The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival) (17 page)

Dr. Parsons was at once gratified and saddened by their courage.
“
Are you positive?
”
he asked.
“
Remember, once we step out that door we
’
re committed. There
’
ll be no turning back then.
”

Their faces were almost stoic. It was too bad Cash Archer couldn
’
t bring himself to join them, Parsons thought. Maybe he should have flung the challenge directly at the obstetrician.  But Archie would have let it pass.
“
Well, what do you say? Any of you can get out now by just walking away.
”
He didn
’
t want any of them to leave, but he needed to know each was certain of his own commitment.

“
Shall I get started, Doctor?
”
Sharon Henry asked as she waved the list at him, answering his question.

He patted her on the shoulder,
“
By all means, nurse.
”

“
Tell me what I can do, Bern,
”
said the urologist.
“
It
’
s been a long time since I
’
ve treated anything interesting.
”
 

The group met together again after the supplies were assembled and deposited in the make-shift isolation unit. Arrangements were made with the regular staff whereby additional materials could be left in a neutral zone to be claimed by members of the isolation staff when necessary. Everything was finally ready.

“
Bern, how long will the hospital
’
s auxiliary power system last?
”
Max Feldman asked.

The question made Parsons hesitate. He knew this was a concern of everyone. Utility-supplied electricity had been cut off during the night but the center
’
s stand-by power source had immediately started functioning. He finally answered.
“
It
’
s hard to say, Max. The generators will only operate as long as we have fuel.
”

“
Assuming the fuel tanks are full, Bern, how long do we have power?
”

“
I
’
m not sure. But I vaguely remember hearing something about three days.
”

“
Only seventy-two hours,
”
murmured Max Feldman.
“
Doesn
’
t give us much leeway. A hospital without power....
”
He let the subject drop. The seventy-two hours had already begun.

“
There
’
s one other thing,
”
remarked Parsons.
“
The civil defense bulletins warn against water usage. Since the water is contaminated, even in the pipes, diets will obviously be limited to milk and juices for as long as they last—ours as well as the patients. We
’
re fortunate—one of the best-stocked departments in the hospital is the kitchen. However,
”
he added,
“
we
’
ll begin immediately with a strict rationing schedule for our personnel and patients. Serious patients will be exempt from food rationing for as long as possible.
”
Bern could only speculate what Krantz would do for the rest of the hospital.

He was aware that none of them knew exactly what to expect in their patients. Never having experienced a disaster of this magnitude or scope, and having had no training in treating excessive radiation exposure, it would be anyone
’
s guess as to what would develop with the patients. They all assumed that the number of persons grouped in the parking lot would grow. Little did they realize that before another day elapsed, survivors in the dozens would begin amassing outside the lone, rear entrance.

With Dr. Parsons leading, all six walked out to the ambulance area, to their patients. At a glance it was obvious that three of the injured had died during the night. Others, the most disabled first, were supported or placed on stretchers and carried inside the building for the first attention they
’
d received since the devastation some twenty-four hours earlier.

Acute, intense doses of radiation produced both immediate and delayed effects. After-effects, and the wide variety of their manifestation, could be a long time in developing; immediate reactions were pronounced and horrible. Of the several who had not been near the reactor and had not received the initial blast of radioactive heat, their symptoms—nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea— were indistinguishable from gastric upsets caused by a large number of rather ordinary illnesses. The knowledge that these symptoms were reactions to radiation poisoning caused Parsons and his staff to approach treatment with new awareness. Medication for treating this aspect of radiation poisoning was the same medication prescribed for upset stomachs and influenza. Vomiting and diarrhea, when uncontrolled, were as debilitating as any disease. When compounded by radiation poisoning, control became all the more urgent.

They were a stinking, malodorous assemblage, these victims of White Water. Liquid antidiarrheals and antinauseants were used freely, but with only limited success. Sharon Henry, a highly skilled, compassionate nurse, had rarely encountered such massive resistance by stomachs to the chalky fluid she poured. Methodically she
’
d tip the head back and the patient would swallow. Then with equal precision the stomach rejected the fluid, spewing it convulsively out the mouth and nose.

“
Dr. Parsons, they just can
’
t seem to hold this down,
”
she shouted.

“
Send more in right after they regurgitate,
”
he advised.
“
They
’
re going to need every ounce of energy they can get, and this constant loss of body fluid is sapping them.
”

The doctors lent their attention to the most severe cases. Deep lacerations received during the wreckage of automobiles had become swollen with infection. The immediate cleansing of these wounds was attended to. For the victims of radiation burns, there was little that could be done beyond dressing the seared flesh.

Antibiotics were given in any case that remotely suggested need; but the need was great. There seemed no end to open, festering wounds. Shot after shot was injected by the staff until the changing of syringes became automatic. Pain killers and fever reducers were as frequently administered as antibiotics, for without a single exception, every patient had a body temperature that was in or nearing critical range—a boiling fever that resulted from massive infections and inflammation. Superficially, excluding the hideous burns covering only one side of their faces, the victims were much like the typical survivors of a freeway crash—abrasions, bruises, broken bones, and always the vomiting and diarrhea.

A chest wound was open to the critical eye of Dr. Feldman. As a urologist he
’
d not dealt with this kind of task since his intern days. He was sharpening old skills quickly.
“
Bern, would you take a look at this?
”
The huge gaping slit was full of seeping pus.

Dr. Parsons glanced briefly and wrinkled his nose.
“
That
’
ll take a lot of cleaning, Max. Better start him on a double dose of penicillin.
”

The small staff worked hurriedly, their actions almost mechanical. They gave minimal thought to anything other than their labors, but they all carried in their minds the fact that the radiation had already begun its devastation on the patients. Some of the victims had greater natural resistance to the damage of the invisible rays and would fare better than others. But in some, the radiation had already attacked the body
’
s cells, tearing apart the cells
’
structures, and killing the cells outright. Evidence of this fatal destruction lay in three human forms out on the parking lot.

In other patients, passively sitting, taking their medication, the rays had struck their cells, distorting the cell structures, breaking chromosomes and ionizing chemical molecules within the cells. From some of these invasions the cells would recover. From others, cells would begin to divide abnormally, perhaps over years, and the final result would be the long-term after-effect—a malignant tumor.

Eventually Parsons and the staff had all the patients in various stages of treatment. For the first time since the small, select medical group had walked out into the compound to lay claim to the victims there was an opportunity to take stock of the scene.

Bernard Parsons was a man of excellent physical condition. Robust, his strong hands were laced with straps of muscles that allowed him to perform arduous, lengthy operations that often spanned the greater portion of a day. And yet, despite their strength, his hands had begun to shake with fatigue. Catching Max
’
s attention, he motioned and they went into an alcove.

Max slumped wearily against the table in the small, adjoining room.
“
Damn, Bernie, I didn
’
t work this hard when I was an intern.
”
He attempted a weak smile, without much success.

“
We
’
re not going to be any good collapsed. Here, take this,
”
Parsons said as he located them each a can of orange juice.

Max fumbled with the opener on the top. Then lifting the can to his mouth, he drained it in one long drink. The tin can rattled as Max tossed it into a nearby cardboard box. Then he dropped tiredly into a chair.

Parsons stood sipping his juice, reflecting on the day.
“
You know, it
’
s strange the way attitudes change,
”
he said quietly.
“
There was a period between the Nineteen Twenties and Forties when heavy doses of radiation were standard treatment for some things.
”

Max looked up with a flicker of interest.

Parsons continued,
“
It used to be that young children would be sent in for x-ray therapy....the object being to destroy lymph nodes that were habitually swollen from some inner infection, or in the case of tonsillitis, the tonsillar tissue would be destroyed. Usually two or three large doses of radiation would do the trick, and, of course, the child would have been spared the trauma of surgery.
”

Max said thoughtfully,
“
I wasn
’
t aware of that practice, Bernie.
”

“
Oh yes. It was used all right. But it was usually administered to the children of physicians and other upper-crust. Anyway, it much later came to the attention of the profession that there was an abnormally high incidence of cancer of the thyroid among the recipients of such treatment.
”

“
While irradiating the nodes or tonsils, the thyroid also received a dose,
”
suggested Max, caught up in the discussion.

“
Right. You know radiation is particularly destructive to that organ. Malignancies developed—slowly, of course—but by now they
’
re being observed frequently in those people who had the treatments as children,
”
said Parsons with a frown.

“
I
’
ve not read any of this in my journals,
”
replied Max.

“
No,
”
said Parsons, shaking his head.
“
The findings have only recently been circulated.
”
He suddenly grew quiet, lost in thought.

The subject had jarred the urologist out of his fatigue.
“
I tell you, Bernie, the thought of cancer is really frightening. Too often I
’
ve seen its terrible ravages. I used to be on staff with a fellow who
’
d done extensive radiological studies back in the Fifties. Back then we didn
’
t know much about the hazards of radiation.
”
He paused momentarily.

“
Do we know a lot now?
”
asked Parsons, wearily, as he finally sat beside Max.

“
Well, more, at least, But anyhow, this guy was left-handed, you see, and he was always using that hand for positioning the x-rays. So, the hand was frequently exposed in the process. He gave up his studies and went into practice, and it was then that I actually knew him—some fifteen years after he had quit the research.