Morbidity and mortality
Thwack.
"Dead."
Thwack.
"Dead."
A third medical file joins the first two on the warden's desk. "Dead. If I brought you the records for every prisoner who's displaying the same symptoms as these three," says Dr. Edgerton, his moustache trembling with every syllable, "your desk would collapse."
The warden stares in disbelief at the prison's doctor. "C'mon--this time of year, we always see more--"
"Not like this!" Dr Edgerton jabs a finger at him, past caring about the conventions of behavior between himself and the man in charge of Staten Island's Arthur Kill Penitentiary. "Esperanza's noticed it, too. The woman's not stupid."
"You think she'll talk to the media?"
Dr. Edgerton throws the warden a disgusted look. "No. I'm pointing out that my nurse picked up what was going on before I crunched the numbers. And now she's not feeling well. This isn't typical for this time of year. Percentages like this are what you start to see at the start of an epidemic."
The medical term hits the warden like a billy club to the belly and the blood drains out of his face. "You're serious."
"Completely." Dr. Edgerton's fists press against the timeworn border of the warden's desk. "Whatever the etiology, whatever the vector, it could already be moving out into the New York population. Visiting days...." He doesn't need to complete the sentence. He doesn't even need to start a new one.
The warden picks up the phone and dials the governor. Time to start the bureaucratic wheels in motion for a quarantine ... and maybe more than that, if things get worse.
"Dead."
Thwack.
"Dead."
A third medical file joins the first two on the warden's desk. "Dead. If I brought you the records for every prisoner who's displaying the same symptoms as these three," says Dr. Edgerton, his moustache trembling with every syllable, "your desk would collapse."
The warden stares in disbelief at the prison's doctor. "C'mon--this time of year, we always see more--"
"Not like this!" Dr Edgerton jabs a finger at him, past caring about the conventions of behavior between himself and the man in charge of Staten Island's Arthur Kill Penitentiary. "Esperanza's noticed it, too. The woman's not stupid."
"You think she'll talk to the media?"
Dr. Edgerton throws the warden a disgusted look. "No. I'm pointing out that my nurse picked up what was going on before I crunched the numbers. And now she's not feeling well. This isn't typical for this time of year. Percentages like this are what you start to see at the start of an epidemic."
The medical term hits the warden like a billy club to the belly and the blood drains out of his face. "You're serious."
"Completely." Dr. Edgerton's fists press against the timeworn border of the warden's desk. "Whatever the etiology, whatever the vector, it could already be moving out into the New York population. Visiting days...." He doesn't need to complete the sentence. He doesn't even need to start a new one.
The warden picks up the phone and dials the governor. Time to start the bureaucratic wheels in motion for a quarantine ... and maybe more than that, if things get worse.