A short time later, after the arrival of the equipment, Klein anesthetized Regan's spinal area with Novocain, and as Chris and Sharon watched, extracted the spinal fluid, keeping watch on the manometer. 'Pressure's normal,' he murmured.
When he'd finished, he went to the window to see if the fluid was clear or hazy.
It was clear.
He carefully stowed the tubes of fluid in his bag.
'I doubt that she will,' Klein told the women, 'but in case she awakens in the middle of the night and creates a disturbance, you might want a nurse here to give her sedation.'
'Can't I do it myself?' Chris asked worriedly.
'Why not a nurse?'
She did not want to mention her deep distrust of doctors and nurses. 'I'd rather do it myself,' she said simply. 'Couldn't I?'
'Well, injections are tricky,' he answered. 'An air bubble's very dangerous.'
'Oh, I know how to do it,' interjected Sharon. 'My mother ran a nursing home up in Oregon.'
'Gee, would you do that, Shar? Would you stay here tonight?' Chris asked her.
'Well, beyond tonight,' interjected Klein. 'She may need intravenous feeding, depending on how she comes along.'
'Could you teach me how to do it?' Chris asked him anxiously.
He nodded. 'Yes, I guess I could.'
He wrote a prescription for soluble Thorazine and disposable syringes. He gave it to Chris. 'Have this filled right away.'
Chris handed it to Sharon. 'Honey, do that for me, would you? Just call and they'll send it. I'd like to go with the doctor while he makes those tests... Do you mind?' she asked him.
He noted the tightness around her eyes; the look of confusion and of helplessness. He nodded.
'I know how you feel.' He smiled at her gently: 'I feel the same way when I talk to mechanics about my car.'
They left the house at precisely 6: 18 P. M.
In his laboratory in the Rosslyn medical building, Klein ran a number of tests. First he analyzed protein content.
Normal.
Then a count of blood cells.
'Too many red,' Klein explained, 'means bleeding. And too many white would mean infection.'
He was looking in particular for a fungus infection that was often the cause of chronic bizarre behavior. And again drew a blank.
At the last, Klein tested the fluid's sugar content.
'How come?' Chris asked him intently.
'Well, now, the spinal sugar,' he told her, 'should measure two-thirds of the amount of blood sugar. Anything significantly under that ratio would mean a disease in which the bacteria eat the sugar in the spinal fluid. And if so, it could account for her symp-toms.'
But he failed to find it.
Chris shook her head and folded her arms. 'Here we are again, folks,' she murmured bleakly.
For a while Klein brooded. Then at last he turned and looked to Chris. 'Do you keep any drugs in your house?' he asked her.
'Huh?'
'Amphetamines? LSD?'
'Gee, no. Look, I'd tell you. No, there's nothing like that.'
He nodded and stared at his shoes, then looked up and said, 'Well---I guess that it's time we consulted a psychiatrist, Mrs. MacNeil.'
She was back in the house at exactly 7: 21 P. M., and at the door she called, 'Sharon?'
Sharon wasn't there.
Chris went upstairs to Regan's bedroom. Still heavily asleep. Not a ruffle in her covers. Chris noticed that the window was open wide. An odor of urine. Sharon must've opened it to air out the room; she thought. She closed it. Where did she go?
Chris returned downstairs just as Willie came in.
'Hi ya, Willie. Any fun today?'
'Shopping. Movies.'
'Where's Karl?'
Willie made a gesture of dismissal. 'He lets me see the Beatles this time. By myself.'
