I have OCD, a black thumb and mosquito bite resistance...But that's Okay cuz I got piles!

I am looking at some fake red and blue flowers in a water glass as I type. I put them there so I’m not looking at a blank wall, or the thermostat…If I had real flowers within a very short time they would be dead…so I don’t try to grow them anymore.  I know that sounds like a cop-out, but it’s true. I figure it gives the people who make fake flowers a job.

Now my mom has a really really green thumb…she planted a seed from a grapefruit one time in the back yard when I was a kid after we moved to California from New Jersey...and years later when she moved out to Santa Clarita after my dad passed away…one of the sad things was that she had to leave behind this huge grapefruit tree and the amazing crop of fruit it produced every year. 

At least I can look out the window here at the Chandler Apartment and see some grass…mostly rocks, but some grass and cactus too.  Arizona landscape is done up with rocks, and a few scattered cactus…and the Grackle bird struts about on the rocks;  an intriguing fellow who looks somewhat like a blackbird, but sounds like about 8 other birds and walks everywhere.  Must be too hot to fly!

At my Mom’s condo in Valencia…she has so many plants it looks like a jungle, and I don’t think she does much more than water them…but it must be like mosquito bites…Okay, how does that connect.  It does because it's one of those things no one understands. Some can grow plants...others can't. (mostly I forget to water, then water them too much!) 

The mosquito bite anomaly: (some are plagued by them, others never get a bite) 
I can be camping in an area where everyone is covered with bug bites and I won’t have one.  I’m not sure if they don’t like me, I’m sour or what but, I never get any, no matter how many of the critters are in the area…they just go for other meat!

One time we went camping and Patrick became breakfast, lunch and dinner for every flying insect known to man.  His forehead was so swollen it looked like Frankenstein.
I wasn’t even an appetizer…go figure…the same goes for plants…just not happening for me…go figure!

Well after being here in Chandler for four weeks I have confirmed my OCD.  Now I know I count steps, and have for some time.  This can be extremely annoying especially now that I am in an upstairs apartment.  I know there are 18 steps to get up here…, or 60 steps out to the car in the parking lot...the same as I know there are 13 steps to the landing and three down to the floor at our house in Calif…however that does not seem to stop me, every stinking time I go up or down…like a mantra in my head 1-2-3-4…for those of you who do not have this malady “count” it as a blessing.  Get it ha! Count.  There must be other symptoms, but mine are sporadic, so maybe my case is transitory.  Don’t expect my house to be spotless, like they say OCD victims have their homes...I have piles. It's the way I can be neat, and organized...Piles.

Piles of bills, piles of sewing and craft projects…piles of paper with half finished poems, or ideas for stories all over the place…don’t move one of my piles!  I will get to it eventually.  In fact while I’ve been here in Chandler away from distractions ...somewhat…I have completed several of my piles.  

I brought an entire suitcase of piles with me to work on.  You see...I start a project, and before it’s done move to another.  Sometimes it is years before I get back to that particular pile, but eventually I do.  Really I do!  Yes...I’ve finished several of the piles I brought with me, but sorry to say, I have started a few new piles…I like piles.  it's a way to be able to work on several things at once. I cannot sit still. I don't know why and have a terrible time sitting for 3 hours in church...I just must multi-task to keep from jumping out of my own skin. Watching TV and sewing, knitting and listening to a book, writing a book and thinking about my next nursing class.

 I know my kids for years have said I never sit down, or if I do it's not for long.  But with five kids, I got an amazing amount of stuff done because of multitasking and my piles, and pretty much doing two or three things at once.  Like today, I'm sewing, listening to a book and doing laundry...maybe some vacuuming too.

So in the long run, for me anyway, I guess OCD and a few other odd things have been a blessing, no mosquito bites, and I can just leave the plant growing to others with that special something...I don't have.  I have enough to do anyway. I Got Piles!

An encouraging thought

Many that live deserve death, many that die deserve life

Be not so eager to deal out judgement before you know which is which

...or if it even matters

And realize before this life is over trials will come to us all

I truly wish they did not and we did not have to deal with such things

But this is not for us to decide, 

All we can decide is what to do with the situation and the time we have been given

And Make choices given to us carefully and with wisdom

Know that there are many forces at work beyond our control, 

Some and really most are much more powerful than evil.

And that is an encouraging thought!

Old friends, good times...Beach Boy re-wind.

Recently it seems there has been a rush for reunions.  Now as far as I'm concerned high school reunions are a waste of time.  The last one I went to I was in the bathroom and overheard two women talking and one said, "I don't know why I came...that witch...I hated her then and hate her even more now."  Then at a table near where I sat I heard one guy state..".don't tell me what your husband does and how rich you are...tell me what YOU have been doing." 

After that, I look at the notices that arrive from time to time, both for my Husband and myself about reunions and I can say without a second glance they land in the trash...immediately.

My only dear friend remaining from my high school days has lived in Italy with the handsome foreign exchange student she met in the 60's...Lois Heckman, who became Lois Merlotti and I have vowed if we ever go to a high school reunionl...we will go together...and since for several years now she has only come to visit around Christmas time I doubt that trip will ever occur!   Most of the reunions are in the summer.   We have remained friends for many reasons even though the miles separate us.

First and foremost we have always been honest and supportive of each other...through high school, during college and after.  I can truly say I love and adore her even though many years and several wrinkles have caught us, which we both seem to be able to ignore without comment.  Second her two kids are the same age as my first two...Our husbands are great friends and enjoy our Christmas bar-b-Q dinners almost as much as Lois and I do...imagine that!  We were in each other's wedding, and as far as I know we two are the only ones of our gang  (except for Al Fridley who lives in Austrailia and is a  Vet), who have kept in touch since we were in the first graduating  class from Grant High School

...And then the last rather amazing fact is at the same time her daughter went to Pepperdine University to college, and I became her back-up mom, (since her mom was so far away)  my son was a missionary in Milan Italy and she became his back up mom and support, but most of all Renzo, (who is very Catholic), was a cheerleader for our son Patrick in his Mormon missionary efforts.  Interesting as for us anyway we have no choice of where our kids serve missions.  And Chiarra, an Italian talented artist, and beauty as well as a very lovely girl chose to attend Pepperdine in Malibu California out of all the Universities she could attend.

Getting together with them each year has been the extent of my reunion fever...so when we attended a church reunion of a priest group from the North Hollywood third ward it was a shock, to say the least, when we had such a great time we almost had to be swept out of the building at 11:00.  The event was to end at 9:00 and all were having such a wonderful time playing remember when....no one wanted to leave.

One of the families who where there many members strong were the Mason's,  Tommy, Gary...and an older brother who married LaRee Gibb and then connected those families forever.  LaRee's brother Ron Gibb is a photographer and I have seen him throughout the years as he does a lot of the photos for the Hart District where I served as a Board Member for 16 years.  It was such a rush to see them all.

Especially Tom for me as he was the quiet kid who mowed our lawn and raked our leaves, most of the time getting the leaves in a heap and then getting one of our little kids to lay in the pile with him and look at the clouds.  Tom was one I remember working with as he was so scared to give a church talk and I was supposed to be helping tutor those who were to give talks in church.  He was so scared his voice shook, the papers on the pulpit shook and his face was beet red.  I remember he did a great job, and I was so proud...but years later when he was put in as a Bishop in some Utah ward, he called me the night before he was to be sustained to thank me for helping him and being such a support.  Even to this day I get a lump in my throat thinking about that call.  I have seen him a few times since he got married and moved away, but every time I see him I can't see the grown handsome man he has become.  It's weird, he will always be the awkward little kid who was so sweet, obedient and scared to get in front of the congregation to say a few words.

That night it was so fun to see so many old friends....to be continued.

The Chiasmus Cipher, Chapter Three, The toxin spreads!

Chapter 3

2020, Thursday June 13,

St. Johns’ Hospital

Phoenix Arizona

The ICU waiting room was cold and impersonal.  The walls were blank except for a plaque above the reception desk honoring an organ donor.  Not exactly an uplifting environment to spend six hours waiting to see a critical friend.  His broad hunched-over shoulders and folded-hand quiet demeanor didn’t give a hint to the turmoil within his head.  Thoughts raced as Chance went over the past 12 hour nightmare he was trapped in.  The more he thought, the more his head hurt, and he had more questions than answers. 

His best friend and partner in the most worthwhile pharmaceutical research project he had ever known was down the hall behind a door fighting for his life with no clue as to what had happened or what was wrong.  Eddie lay in a tangle of tubes and monitors staring at the ceiling unable to move.  The machine next to his bed hissed oxygen into his lungs expanding with each compression of the bellows.  The tube down his throat through his vocal cords prevented him from any communication.  The last time Chance had been allowed at his bedside; Eddie was illuminated by the eerie green glow of numerous monitors above the bed and looked up at him with petrified eyes. 

“Hey buddy,” Chance had said hesitantly.

“We’re going to take care of this, don’t you worry.  Just a little setback.  I talked to your brother and he’s called your family.  I’m sending tickets to get them over here as soon as possible.”

Eddie stared back, with strange brown tinged tears running down his cheeks.

“Can you move at all?”  Chance leaned over and looked at his friend’s limp non-responsive fingers.  There was no movement, not even a twitch. He had been warned not to touch Eddie, and they had given him a yellow gown, gloves, N95 mask, and clear eye goggles to wear. He was only there for a few minutes when the neurologist came in to introduce himself and then asked him to leave.  He had been in the waiting room ever since.

When Eddie didn’t show up to work or answer his cell on Wednesday, Chance figured he was just having a tantrum.  But when he didn’t show up by late afternoon on Thursday, he was more than mad at his slacker friend and stormed out of the office, making the trip to Eddie’s condo complex in less than 10 minutes.  After banging on the door for a while, he checked the under ground garage and found Eddies’ black Jeep in its usual place.  He went back to the front of the apartment, working his way around to the side of the building and then hurdled over the low wall into the patio enclosure.  The sliding door was unlocked and he called out as he crossed the sparsely decorated living room.  The book case covered walls were loaded with botanical textbooks loose papers and an old microscope.  The computer on the corner desk was blinking the alert that mail was waiting and he saw the bedroom door was open.  Calling out again, Chance hoped Eddie was not hung over with some girl sharing his leaky old college waterbed. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he went through the door.  Eddie was sprawled across blood covered sheets looking at him with watery dim eyes.  His mouth chewed at the air and his breath came in intermittent gasps.

“Eddie what happened?  Who did this to you?” 

Chance’s first thought was that he had been attacked or robbed, or someone had tried to get him to tell about their research.  He ran to the phone and called 911. He was worried Ed would stop breathing at any moment.

Eddie was not moving except, for a spasm in his finger and his barely blinking eyes releasing bloody brown fluid.  The blankets seemed to be wrapped around his legs, but Chance was afraid to touch anything for fear of hurting him and kept saying so over and over.

“It’s okay, help is coming, it’s okay.  We’ll find the bastard who did this to you.”

Chance’s mind raced, “What in the world had happened?  Was there a break in?  Did someone at one of the other labs hear about their research and try to beat it out of poor Eddie?”  He knew research espionage was getting as common as carjacking, but this was over the line.

Chance raged inside. “Has Sutton, our other partner, told someone about their success with neuron-blockers for pain and cancer treatment? That guy has been a worry ever since we started the experiments.  He has loose lips, the big slob, always bragging about something or other.  What an idiot!”

Chance had gone over every possible scenario by the time the paramedics arrived which was in just under 5 minutes.  After they moved Eddie onto the gurney, the paramedics asked Chance , “Does this guy have prosthetic legs, or a wheelchair we should take in the ambulance?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well he’s an amputee, right?”

As they maneuvered Eddie through the door, Chance could now see that his legs weren’t there—they were just gone. What Chance thought were blankets wrapped around Eddie’s legs were just—blankets, and lots of bloody gunk, no legs at all. 

Chance didn’t make it to the bathroom sink before he lost his lunch.  He was only aware of the panic that squeezed his chest like a vice.  When he finally found the hospital waiting room in the maze of halls, he slouched down in the nearest chair and stared at a blurry smudge on the wall.  He was in shock.

2200, Thursday June 13,

NASA Research, Ames Center

Modesto, California

           

            George Meyers was at his desk, working late, going over reports and reviewing the data about mutated toads sent in by his three field researchers.  The phone rang as he was gathering up for the weekend. 

       “Pick-up George,” the switch board operator said, “I know it’s after hours but this guy sounds panicked.  He says he tried to call the Biohazard team at Fort Detrick but they’re not answering.  They’re three hours ahead of us— they must be gone already.”          

George made the call and the fear in the voice on the other end of the line was tangible, “We have a situation here at St. John’s Hospital in Phoenix.  I’m Doctor Leonard Barnes from the emergency room. Let me give you a description of what we just got through our doors.” He took a deep breath and began his initial assessment details.  “A young Asian male of about 26 years presented in critical condition.  He was found by a friend who was concerned after he didn’t show up to work for two days.  Look, to make it short, I think we may have a form of Ebola.  We’re examining cultures, but so far there’s no evidence of bacteria, so we guess it’s a virus—maybe a toxin, or bio-weapon.  Something’s invaded his body, gone systemic.  We don’t know where or how.  Whatever it is, has liquefied muscle and bone, leaving nothing but a pool of fluid tissue where his limbs were.  This guy evidently went to bed fully intact and woke sometime the next day with no feeling in his body from the chest down.  Difficulty breathing, fluid in his lungs and no movement in the upper body.  Somehow his neuro-system shut down and blocked any sensation of pain.  This guy is dissolving right before our eyes.”

       George, listened and became increasingly alarmed, “Go on.”

      “We questioned his friend who says the subject was on a camping trip last weekend someplace in Southern Utah.  They both work at Alpha Sigma Pharmaceutical here in town.  His friend saw him Tuesday night and says other than feeling tired from the trip, he looked fine.”

        “How fast can you get a sample out here?”

       “I can send an emergency over-night drop, and I’ll send one to Maryland too, even though I couldn’t get a hold of anyone from their bio-epartment.  The bureaucracy there is thick!”  

       “Send the sample to Ft. Detrick, care of Admiral Bernie Albee, attention Bio-Contamination Department.  He’s a long time friend from the academy and I’ll make sure he’s alerted to look for it.  What other symptoms do you see?”

       “We got him on a ventilator as soon as he arrived.  He was close to respiratory arrest. His lungs are full of a brown liquid that has a musty fungus-like odor. I got a negative test for pseudomonas.  He has congestive heart failure, is now paralyzed up to his nose. He can still blink, but his pupils are non reactive to light.  No bowel sounds, I think the stuff is attacking the abdominal wall and may be into the chest cavity, but it’s hard to tell.  The MRI is all blurry—as if he’s a giant marshmallow throwing the scan off.  We’ve been pouring in blood and plasma through a peripheral jugular line, but it runs right out multiple open wounds we’ve tried to cauterize with no luck. He has 4+ edema and his skin is splitting open like he was boiled too long.  He’s not maintaining blood pressure.  Soon after he got here, he went non-responsive so he couldn’t tell us anything much.” 

       “Oh, I forgot to tell you, his friend said he had an itchy rash on his leg the other night.  That’s it so far, but this guy is going to code blue any minute now and everyone is getting spooked.  I don’t think one person will step up to do chest compressions.  If this is communicable, we could be in real trouble.  The paramedics are scared.  We put them in full contact and air borne isolation.”

“Good, keep it contained, what ever ‘it’ is.  Everyone who has been in any minor contact from lab personnel to custodial picking up the trash must be kept on site until I can get a team working on this.  Where did you say he was camping?  I’ll stay here until I get a look at that sample and have some sort of lead.  Now, what did this guy do at Alpha Sigma?  Was he a paper pusher, or on the research team?  Find out if they’re doing anything in toxin studies at that lab.  I know they use a lot of botanicals in their products.  That may give us a clue.” 

“I’ll see if I can find out, I think his friend is still here, but he hasn’t given us very much information.  Let me give you my pager number so you can let me know if you get anything from that sample.”

George pulled out his cell phone and punched the number into the memory.  “What’s the hospital number too?  I’ll see what I can do about contacting Ft. Detrick; you have enough to do keeping everything contained.  Try not to start a panic, but don’t let anyone who has had direct contact leave until we know what we’re dealing with.  I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the heads-up Leonard.”

George sat back and took a deep breath, trying to recall the phone number of his old Annapolis friend.  He hadn’t seen Bernie Albee in several years.  George left the military after his first tour of service was up.  It may have had something to do with his submarine assignment.  His commanding officer tried to guilt him into signing up again, but the close quarters and loneliness of sub-duty didn’t fit his gregarious personality and by the end of his tour he was grumpy and claustrophobic.

Bernie received a much more desirable assignment and stayed in the military, eventually ending up in Maryland at Ft. Detrick.  George remembered from their last contact, Bernie was doing some of the work with anthrax.  He reached across his desk to the worn rolodex and found the section with his college buddies. 

It was past midnight in Maryland and the initial response to the ringing phone was tired and impatient.  Explaining quickly, without pleasantries, George launched into the litany of facts and concerns.  By the time he stopped to take a gulp of air, his old friend on the other end was fully awake and planning a way to lock down the spread of what seemed to be a fast moving lethal organism. 

Bernie was obviously worried.  “Ever since the last incident of Ebola in South Africa, and then the similar one in Vietnam, I’ve been afraid something like this was coming our way.  Not from terrorists, or even a natural spread, but someone fooling around with materials they don’t understand.  Travel is so fast and easy these days, and our borders so porous they’re a joke.”

His voice rose in indignation, “Anyone can get anything in or out if they want.  There’s anthrax missing from one of the military labs right now, and a lobby is under way by the World Health Organization to destroy the last small pox strains we have in the deep freeze.  All we need is some idiot, who has a secret stash, to start an epidemic and then we’re in the middle of an unstoppable outbreak.  Look at Mad Cow, the rise of unexplained encephalopathy and the travel of flu strains from Asia.”

“Yeah, I know Bernie.”

“Didn’t you say the patient was Asian?  Has he been out of the country recently?  Do you know if he’s native, or where he’s from?

“I don’t know, but I’ll try and find out.  Keep in touch and call me when that specimen gets there or if you get any other ideas.  The hospital has the communicable disease unit involved so they’re handling the Arizona end.  Sorry to call you with this one, but I figured you’d have the resources to help me out.”

“Thanks …I think.”

George put back the receiver and knew all he could do now was wait for the delivery to arrive.  Then he remembered he had one of his research team assistants doing work in Southern Utah and pulled up the information on the computer glowing on his desk. It was already past ten and with the hour time difference it was eleven in Utah; he stopped dialing and decided to wait and call Tory Hunt in the morning.

What's a Haboo...aboo?

Happy 4th...we went to Fredonia...now Fredonia population about 900 is the only town in Arizona on the North side of the Grand Canyon, besides the polygamist town...Colorado City, Oh! and the Indian reservation for Paiutes.  They are all located on what is called the Arizona Strip.  Anyway Fredonia is a dead city because of the shut down of the lumber industry in the Kaibab forest due to the endangered owl.  

Nearly dead and a few newly wed is what the residents seem to be.  It is a sad junky looking town where most homes are run down with old tractors or cars on the front...ummm.  dirt...very few real lawns.  

There are a few brave dedicated noble residents who continue to try and boost the economy with neat homes and gardens...but not much is there.  It seems to me this town should be as industrious as Kanab, but somehow Arizona has designated it as the red-headed step child of the state...Now...finally it seems the rest stop will open with the new museum of Indian artifacts donated by a man who has collected them his entire life, a sweet and generous fellow named Dixon.

We drove from Chandler Arizona, across the desert some 170 miles to Flagstaff (the kick off spot to the south rim of the Grand Canyon.)  across a mountain pass to traverse the Colorado river at Navaho Bridge, built in 1929, at the same spot Lee's Ferry operated.  It is a narrow spot in the river (figuratively speaking as the Colorado goes) and walla! we were on the North side of the "Big Hole" as the Grand Canyon is often called.  In fact I almost had the same feeling as at Gettysburg when we took the driving tour and once we were at a church near the top of a meadow...we turned back on another road, and discovered we had changed from the Union Side to the Confederate side...it was eerie,  that's almost how this felt.  Cross this short bridge and you're on the North Side of the Grand Canyon...strange.

The landscape is of course spectacular and would be a great spot for our photographer good friend Glen Singley...he would have gone nuts taking pictures so much so his poor wife Susan would be weary of waiting for him to be finished.

Arriving in the afternoon we picked up the keys for our house in Fredonia, left to us by Patrick's older brother Leon, who built the house, lived in it a few days and then died, never having the chance to enjoy his work.  It is a comfortable house, where the garage is almost as big as the house...a guy thing...and I finally figured the toilet in the master bedroom is handicapped and taller than usual.  Now I'm not short by any means but sitting on that thing with my feet not touching the floor was very uncomfortable!  I finally realized the other porcelain fixture in the second bathroom was of normal height and OK to use with some degree of comfort considering the 6 hour car ride flared up some hidden bottom issues that had been brewing ever since my lady surgery 4 weeks ago.

We attended the parade the next day, where the last down the street lined with eager onlookers was the firetruck.  I guess the neighborhood kids had been planning a retaliation all year as across the street from us about 12 boys waited in ambush the entire parade.

The firemen, ready with water hoses sprayed the crowd...the boys fought back with hoses and well placed water balloons.  Many had constructed shields of cardboard or plastic and were able to get very close to accurately loom their water bombs at the firemen...from where I sat, I called the little altercation a tie...even though the firemen were armed with large fire hoses...the boys with young accurate arms pelted their ammunition with great accuracy and the men standing from their advantage point on the top of the truck were just as wet as the kids.

Other on-lookers had umbrellas to keep from getting wet, but in the over 90 degree weather many just enjoyed the chance to cool off...a good time was had by all.

The rest of the time there we worked cutting down the weeds in the front yard and around the little house.  We may finally have gotten the house into our name and legally able to sell very soon.  ANYONE WANT TO BUY A BARELY LIVED IN HOUSE IN BEAUTIFUL  DOWNTOWN FREDONIA?  It is crazy that when a brother has in his will..."my brother can have my house and stuff after I die", should have to go through such a lengthy process...and spend over $2,000. in legal feels just to get a property changed into the name of the person in the will.  But then what would lawyers do?   And since now we have a child in law school I guess we should understand...and I hope little Pat learns how to avoid all the nonsense and tells us the secret to leaving our stuff to whom we want without loopholes or necessitating our heirs to spend  tons of money.

I also picked up a few copies of the Red Rock Review...a publication of Kanab Utah (located 6 miles across the border) where one of my poems was featured...I was surprised it was on the first page, but after reading some of the other entries...it made sense.  Mine was a story about the area...and was a well constructed poem, many others were not...or did not make sense.  Now I've read a lot of poetry in my time and consider myself somewhat liberal in my interpretation of "poetry", but a few of the entries were a bit off the mark.  There were a few short stories also, and some art work, so I guess it was considered a literary journal of sorts. I'm just happy to be published and in the company of a few good writers.   If anyone is interested in my entry...look for "A good old Stick" in one of the past months on this blog.

Now to haboo, aboo, not sure which is correct yet, but after our seemingly very long ride back to our home away from home in Chandler Az.  We arrived to be hit once again by the 106 heat....in Fredonia we considered it nice to have 90, and cool water coming out of the tap, (instead of turning on the cold and scalding our fingers in the water flowing out the way you do in Chandler!) 

We were lucky we got home about an hour before the aboo hit.  I decided it was time for Patrick to have a hair cut and we were on the balcony doing the deed when I noticed all of a sudden it became dark.  I looked over my shoulder to see what was blocking the sun and could see a wall of brown quickly moving our way.   After a few minutes we were surrounded by dust and went inside to finish the haircut.  Not long after the TV had a news break to announce the haboo...and told everyone to stay inside and definitely not to drive.  The pictures on the TV showed a 2 mile high and at least a mile or two wide wall of dust traveling across the valley.  Halting planes and cars everywhere.  I saw today on the news we should expect 2 or 3 others to pass by us before the monsoon rains in the next few days.  I wish we had gotten the rain to settle the dust, but we were not so lucky.  Today I swept up a huge pile of fine gritty dirt from the patio...can anyone say asthma attack? 

Well this is my report on our little adventure...and today Patrick called from work and said the company is looking for people who are willing to go to another country...he named a few including South America and India, and so far the only one sounding inviting is Canada.  If we end up there after October we will have to speak Canadian....Ayyyy! or French depending where he is sent...right now that is not looking like a real possibility...but you never know!

No Place Like Home...Miracles Happen

Above is Michael and his bride Shannon, As I look back on his skateboarding injury, I have learned more than anyone can imagine. 

 There is No Place Like Home…Brain Fugue

When Michael came out of his coma one of the first things he said was, “I want to go home.”  This statement immediately pulled me to my all time favorite movie, the “Wizard of Oz”  with the message of seeking intelligence, heart, and courage…so when Michael constantly repeated this statement it broke my heart and made me think of flying monkeys, lions who were scared, and witches who shrink when they touch water. 

Mike was tied into bed hand and foot with an oxygen meter clipped to his toe.  Along with his plea to go home he often said, “Mom, get the scissors and cut these things off.” 

When I responded, “Honey, I don’t have scissors with me.” 

He would then say, “But you are friends with the nurses…and I know they have scissors.

He was so persuasive and crafty, like Houdini, he often was able to quietly work the restraints loose, and his toes would unhook the O2 monitor and shoot it across the room sending the alarms into a loud cacophony.  In the middle of the night when he constantly removed the monitor, in desperation for some quiet, I put the monitor on my finger and fell asleep in a chair with my head on the bed.  Before the nurse took his vitals and did an assessment in the morning, I would put it back on his big toe…he would look at me and smile and not fiddle with the monitor for an hour or two.

His recovery went through the classic levels of coma scale symptoms, and he was soon moved into a rehabilitation unit.  I stayed with him during the day and was able to manage his crazy behavior, but because of his volatility the hospital assigned a sitter to keep him in bed during the pm shift.  Often as soon as the sun went down he tried to leave the hospital saying, “If you won’t take me home, I’ll walk, it’s not too far.”  Well this tiny “sitter”, woman was about as useful as lips on a duck when it came to keeping him in bed during the night.  Her 5’1’ thin frame was no match for 6’2’ Mike.  The first night I came over around ten in the evening and realized he had sun downer syndrome.  That is a condition, when as soon as the sun goes down a patient will become unreasonable.  Anyway I walked into his room to find four nurses in the room…each had one limb and they were slowly persuading him to get back into bed.

He saw me as I came into the room and said, “Oh Mom, get me out of here…If you loved me you’d take me home.”  (Knife into the heart)…

I called Big Pat and said, “You have to spend the nights here, I don’t think the nurses can handle him.”  So that night they moved in a sleeper cot and Patrick spent every night with crazy boy while I held down the fort in the daytime.

At regular intervals during the night, Mike would sit up abruptly and start to get out of bed and stand up with his IV hanging, his brain drain bulb swinging down next to his cheek and he swayed trying to get his balance to manage the walk to the door.  Patrick would grab him and wrap his arms around him, swaying and rocking, blocking the way to the door and say, “I love you, your mom loves you, your family loves you, and we want you to get well so you have to stay until the doctor’s say you can leave.” 

Mike would beg to leave but soon his strength would give out and his legs would start to fold and Patrick would sit him down and then lay him back in bed…until the next time when he would sit up abruptly…then the scenario would be re-played.

I had stuffed this memory deep into my head until one day about a year later when I was back teaching and had students at United Cerebral Palsy Institute.  It was lunch time and my students were in the dining hall assisting the patients to eat.  All of a sudden one of the young men who was very crippled, started to yell. “I want to go home, Mommy take me home.”

Until that time I had been pretty strong and brave during Mike’s recovery, following all the physicians’ orders and explaining the physiological implications to family and friends in a stoic fashion.  Well…hearing those words found the crack in my armor and my heart broke…I was back experiencing the painful plea to "go home."  I began to cry and sob with the memory of those difficult days.  I quickly left the room and after about 20 minutes of hiding in the bushes next to the building.  I called my students together and dismissed them three hours early.  My eyes were red and watery, and no one asked why they had the afternoon off…and I never told them.

Since then the thought has occurred to me…”Where is home…is it where you grew up, went to school, spent your childhood, where your family is?  When you are grandparents with kids spread across the country, is home when you are visiting, or when they come visit where you are living…even if you’ve moved.  Is home a house, people, or spirit? I don’t think home is a house of mortar and wood and plaster.  A house can be comfortable and maybe familiar but it is not home without people.  My conclusion on this subject is that home is where people you love surround you.  So really, home could be a tent or a tree.  I learned so many things about life and myself going through this tragedy with Michael. And we were blessed with a Miracle. 

Be ever watchful...your test will come!

I recently heard a talk in church where a young man extolled his wonderful family and the good fortune and wonderful life he enjoyed.  I was happy to hear about his boys, job and wife and then thought to myself.. "Be careful of what you speak for soon your test will come."  And my thoughts were this...

When you are young and have no challenges or struggles it is easy to feel those tests will not come or you can easily stand up to adversity, that your strength is unwavering.  I have learned it is unwise to have those thoughts or feelings as it seems to me they are the portent of difficulty and the need to very soon prove yourself. 

So my advice is to never become so smug or sure of yourself...because surely if you do a test will lie before you. Do not become complacent or accept your good fortune as your just deserts and what you deserve. Be wary, alert and ever watchful, constantly striving to be better, stronger, kinder, more faithful...and be ever watchful you do not fall into the trap of believing your test in this life has been proven, as if...or when you do...your trials will come. 

"True Love"

True Love

It’s always been my question though it’s never crossed my lips

Why all the stories of the hard won west

Never mentions the ladies or their difficult test

Now we all know men are made of puppy tails and snails

But women who chose to love those men were loyal courageous females

They bore the daughters and sons of men who homestead and tamed the land

Gave up their youth their beauty their souls and all the rough life demands

I know the tale of one of those gals taken from family, comfort and all she knew

She married a cowboy who until that time lived alone with his dog named blue

In her ruffles and lace she beguiled this gent and they married in a whirl

He had no idea of her sacrifice made, when he wed that city girl

She loved him so she never looked back or longed for her childhood home

Most days she spent in the rough wooden shack on their homestead all alone

Her valiant first cooking efforts were much like slop or swill

He never complained or said cruel words he loved and cherished her still

But He longed for the bread like his momma once made covered with berry jam

One day he smelled the aroma of baking and he yelled! “Thank you Mam”

“Now dear I knew you could do it” he cried as he hunted high and low

“I know I smell fresh bread, did you hide it where did it go.”

“I have no idea of what you speak, just sit down and eat this meat”

“My skill with flour does not exist, stop your dreams and take your seat”

On top of the wood stove was simple fare, a small pot of vegetable stew

No biscuits or rolls though his bride was covered with flour and apron all eschew

Then later that eve he gave grain to the cows and saw there hidden and flat

The sorriest loaf, he ever had seen, brick heavy and much like a mat

A smile crossed his face as he thought of his dear

Trying to please him with home baked fare

And he loved her the more never mentioned his find
For you and I know true love is blind

"I Was the Patient"

I was not looking forward to my sojourn in the hospital and as it got closer I became more upset...(on the inside.)  Of course as a nurse I couldn't let anyone know of my apprehension.  And so there I was in the prep room answering questions and feeling very exposed.  Patrick was in Arizona!

I wanted to go to big UCLA because I figured I wouldn't see any former students.  When I had my first and only...so far...colonoscopy, my prep was done by a former student.  She assured me she would not be in the exam area where my rear would be out for all the world to see...but of course I was totally knocked out and had no idea if she was there or not. What a perfect way to get revenge on a past professor...give it to her in the exam room when she is under anesthesia.  Another time when I had a lithotrypsy.. (This is a procedure where you are immersed in a tub of water...fully naked and a large laser is pointed at your kidneys to break up stones.)  Anyway this "friend" filled the tub with little yellow duckies as a joke and had them keep me awake long enough to see a gaggle of ducks coming at me when I was dropped into the tank and before I went under the anesthetic.  So you never know what good intentioned friends will do.

Needles to say I decided I should be out of Santa Clarita or the San Fernando Valley where I hoped no one knew me and could stick it to me while asleep.  When I woke up from the "woman" repair...all the staff (my new bff's) kept saying..."push the button" and they put the button in my hand..."What's this?"  "It will make you feel better."  "Great", I said.  So I pushed the button...lots!

After two days and over 800 mg of morphine I decided not to push the button as I didn't want to depend on the drug. I knew it could be addictive.  And IT WAS....and after I stopped pushing the button...I began to feel awful.  Not pain, but a strange restlessness and anxiety that was unknown to me.  The room was hot then cold, too small and I couldn't eat.  After much complaint I was finally moved to a real room, and the symptoms did not get any better.  I walked the room back and forth and continued to feel awful...not pain....just awful.

Get me out of here! The next day my request was finally granted and my daughter picked me up.  Get me home!  At home I knew I would feel better, but I didn't and was confused and restless....what was wrong?  I know now I was in withdrawal from the drug and thought..."If this is what an addict feels like...my sympathy goes out to them."  That night I took a medication prescribed for fibromyalgia that I knew blocked nerve impulses and was finally able to sleep...I usually don't take this medication in the daytime as it makes me dizzy...but since I realized it took away my restless weird symptoms...I took it night and day every 4 hours for three days...and then the awful feeling was gone.  I felt myself again, almost, with a few continuing fleeting moments of anxiety.

This was the first time I had major surgery and was in the hospital for several days so realized my reaction to the medication was severe to the point of possible allergy, and intend to list morphine as a medication I can't take.  I also resolved never never to have surgery again or do anything that required pain medication.  I think the whole family has a reaction to morphine or opiates.

When Michael was still a bit out of our world after his head injury and was coming out of his coma...they wanted to get an MRI...this is a test where you must be still and are placed in an enclosed tube.  They insisted on giving him morphine to calm him so the pictures would be clear.  His reaction was severe...he went wild!  he was on the gurney with straps holding him.  As he was transported to the MRI area we went outside, "Oh Mom your taking me home....thank  you so much".  "No honey this is just for a test", he was devastated!

By then the medication was in full force and upon learning he wasn't going home he did his swim team butterfly move with his well toned chest expanded and lunged forward.  The straps snapped loose immediately.  We calmed him down and put him inside the MRI machine.  I was talking to him on a speaker from the next room as the machine beeped and thumped away.  I knew he was restless but hoped he could be still enough for clear images of his brain.   But No! He sat up...or tried to sit up inside the tube.  The operator began screaming he'll break it! and I ran into the room to calm him down...I got him back onto the gurney and with soft words and rubbing his arms was able to transport him back to his bed in ICU..."I think he had a reaction to that medication" I said  "He must me allergic, or because he doesn't even take an aspirin, he must be sensitive and shouldn't have that ever again.  It made him crazy"...I wanted to say, "I told you so."  but didn't and knew he shouldn't have morphine ever again.   It took several hours to wear off and I remember staying with him that night as he kept waking up and saying he wanted to go home.  I now realize he got the "allergy" from me, and neither of us should ever have that drug again. 

Oh! I think my surgery went well and am feeling just fine, but know I am a very bad patient!

Chapter two... "The Chiasmus Cipher"

 

This i s chapter two of  "The Chiasmus Cipher"   Let me know if you want to read more at patgunny@gmail. com  If you haven't read chapter one or the prologue....those have been posted in previous blogs, search for them in the side panel under previous months.  Sorry I haven't figured out yet how to list all blog titles.  But just click on a month and the various month titles will come up.  If you like Chiasmus Cipher, you may enjoy some of the other stories about hospitals, nurses, and the dogs in our family.   Happy Reading to You All....pat   writergrams.blogspot.com

Chapter 2

0515, Tuesday June 11,

300 N. 42 W. Young’s Farm

Alton, Utah

          It was a little after 5:15 a.m. and still dark when Talon slid into his well-worn brown sedan parked alongside Tory’s truck.  He saw a sliver of yellow light appear and then widen on the gravel driveway. He paused and watched a tall silhouette exit the side door of the house at the front of the property.  The man was herding two complaining teenagers who acted half asleep.  The bigger of the two had a piece of toast in his hand and his unbuttoned shirt flapped.  Talon smiled when he heard the protestations.

          “Dad, you don’t need both of us to tend the cows, this is the first week of vacation and I wanted to sleep in. Can’t Jake and I take turns helping you with the stock? And besides, how come the girls never help?”

          “The girls have plenty to do with the chickens and helping Mom in the house. Just because school is out doesn’t mean the cows don’t need to be milked and fed. The more people doing the work, the quicker you can get on to other things, you know that!”  The man looked across the yard at Talon with a puzzled look on his face. 

          Talon remembered back to his days of getting up early to help his Pop on the reservation and wondered if he would ever again have the luxury of sleeping in.  If he got into med school he knew that sleep would be at a premium, but then he was used to running on empty and getting up before dawn.  He cranked over the engine and let the cold car run for a minute while he watched the family open the gate leading to the large field.  The old friendly cow was already there waiting for the familiar head rub readily given by the younger boy.  

          Talon pulled out onto the dark street and figured he would have time to drive back to his duplex and get a quick shower before he had to get to the clinic.  He worked as a medical assistant on weekends and Friday nights for the last two years at ASU when he didn’t have track meets.  He was soon lost in thought about what may have been the real reason Tory’s place was ransacked but came back to the present abruptly when he saw the traffic signs warning to slow for the upcoming town.

           The 25 mile per hour was a joke for town folk, but if you had an out of state license plate and drove a few miles above the limit you were sure to get a speeding ticket—plus a warning from local authorities not to waste natural resources.  There were plenty of times growing up that Talon and his friends had been weaving back and forth on an empty road late at night, obviously drunk, or too tired to be driving.  If they were spotted and stopped by the Sheriff they were just given a warning.  Talon never drove because they all knew if he was at the wheel he would have gotten a ticket, but most of his friends from school were descendants of the white settlers in the area, and were off limits to getting petty tickets. But, everyone knew if an Indian was behind the wheel—well that was another story.  The politically correct ACLU protection against discrimination he experienced at the university did not penetrate the mentality of the small town, and he knew if you even remotely looked native there was no mercy.

0600, Tuesday June 11,

Medical Services Housing

Glendale, Utah

       His car crunched into the wide carport he shared with the three others living in the low roofed prefab building. He quietly closed the car door after he got out since his parking spot was right next to the window where Jenny, the nurse practitioner, slept.  The State Department of Health rented this duplex year round and those on assignment got a free room along with the job.  The doctor had been there for almost three and a half years and had eighteen more months to go in order to work off his medical-school government loans.  Talon shared one of the apartments with the Doc and his bird, Cujo.  The other side of the duplex was used by the two nurses, one was a registered nurse and the other was the nurse practitioner.  They were friends and had signed up together to work at the clinic for lucrative one-year contracts. 

          Talon applied to work to at the clinic over the summer when he saw the job advertised. The clinic was only an hour from the reservation and the pay looked good.  He knew he got the position because he could speak Paiute, and some Navajo dialects.  The clinic was mostly frequented by natives who lived on nearby tribal lands. 

          The shower was hot and quick and Talon was in his scrubs before Dr. Bob came out of his room. One thing was good—he didn’t have to share a bedroom or a bathroom.  He had never even stepped a foot beyond Bob’s door, and that suited him just fine. So far, it seemed they made good roommates; both loved sports, and didn’t talk much.  The clutter and strange smells coming from the refrigerator didn’t bother either one of them.  Talon soon found out he needed to be suspicious of everything and anything if you were planning to eat it.  Talon was used to clutter and strong odors from living with five guys from the track team for three years and living with Bob after that was almost antiseptic,

          “I didn’t hear you get home last night”, Bob probed.

          “Didn’t,” Talon grunted.

          Bob thought better than to pursue the question and Talon didn’t offer anything.  Talon looked over at the Doc and noticed he had a funny grin on his face. 

          Talon had been on the job a month and since the Doc didn’t ask much, and he didn’t offer much, they shared the rooms somewhat like strangers.  Talon read all the time, asked about medical school at UCLA, but the only time they shared anything was when they watched baseball games together with Bob hooting and rooting for the Dodgers and Talon remaining stoic. 

          Talon was almost to the front door and leaving when the Doc chimed in with an unusually large amount of information.

          “I don’t have any patients until this afternoon. Jenny has all the baby exams this morning and I gotta get some shopping and laundry done.  I spent most of my free time last week on the Internet with Stacy so my family thinks I’ve dropped off the planet.  I’d better send off a lengthy e-mail or my mom will show up for a visit, and you don’t want that to happen, trust me… see ya later Dude.” 

          Talon went to the table by the front door to retrieve the keys to the clinic.  He turned with surprised at the Doctors’ excess of words, then shrugged, “Yeah man, and when you’re at the store, get some cereal and milk. You ate all the crunchy puffs I bought a few days ago.” He remembered the granola with wheat germ he had to eat the other day then added, “And none of that high fiber junk!  It tastes like wood chips. You California guys are all tree huggers.”

         Talon grabbed his stethoscope hanging on the front doorknob and was out the door, letting it slam behind him.  The bang of the door got Cujo squawking away.  The bird was so loud when he started up Talon swore it was going to bust his eardrums.  The large green nanday conure had a cutlery-sharp curved yellow beak and survived on nachos and beer. 

       “No wonder it’s always noisy and out of sorts, but maybe the commotion from the green devil will get Jenny and her friend moving.  When the girls are late, everyone ends up behind all day and I’m the one who ends up with no lunch,”  Talon griped.

         Once outside, Talon knew it was the kind of morning he liked, magenta dawn sky, clear and crisp with the smell of cut hay. He was glad he could walk to work and get some of the cobwebs from his head.   He realized he was going through the motions since he got here, just waiting to see about his exams.  He felt there was nothing in his humdrum life to make it exciting and was looking forward to medical school somewhere, anywhere, to improve his dull life.  Right now he felt stuck in first gear—or the mud. 

          “Maybe getting into a good school will get me excited about something again.” In the back of his mind trying to get out, “Maybe someone just walked in the door…or called… to make life exciting.” He pushed the thought away, like always.

         All the employees who lived in the medical services housing walked to the clinic. It was only a few long country blocks over to Main Street between the post office and the small grocery store.  Talon went in the back entrance, turned on the lights, checked the answering machine for messages, put on coffee, and pulled the charts for the day’s patients.  It was almost 8 a.m. when he unlocked the front door and saw a squaw wrapped in a blanket sitting on the sidewalk near the door.  She stood up, and he saw that she held a tiny baby with dark eyes and wild ebony hair.  She immediately bowed her head and muttered in Navajo,

          “Can I come in Doctor?”

          “I’m not the doctor, just the medical assistant. The nurse practitioner will be here in a few minutes, but you can come into the waiting room and sit,” Talon answered in his rough Navajo.

          He had been working at the clinic long enough to know the simple routine.  The hardest thing was convincing the patients he was not the doctor and that Jenny, the nurse practitioner, along with Dr. Bob were the ones in charge.  He knew it didn’t bother Jenny that the patients always came to him with questions, but he was not sure whether or not it bothered Bob.  Talon thought he probably didn’t care and was preoccupied with getting his obligation completed and back to the city and his girlfriend.  Talon was surprised when he saw a picture of the Doc’s girl. She was taller than him, athletic, and stacked.  He remembered from school, those girls usually went for the jocks, not the pudgy, bookish guys with thick glasses like Dr. Bob.

          “Who knew these days, what went with what, or who goes with who?”

          The three exam rooms were occupied, the intake of the patients’ vital signs were done and the assessments were in the charts before Jenny came through the back door.  Most of the babies needed immunizations, so the place quickly sounded like a torture factory.  He tried to have the moms hold the babies on their shoulder when he pushed the needles into their chubby buttery thighs so they wouldn’t know where the pain came from.   He hoped the next time they came to the clinic, the kids wouldn’t associate the shots with him and start wailing.  He hated having them cry just because he walked in the room.  A few of the patients had colds and one had asthma so he gave a breathing treatment.  Most of the morning appointments were uneventful and gave him a chance to practice listening to lungs and hearts—trying to absorb some information for future reference.   Before he knew it, he was on his way next door to the grocery store to get something for his lunch break since he didn’t have time to make the stop before the clinic opened.  At the check out counter the cell phone in his shirt pocket rang.

          “Yup,” answered Talon, then recognizing his father’s voice, he said, “Oh, Hi Pop, I was going to call you later, anything happening?”  He walked out onto the street and around the corner to the alley behind the store, then leaned on the wall beside the back door to the clinic.

          “Can you come to the res. this weekend? There’ve been problems with townies coming out here.  You know the typical, digging at the knolls and over on Elephant Foot Mesa looking for petrified wood and riding their ATV’s, breaking down fences.  We lost some cattle, and I need help rounding them up before we find them stuck in the mud or dead from broken legs like last month,” his dad responded.

          “I can come out Friday afternoon?  Saturday I’m going hiking with a friend from the track team.  I can be there by1:30.  We don’t have any patients in the afternoon. The doctor is meeting with the county social workers so I’m off the hook.”

          “Okay, see you then.  I’ll have a few men ready to go with us and look for the cattle. I figure they must be on the homestead land to the south, or over the main road to cane beds. Umm, boy, have you been working on the legend?  I’ve been meditating on the solution every night and so far haven’t had any ideas. Which way to go, where to look, or even if this is the right time to look.” 

          “I don’t know Pop; I’m probably the last person to solve a mystery, but the friend I’m hiking with is really smart with solving puzzles and could always come up with a winning strategy in our statistics study group. I’ve already kind of asked her to help.”

          “Her, huh…just who is this, her? 

          “Never mind Pop, trust me, I’ll see you Friday afternoon and maybe then I’ll tell.”

Talon quickly went through the back door into the staff room with two cokes, chips and a ready made spam and mayonnaise on wonder bread sandwich for lunch.

2245, Tuesday June 11,

Alpha-Sigma Pharmaceutical

Phoenix, Arizona

Eddie Nguen pulled into the parking lot of Alpha-Sigma Botanical Research and Pharmaceutical late in the afternoon.  He was tired and had a three day beard, which on him looked like a one day shadow.  Using his key card to enter through the back security door, he made his way through the maze of halls to his office which was adjacent to the office of his buddy Chance Bertram.  They had been friends since they were at the University of San Diego.  He met Chance in molecular biology class at the University and became good friends after they both joined the pharmacy fraternity, Alpha Zeta Omega.

          He dumped his base-jump-pack in the corner, went to sit at his desk and checked his e-mail.  He had only checked the first few messages when he picked up the phone and pushed interoffice communication to get Chance. 

          “I’m baaack…get over here.”

          Chance sighed and wearily pushed his 200 pounds of toned muscle out of the chair.  At six-feet tall, he was a bit over the limits of healthy body fat but didn’t care much.  His only pleasure these days, since his wife had left him, was his love of gourmet food and hitting the gym.  He hoped that heavy workouts would counter the cholesterol he consumed.  When he got to Eddie’s office he immediately went to the large comfortable chair in the corner and pulled it over to the desk, rejecting the little uncomfortable visitors’ chair across from Eddie.  Stretching out his legs, he slipped off his loafers and dorsiflexed his feet toward his knees to get rid of the cramps in his calves.  His toes snapped like dry twigs.

          “Ech, you’re the only guy I know who can crack his toes individually.” Eddie said disgustedly.

          Chance ignored the jibe, “Okay. Tell me. I know I got bits and pieces over the phone during your, Achemm,” he cleared his throat, “commute.”

          “I don’t think there’s anything else I can say. I put out the crumbs for our Gretel to follow, and then waited up there to make sure she took the bait, followed the trail and found the samples I left in the pond.  But you already know, she ‘somehow’ heard me breathe and rather than make small talk about why I was up there before the season, I got her to chase me to the edge of the cliff.” He leaned forward for emphasis, “I actually hoped she would bail off the ridge after me, and then we’d be rid of her.”

          “Oh, that’s great thinking,” Chance was getting edgy, “We need her to find the substance decoy and make sure the department is going in the wrong direction, not get the whole forestry department up there investigating an accident. Sometimes I think you just don’t think! It’s a good thing I was able to find out the survey schedule of the national monuments so we can keep ahead of the survey teams and keep them away from our research plot.”

          Eddie chimed in, “Yeah, and I’m not worried about the other contracts.  All the other ones who got the bids are old guys who will get up to their sites, have blinders on, and won’t notice anything but what the department wants, or do the survey from the comfort of their lounge chair.  By the way, after I went through the records in her apartment and went to the Forestry office to see if she had any other data.  

          “Better not have left finger prints.”

          “I’m not that stupid, I had on gloves.  At the office, there was a fax from NASA but I never had a chance to look at it.  I thought she might come back and wanted to get out of there.  Good thing they don’t have any security in that office.  I didn’t see any surveillance and getting in the door was easy.”

          As he spoke, he went back over to his brief case and pulled out the pilfered paper. 

Looking at the fax Eddie exclaimed, “Damn, wish I’d checked this before I took it. This could’ve helped us if I’d left it there. Crap, didn’t have time to look and see what it was, only that it came from her boss at the Modesto Ames Research Center.  I thought maybe they’d found our plots using the satellite heat detectors or wanted her to look for those toads she’s researching up at pink cliffs and taking this would stall her from poking around.”

          “Let me see that!”  Chance grabbed the paper. “You’re right, this looks like it would’ve been another confusing lead and got her running off to nowhere.  Look at this, those guys at the research center want her to investigate toad habitat, and that would have kept her away from our plants.”

          “Sorry man, I was in a hurry, worried about cops, I’d be no good to you in jail and I still think we could’ve grown them in controlled conditions, but no matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t get anything to germinate in the lab.”   Eddie, continued, “When I was doing my mycology thesis on poisonous mushrooms in Cambodia I saw European scientists were way ahead of the U.S. in mushroom cultivation. But even they haven’t been able to get certain species to grow except at natural sites near the Province of Itdar.”

          Chance shrugged, “Well, I thought we had an isolated test site and couldn’t believe it when my aunt told me there were contracts going out on all the Utah monuments after we’d already planted the test plots.”

          “I worry some hotshot like our research chick will find our little farm.”

          “I’m still not sure we can keep up our operation going without anyone catching on.   Last summer when we salted the area, I was more concerned about the NASA satellite picking up our activity.  The canopy of those dead trees and the shrubs they’re under should shield the plants, but if the new growth changes the atmosphere composition or the ozone, the eye in the sky will detect them.”

          Eddie scratched a red raw spot on his left calf that seemed to be creeping up to his knee. “Yeah, this is becoming a big pain, more trouble than I first thought when your Aunt Julie suggested that…Ha! Remote growing area. 

          “But you know with all the spruce forests being stripped by that stupid bark beetle, trying to hide anything local is useless.”

          “Don’t tell me, the marijuana farmers are having a hard time concealing their operations from the satellites because the new digital cameras have much better resolution and I can’t get my weed anymore.  I swear from what I heard the other day, the satellite cameras can see a pimple on a bug.”

          Chance just groaned, and let Eddie rattle on to get out his frustration

          Eddie continued not paying any attention to Chance, “But we’re in this too far now.  Anyway, I took the fire road access running along the gorge below the cliff drop-off where I landed after my jump and found a spot that looks like there’s quick access up the east side cliff face.  We’ll have to climb up on ropes in a few areas, but if we put in anchors and drop some heavy lines after the first time up, it will speed the way up to under thirty minutes instead of one and a half hours from the front off the main road. 

          “I better start working out more.  I haven’t used my climbing gear in a while. At least the soil conditions up there are right for those fungi to really take off.  And if we can verify the nematode growth on the mushroom stalks stop cell division of cancer mutations along the nervous system, we may be able to get the jump on all the other pharmacology companies looking at synthetic combinations.”

          “I knew from all the success Cambodian village shamans were having with natural compounds it was possible, and with a little persistence on our part, I know we’ll hit the right mix.  And you know, natural compounds always sell better than synthetics.”  

          Eddie smiled remembering the look on the researcher’s face when he glided to the gorge bottom.

           “Damn what is this,” he leaned over to look at the rash on his leg.  “I do think I have that girl messed up.  At least she didn’t get anywhere close to where we have the fungi concealed, and I got the chemicals dumped to put her off the trail, she’ll find it eventually.  And, don’t worry. NASA will send her another fax about the toads when she doesn’t get back to them.  All that should keep her busy.” He continued with his tirade, “Maybe by then we can get some permits for legal research growth going. It’s irritating all the hippie environmentalists got Clinton to sign the monument bill and put the best fertile land off limits.  It’ll be tougher than ever to get permission even if we’re onto something that can save lives.”  

          Chance was looking absently out the window, and Eddie brought him back to the issue,

          “Ah, Chance, I really need to get into the lab and work on separating the nematodes from the spores, or no matter what we do the toxic effects of the splice with the trigger plants will negate any substance as unusable.” 

          He leaned over to look at his leg once again.   The area was starting to bleed from all his scratching and sanguineous brown ooze ran down into his sock.  Reaching over, he got a tissue out of the top drawer and put pressure on the area. 

            “Man, this itches.  I hope I didn’t get poison oak or something.  Naw, I think it’s too early in the season for that.  Maybe it’s a tick. I was on a deer trail and they carry all sorts of bugs.  I sure don’t want to go back there in a hurry, but we’ll need to get more samples in a few weeks.  It’s your turn, next time big boy!  Not having an airport near by has made this whole cultivation thing too time consuming.  It’s not like we have a window box full of plants we can check on every day.  At minimum, it’s a three day deal to travel all the way up there.” 

          Chance remarked offhandedly, “We should make Sutton come and take a bit of the heat.  So far he only stays in the lab, messes with the numbers and leaves the field cultivation to us.  If we’re splitting any profit from selling the process three ways, he needs to put in more of the grunt work.”

          “Where is he anyway?  We really need to get a growth site closer to our lab and some better equipment,” Eddie continued complaining.

          “Yeah, yeah, I know.  At the time it was the closest land growth area with the correct acidic content where we could guarantee secure access.  Anyway, right now you better quit scratching that leg and get to a clinic or at least put some antibiotic on it.  You know, I’ll tell you this. If I’m going up there, I’m wearing two layers.  That sore looks nasty.  Take care of it tonight and tomorrow you, Billy and I can spend all afternoon in the lab with the fresh samples you brought. Besides, you look like you could use some sleep. Give me the samples you brought back, I’ll take care of them.” Chance took the bag of mushrooms off Eddie’s desk, got up and was out the door before he could protest.

          Eddie’s head was pounding by the time he got back to his apartment.  He left the lights off as he got ready for bed because light seemed to make his head pound more.  In the dark, he did not see the redness had crept up his leg over his thigh and was on its way up to his groin. His ankle was starting to swell and his foot was a cyanotic purplish blue, the swelling was cutting off the circulation.  The open wound was hot and itched like mad. In the dark, he felt around and covered it with the cream he got from the grocery store and a cold wash cloth.  Then he took three Tylenol #3 from a bottle of old pain killers and fell into a fitful sleep. 

          Under the skin of his leg, the toxin was rapidly breaking down muscle and bone, turning it to a thick bloody liquid.  First the anesthetic properties of the compound began to invade and numbed all sensation of pain.  Then the deathly poison pumped out like an open faucet from the botanical mixture of spores, toxins and nematodes.  It traveled along speeding toward the neurons of his spinal cord.  It swiftly started devouring his lower extremities, first the calf muscles and bones, then moved up to his thighs, hungrily eating away, and Eddie was the main course.  But he slept on and didn’t feel the viscous fluid made from his own flesh as it pooled under him in the bed.