Keith Taylor had been the recipient of a bone marrow transplant nearly a year before after contracting leukaemia. It had been touch and go at the time but he had made a good recovery and seemed to be in every sense a normal thirteen-year-old. He was perhaps more susceptible to minor ailments than his peers — because of the immuno-suppressant drugs he had to take to stop his body rejecting the transplant — but his energy levels were more than a match for his pals and he was a willing participant in the scrapes they got themselves into.
‘The doctor didn’t think it was rejection either. He thought it looked like some kind of an infection.’
A young doctor appeared in front of them, white coat flapping open, stethoscope slung round his neck and pushing a wayward flop of fair hair back from his forehead. ‘Mr and Mrs Taylor? I’m Dr Tidyman. I’m afraid your son’s very ill. We’ve had to put him on a ventilator and transfer him to intensive care while we try to establish just what’s wrong.’
Marion Taylor found this too much. She broke down in tears. ‘Oh dear God.’
‘Have you no idea at all what’s wrong with him?’ asked Dan.
‘I’m afraid not at the moment. We’re waiting for information and data to come back from the lab.’
‘You know he had a bone marrow transplant last year?’
‘We’re aware of that but, if it’s any comfort, we don’t think that’s anything to do with his current problem.’
‘The leukaemia’s not come back?’
‘No, nothing like that. He seems to have picked up some kind of infection that appears to be coursing through his body. Hopefully the lab’ll be able to tell us just what’s causing it and we can start fighting it.’
Taylor felt a strange conflict of emotions inside him — relief that the leukaemia hadn’t returned but quickly followed by fear about the infection. ‘This ventilator thing you mentioned…?’
‘It’s a machine that’s doing Keith’s breathing for him. We’ll keep him on it until he is strong enough to take over again for himself.’
‘Can we see him?’
‘Of course, but I have to warn you that people often find it distressing to see wires and tubes seemingly coming out of just about everywhere in their loved ones but try to remember that it’s for Keith’s own good. We have to know what’s going on inside his body. This is why we monitor everything we can electronically.’
Dan Taylor nodded and helped his wife to her feet. He kept his arm round her shoulders as they followed the doctor to a small room with a large viewing window into the Intensive Care suite. He gave her a squeeze as they looked at their son lying motionless and unaware while the ventilator clicked and hissed and the monitors beeped their messages. Green spikes chased each other across an oscilloscope, encouraging Dan to think positive thoughts. He’d seen enough TV medical dramas to know that spikes were good. Flat lines were not.
‘I want to hold his hand,’ murmured Marion.
Dan Taylor looked at the doctor who shook his head apologetically. ‘It’s for Keith’s own good that we keep everyone outside right now. We don’t want him having to cope with any more infection.’
‘When will you get the lab results, Doctor?’
‘We should start getting the first within the hour.’
‘We’ll wait… Can we stay here?’
‘Of course. I’ll get you a couple of chairs.’
Dan and Marion sat, holding hands in silent vigil, on moulded plastic chairs for at least thirty minutes before either spoke. Marion said, ‘Look at the skin on his face… It looks… strange.’
‘I suppose it’s the infection, love,’ said Dan, but he saw what she meant. The skin on what they could see of Keith’s face behind the mask and tubes seemed to have an unhealthy pallor.
The doctor returned with a clipboard in his hand. ‘Good news and bad news I’m afraid.’
‘For God’s sake, tell us the good,’ said Marion as if approaching the end of her tether.
‘There’s no suggestion that the leukaemia has returned and we’ve ruled out meningitis which was a major concern at the outset.’
‘And the bad?’ asked Dan.
‘We still don’t know what’s causing the infection. The lab has drawn a blank so far but let me say quickly that that’s just from examination of direct specimens. The chances are that they’ll have a much better idea in the morning when the overnight cultures have grown up.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Sometimes there are too few bacteria to find when we look at samples directly under the microscope,’ explained Tidyman. ‘So we spread them on artificial culture media and leave the bugs to grow and divide overnight in an incubator.’
‘So we wait,’ said Dan with a sigh in his voice.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Tidyman sympathetically.
‘Doctor, have you seen his skin?’ asked Marion.
Tidyman took a deep breath as if contemplating a question he’d rather not have had put to him. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s giving us cause for concern and the nurses have been asked to keep an eye on the problem. It’s probably just some kind of reaction to the infection but they’ll apply moisturiser at intervals throughout the night… I know the suggestion won’t be welcome but there really is nothing you can do here. Why don’t you both go home and try to get some rest. We’ll call you if there’s any change and be assured, our nurses will take great care of your son.’
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ said Dan, ‘I think we will.’ He steered Marion towards the door. ‘Mind and call us if anything changes?… We won’t be sleeping.’
Dan and Marion were back at hospital before nine next morning leaving a sleepless night behind them and half-eaten sandwiches and half-drunk cups of tea all over the house. It had seemed that making tea and sandwiches for each other was therapeutic but eating and drinking them wasn’t. They were met by a new doctor when they got to the IC suite.
‘You’ve just missed Dr Tidyman; he’s just gone off duty. I’m Dr Merry.’
Dan looked at the slip of a girl in front of him with Dr Jane Merry on her name badge, dark hair tied back with a lilac ribbon, tight matching sweater emphasising young breasts and a pencil slim skirt and dark stockings worn in deference to the notion of power dressing. Christ, thought Dan, she looks fourteen years old. Her gaze and confident voice however assured him that she wasn’t. ‘How is he this morning, Doctor?’ he asked.
‘Not much change I’m afraid. We’re expecting the lab culture reports within the next thirty minutes,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you both go along to the machine and grab some coffee and I’ll come and find you. I’m sure you didn’t get much sleep last night.’
Marion warmed to the solicitous comment and smiled. ‘Thank you, Doctor, C’mon Dan. Let’s do that.’
They were on their second coffee, sitting by the machine, when Dan saw the young doctor coming towards them. There was something in her walk that suggested immediately to him that all was not well — that and the fact that she wasn’t alone.
‘Hello again,’ said Jane Merry. ‘This is Dr Trevor Sands, my boss,’ she said with a weak attempt at humour. ‘We’ve got the lab results. Dr Sands thought we’d be more comfortable in his office.’
Dan and Marion nodded to Sands and got up to follow the other two without comment although alarm bells were ringing in their heads.
At least, he looks like a doctor, thought Dan, appraising the middle-aged man across the desk from them who was smartly dressed and wearing a college tie. He also found the wedding ring, short conventional haircut, and golf club calendar on the desk reassuring. ‘Any further forward, Doctor?’
Sands folded his hands on the desk in front of him and said, ‘I’m afraid the lab has failed to find the cause of your son’s infection. Their tests for bacteria and viruses have all proved negative… so far.’
‘But how can that be?’ protested Dan. ‘If he’s clearly got an infection how come the lab says he hasn’t?’
‘I have to say it comes as a bit of a surprise to us too,’ said Sands. ‘We felt sure that they’d find the cause if for no other reason than because the infection is at an advanced stage and has spread throughout Keith’s body. But, having said that, there’s still time for them to come up with the answer. Some bugs take a longer time to grow up in culture than others.’
‘And in the meantime?’ said Dan, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.
Sands made a defensive gesture with the palm of his hand and said, ‘Rest assured it’s not a case of us doing nothing until we hear back from the lab. Your son is being given a course of broad spectrum antibiotics as we speak.’ He saw the blank look on Dan’s and Marion’s faces and added, ‘Broad spectrum in the sense that these
