e_p_unum

devastation 6 in progg...

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 19:41:27 GMT

Alan lay on a bed in the center of the room. He was pale and taking shallow gasping breaths. Several monitors sat at the head of his bed, blipping contentedly. Every few moments his head tick slightly to the side, as if he were flinching away from something. Jeff hurried to his side and reached for Alan’s face. He sighed deeply, finally able to assure himself that Alan, while not quite all right, was definitely alive and with him. He and stroked his fingers through his son’s baby soft blond locks and then rested his palm against Alan’s cheek. His skin felt dry and cool and he was shivering slightly. Jeff looked around for a blanket to cover him with.

“It’s because of his drop in core temperature. The bed padding itself is heated and the blankets he has a re insulated. There’s nothing more that I’m willing to try to do at this stage. If he drops a degree or two more, I’ll have him placed on a warm saline drip.” Dr. Pahwan commented. The doctor placed his palm against Alan’s forehead and doubled checked the displayed temperature against Alan’s chart. He made a note and nodded to himself. “You can only visit for 15 minutes at a time, once and hour. No more than two visitors at a time.” Jeff nodded his understanding, still watching Alan, and tucking the ends of the blankets more securely beneath his still form.

Suddenly there was a flurry of noise in the hallway and the Doctor’s wrist pager began to vibrate and flash as a nurse stuck his head into the room. “Dr. Pahwan? It’s Lucas Velasquez in room 4054, sir. He’s gone into V-FIB.”

Both men hurried quickly from the room and Jeff was left clutching Alan’s hand. He turned back to his son and swept his blond bangs to one side. “Alan, its Dad. I want you to hold on son. You’ll get through this.” His usual booming voice was choked and scratchy as he whispered to his youngest.
Brains transferred Alan’s medical charts to his personal PAD and began to page through the test result on it. He paused at one entry. “L-l-ucas is one of the students Alan was brought in w-with.”

Jeff’s stroking hand paused for a moment and then continued carding through his son’s hair. “I thought as much.” He said quietly.

Brains pressed a button on his PDA and then flapped it against his thigh. “The p-problem here is, there are no way to physically monitor the levels o-o-of the individual neurotr-transmitters.” He told his friend. Jeff nodded so he went on. “All the d-doctors can do is assign a drug or c-c-combination of drugs based on the patients b-behavior and then monitor the r-reaction. They then make adjustments through trail and er, uh, error.” He walked over to Alan’s side and looked down at him.

Brains had first brought Fermat to Tracy Island three years ago. Fermat’s mother, an anthropologist, had been awarded a once in a lifetime research grant by the University that she taught at to study the Hmong in Laos. Taking Fermat with her would have been problematic at best. Especially since he was entering such an important phase in his education.

Originally, Brains had been a bit trepidatious about asking Jeff if Fermat could join him on the island, but his hands had been tied. Jeff had surprised him with his enthusiasm at the idea of having Fermat live there. Four weeks later the Tracy boys were as excited as their father had been to show Fermat around help him get settled in to island life. Vivacious Alan had taken an instant liking to the shy, smaller boy and had dubbed Fermat ‘his’ friend. By the end of that first summer they had been ‘best’ friends and were already clamoring about the activities they planned to pursue together at their new school. Alan’s impetuous nature and inherent Tracy charm had captured him Fermat’s attention. His son had grown up a lot in those summer months three years ago. He and Alan both had. Their personalities had tempered one another’s and the both had turned out the better for it. Alan learned to think more first and be considerate of people’s feelings other than his own. Fermat started taking chances and became more self aware and confident, no longer shying away from strangers. They had learned when to rely on each others strengths. Brains sometimes wished that he had had a friend like Alan when he had been Fermat’s age. He smiled lightly, knowing that he had eventually found the same type of relationship a little later on in his own life. Brains felt his resolve harden into place as he looked down at the boy in the bed, gripping his PAD even more tightly. If –he- had anything to say about it, that bright happy child that he knew as Alan would stay his son’s best friend.

He looked up into the same blue eye’s that were closed beneath him. His friend gazed back at him looking lost and asking for the help that he would never request out loud. It looked like it was time for his friend to lean on his strengths. “I’ll do my best, Jeff.”

Jeff opened his eyes and stared again at the garish purple ‘4’. Mrs. Velasquez was rolling her rosary between her fingers and mouth ‘Hail Mary’s’ to the silent room. She had been inconsolable since her son’s earlier cardiac arrest. The doctors had managed to tentatively stabilize the young boy and he was never left unattended. Jeff had brought her drinks and sat with her while they waited on updates on their son’s.

Brain’s had gone to check their belongings into their hotel and get bagels and coffee for all the parents. The headmaster had agreed to bring Fermat with him when he arrived in the morning. Alan’s breathing had become slightly irregular through the night. He would often pause for a few moments and then gasp deeply a few times before falling back into a sedate pattern. He had been fitted with a face mask, which forced a steady flow of oxygen into his system. His temperature had risen enough that he was able to be removed from the heating pads. But his blood pressure was still high, the readings sporadic, and his twitching had grown even more pronounced.

Jeff had checked in with the island. He verified that Virgil, John and Gordon had arrived safely and then he had sent all four of his grown sons to bed. After promising that he would call immediately should anything changed the grumblingly acquiesced to his commands.

“Jeff, do you have children other than Alan?” Mrs. Velasquez’s quiet question hung in the air waiting to be plucked from the room’s silence.

Blinking, Jeff answered. “Yes, Alan has four older brothers.” He patted his pockets for his wallet. Finding it, he flipped to a picture of his son’s standing together on a beach. The boy’s had been clowning around in the surf that day, testing one of Brain’s new gadgets for thunderbird four. The tests had gone well and the boys had enjoyed a rare chance at revelry. They didn’t often have time with all of them together. He fished the picture of five grinning faces out of his wallet and handed it to her. “Those are my boys.” He said pride evident in his voice.

She took the picture and held it delicately in long tapered fingers. “So big!” She commented with a smile. “You are truly blessed Jeff.”

“”I am” He agreed, smiling fondly at the picture as he took it back.

“I hope your Alan will be all right. The other boys told me that cutting school was my Lucas’s idea. I’m so sorry that this trouble was caused. The other parents in the room seemed to stir at her words. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald were a mismatched couple. Mr. Fitzgerald was a big black man with huge hands and face that looked as if didn’t know any other way to be than happy. His eyes shown with mirth and he had an infectious nature that had helped lighten the atmosphere in the waiting room as the time had crawled by. He had pulled Jeff and Brains into his plots to form a suitable punishment for his son. He suggested having him audition to be this year’s obligatory Superbowl streaker; or setting up an internship for him as a customer service agent at Depends. Mrs. Fitzgerald was a tiny woman with large dark eyes and a sharp, no nonsense attitude that her husband deferred to lovingly. She had been quiet during her husband’s scheming and Jeff had thought that she may have been offended by their joking to release the tension. Then, she had commented dryly that at least he had been wearing clean underwear before he had mooned the cop, and Jeff knew that she and her husband were a fine pair. Mrs. Fitzgerald was frowning at Jeff now waiting to hear his response to the other woman.

“I’m sorry that this has happened as well, but it’s not Lucas’s fault that the boy’s are in this mess. Alan could have said no when he was asked to go.” Mrs. Fitzgerald nodded once definitively, in agreement. Mrs. Velasquez smiled at them both tremulously and nodded her head in thanks. Then, glancing at the digital clock she rose to see her son.

Devestation 1 - 5

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 19:38:59 GMT

Okay, I’m 2 days late. I lost the notebook. Sorry sorry sorry. There’s a weird kind of symmetry going on between this and Imploding. I think this one is the one that’s shaping them both though. They are going to be remarkably similar stories by the time they are complete and many people may feel cheated because of that. Sorry in advance. Unbeta-d these mistakes are all mine and my sidekick, the incredible dancing paperclip.

I want a T-birds daytime show w/ real actors. A sort of an amalgam between the movie and the 60’s show. Something to fit in between the game shows, real life (I don’t wanna’ know your) dramas, and the night time soaps. Kind of like Hawaii 5-0 was a good early afternoon show. It made you happy and gave you general feeling of relative peacefulness for the rest of the day. My own version of an after school special. If I were a more artistic person I’d be doing still life shots with bad voice over’s of home made episodes on you tube.

Anybody else want in? We’ll have to beg stories from the cool t-bird writers, but it would be worth to see “our” guys again, right?

Jeff Tracy was sitting in the waiting room of ST. Catherine’s AICU. He and Brains had arrived in Massachusetts only a few hours ago. They had used one of the highly modified Tracy jets, cutting several hours from their trip. Jeff had asked Brains to pilot the aircraft while he monitored Alan’s progress in the rear cabin. He had been forced to watch his son’s condition deteriorate rapidly. Alan had gone from childishly hyperactive, talkative phase to a morose painfully sobbing caricature of himself. Alan had been so unhappy, reliving some of the hardest memories of his short life.

Waiting for his next visitation interval in the family lounge, Jeff closed his eyes as he remembered Alan’s reaction to his arrival. His son had been terrified of his having to leave the island and IR to be with him. Did Alan really think that IR was more important to Jeff than he was? What had he done that had made his youngest believe such an erroneous fact? Did any of his other boys feel the same way? Maybe it was time to take a good long look at his and Alan’s relationship. He didn’t want any of his sons believing that they were less important to him than Tracy Industries or even International Rescue.

Sighing deeply, he tilted his head back to lean against the green and blue painted wall. A giant purple 4 was painted on the wall directly across from him, signifying the floor he was on in the building. Fourth floor the children’s surgical ward, children’s oncology ward and the Adolescent Intensive Care Unit; where Alan and three of his schoolmates were now. Thankfully, not all of the students were as badly off as Alan was. When the children had first been brought in the medical staff had feared the worst about the unknown drug in their systems and had admitted all the boys for observation.

One of the boys had already been released back into the school’s care. The doctors had been able to rule out any indication of the drug in his system. Jeff had marveled at how very young the wide eyed boy had looked as he passed him in the hallway. Scared and confused by the events of the night; he had seemed to Jeff to resemble the look of a fae, accidentally lost in the cold world of man.

The parents of the other two boys were in the waiting room with him. Mrs. Velasquez was a small, quiet Latino woman with wide silver streaks running through her mass of dark hair. She spoke softly in a beautifully modulated accent and grasped her rosary and handkerchief tightly in her lap. She lived only a short distance from Wharton’s and had been the first parent to arrive to arrive at the hospital. Jeff had exchanged a few words with her while each awaited their allotted 15 minutes an hour to visit with their son’s. The other parents were a couple from Virginia State. They had driven 9 hours non stop (4 of those hours just in a 30 mile traffic bypass of DC) just to get to the hospital. Their tempers had been short from travel stress, worry, frustration and a lack of sleep. He and Brains had been just behind them when they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

Jeff had waited impatiently as they had spoken to Dr. Pahwan first. Their son had received a small dose of the drug and had been behaving very irrationally. He had attempted to remove his clothing and been obnoxious to the police officers that had brought the boys in. In another situation the woman’s mortification would have been comical. Indeed, the boy’s father had been hard pressed to hide his snickering from his wife. Dr. Pahwan had explained to them that he wanted to wait at least 12 hours before releasing his patient and had warned them that they would have to be vigilant against mood swings and possible self destructive behavior for several months. He had then had an aide show them to their son’s room and cautioned them against waking him prematurely. He believed that the longer the patient remained unconscious after receiving their initial dose of Devastation, the better their results would be when they awoke. He had then turned to Jeff and introduced himself to him and Brains. Jeff remembered the conversation they had had.

The doctor held his palm out to him. “I am Dr. Pahwan; are you Alan Tracy’s father?”

Surprised that he had been recognized as such, Jeff returned the handclasp. “Yes, I am. I was watching Alan in the plane on the way here. I saw him loose consciousness about 50 minutes ago. No one has been able to tell me how he is. They only tell me that he is still out. How is he?”

“Yes, that was quite a set up your son walked the tech team through. I think they are planning to offer the service in the future, now that they know how it is done. You have a bright boy there.”

Jeff nodded. “Yes, he is. Alan?”

“I asked the nurses not to give out anymore information than that. I wanted to speak with you in person and explain the situation.” He indicated that the two men should follow him to an adjunct area. The doctor had offered both men coffee and had made a cup of tea for himself. Jeff didn’t push him for answers, even though his stomach felt as if it had become a dead weight. He recognized that the doctor was trying to put his thoughts into a semblance of order, as Brains sometimes did.

“Alan is very sick. He has nearly four times the maximum dosage of the drug in his system. Even now while he is at rest it continues to adversely affect his heart rate and respiration. He’s a very healthy boy and that helps him against any possible occurrences of heart failure or stroke, but we are still very wary of both. “

Jeff nodded. John had warned him about this.

“Alan’s core body temperature has also dropped by three degrees and he is very dehydrated. The police mentioned that the boys had all imbibed several different caffeinated beverages. When he passed out I had him placed on an IV to help against this.” The doctor paused to sip at his tea.

Brains took the opportunity to ask, “W-w-what about his internal chemistry? I- I- I- I’ve studied what’s available of the drugs after effects. It l-looks as if that will be where the m-m-majority of the damage is apparent.”

“You are correct, Dr. Heckenbecker. That is where the worst effects of the damage will manifest itself. From what the medical community has been able to deduce, it impedes in the production of a few vital neurotransmitters through out the brain and spinal column. When there are too many present it can induce a “high” like personality. It forces the user into a long lasting “mania” cycle. Once those transmitters pass through a persons system, and are buoyed by the effects of the “mania”, the individuals are then subjective to a depressive state. Unless the users allow their systems to return to a normal balance and their systems time to recover, each subsequent depressive effects from a hit become longer and harder to recover from. We are starting to see that for long term abusers and overdose cases that it is more difficult to recover from, naturally.”

“They have prolonged ‘low’ episodes, for weeks at times, where they experience intense feelings of sadness, anger, and worthlessness. Most doctors are of these patients have been forced into treatment involving stimulants and mood stabilizers in conjunction with continuous therapy, just to bring them to some degree of normal functionality. Decision making and random stressors, like traffic, or looking for a parking place in a crowded lot can often provoke those patients into unmanageable fits: crying, screaming, temper tantrums, low self esteem, slovenliness all of that and more.”

Dr. Pahwan rubbed at his eyes. “That’s what the users who seek have to look forward to. Most will eventually return to the drug in hopes that the highs it creates will help counteract their lows.”

“But prolonged use causes t-the high effect to diminish with each use e-ex-exacer makes worse the low states?” Brains asked, surprised.

“That’s correct, but to a user achieving the brief times of happiness become the only thing the care about. For the boy’s who have only the equivalent of one dose or less of the drugs in their systems; they will recover in time. They may experience 1 – 3 months of shallow mood swings and perhaps placed on a mild stabilizer for 6 – 12 months, but they should still make a nearly full recovery. That of course provides that they don’t take anymore hits any time soon.”

“And for Alan?”

“You will need to do some research on caring for a depressed teen, Mr. Tracy. I stated before that Alan has 4 times the maximum allowable dose in his body. He will have mood problems. They are likely to be permanent. There isn’t a lot of documentation of the effects of this drug at all, much less in a child Alan’s age. Perhaps he maybe able to grow out of it, or heal over time if you prefer that term. I don’t know.”

“Alan has a very strong constitution. I’m sure he’ll be able to fight this once he knows what to look out for.” Jeff commented, hopefully. Brains and Dr. Pahwan both shook their heads at him.

“Alan may be able to realize a mood swing or a manic high for what it is, but he won’t be able to control it. Depression isn’t a mental disorder; it’s a bio-chemical disorder much as a disease is. All Alan will be able to is hold on and take the ride. I’ve had patients describe depression to me as ‘being hijacked’. It’s a battle between what an aware patient “knows” and what they “feel”. It has nothing to do with how strong willed a person is.”

“There has to be someway of stabilizing the brain chemistry. This can’t be it?”

Dr. Pahwan’s dark eyes shone with sympathy. “Maybe someday, but not now. We can treat the symptoms, try drug cocktails until we get one that let’s the patient act relatively normal, boost the system a bit to encourage the production of the proper inhibitors, but that’s it. Most of this disease is treated in therapy, teaching the patients how to cope from day to day, how to live with the crippling emotional effects caused by the drugs, and lead productive lives.”

Jeff couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be all there was for Alan. “Why?” He asked instead, not really expecting an answer.

“We know the physical traits that are associated with the onset of Depression and Bi-polar disorders. We do know “why” it occurs in a strictly scientific sense. We don’t know why some people are affected and others are not. There was a great deal of study put into this subject at the turn of the century by the medical profession. Unfortunately, their main focus at the time was to develop new drugs “to treat” the condition. Not to cure it. It’s really not too surprising since most of the research was funded by drug companies in the first place.” The doctor said off handedly, grimacing as he stood to throw his cup away.

Jeff felt as if he had been punched. “And Alan will definitely have these problems when he wakes up?”

The doctor nodded and allowed the other two men to precede him from the room. “Nearly positive, he was already showing signs before he lost consciousness. He stated that he was aware that he was reacting abnormally. Regardless, the most important part right now is to get him past the physical effects of this stimulated high without any complications. That is what we need to work on now.” He led them to room 4057 and held the door open for them to enter.

Me and my chapter endings, huh? What’s up with that, do you think? Lol. I’m going to go start typing the next chapter, now. Let me know what you guys think.  Thanks for reading!

First post

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 19:34:21 GMT

This is so sad. I've had theis journal how long now? Well, for now I'm just going to post what I have. Finished or not. I'll probably be recreatinga bunch of my earlier work from college too.

So, hello to all, if anyone actually reads any of this.