impossibility, you say? No. She had faith that with God, all things are possible.”
The pastor then read several verses which revealed that the wife did indeed bear a child, whose name was Samson, the deliverer. He concluded the sermon by challenging the flock. “Are you sick? God can bless you. Are you afflicted? God can bless you. Are you mentally challenged? God can bless you. Are you sick and tired of being sick and tired? God can bless you. All things are possible. Let us pray.”
After the prayer the pastor issued an invitation to make a public profession of faith by those feeling God’s tug to come forward. Namanda sprung out of the pew before Joshua could grab hold of her. She whispered into the pastor’s ear.
“Folks, we have a visitor here that says she is afflicted with autism. She would like to demonstrate that God can use the broken by playing on Herb’s fiddle during the offertory. Go right ahead, young lady.”
Namanda tuned the fiddle slightly, drew the bow, and closed her eyes. Ten seconds went by. The congregation, silent in nervous anticipation, began to murmur. Then the bow struck the first note of “How Great Thou Art”, and continued masterfully. During the hymn three men passed through the aisles with their offering plates. Upon their return to the front the plates were set on a table in front of the pulpit. One plate had a Ball jar conspicuously protruding above its golden rim. The congregation noticed the jar, then in concert turned to gawk at the Jesus-man, then turned to the most beautiful music the church had ever experienced. They noticed that the foreign looking musician was playing with tears in her eyes. The emotion was reciprocated by several in the audience.
Namanda did not acknowledge the standing applause at the conclusion of the hymn. Instead she ran down the center aisle and out the double doors. Joshua was right behind her despite the pastor’s hollered request to stay a spell.
“Oh, Joshua,” She said with tears. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry. I did the wrong thing.”
“No, you did what God prompted you to do. You did the right thing and I’m proud of you.” He started the pickup truck and pulled out onto the highway, but noticed in the rearview mirror quite a few people standing on the church steps.
“Follow him, Norbert.” The fact that multitudes had said the same words two thousand years ago was lost on Maggie, Norbert’s wife.