Topic: "Evil Thoughts" (3)
The Surgeon General of the United States stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, while Dr. Frodo conducted his examination. Gently, he massaged the index and middle fingers on both hands of the patient, then worked his way up each arm slowly feeling for muscular development all along the way. The young girl's twin sat next to the bed across from the spot where Dr. Frodo leaned across her sister's torso. Their mother kept her hand on the bed, for support.
"Tell me if you feel it when I pinch your arm," queried Dr. Frodo to the young patient to whom he had been introduced by the Surgeon General. "Do you feel anything now?"
"Just a little pressure."
"How about now?"
"No, not really."
Moving his hands back down to her wrist, he asked again. "No," she said, "just a little wetness."
Going all the way up to the triceps, Dr. Frodo pinched again and the patient jumped. "Ouch, I sure felt that."
"Good, thank you Ms. Bush. It was very nice meeting you."
"Well, I'm not sure I can say the same, given the circumstances."
Frodo smiled, and said, "I understand. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to talk with the Surgeon General for a few minutes, and then a little talk with your Mom. I'll be back to talk with you when we get some of the tests back later today."
"Do you have any idea what's wrong?"
"Ideas yes, science no. We'll talk more later, I promise." Frodo was not just good, he was damn good. He'd won the trust of the patient, at least for the time being.
Frodo and the Surgeon General stepped out into the hall and walked toward the Nurses Station together. The Surgeon General did not have to meet his eyes, he had his own suspicions when he called for a consult with the leading Neurosurgeon in all of Middle Earth. "She has the typically 18 months or less, before the ALS chokes her to death, " said Frodo. The Surgeon General merely nodded, it was as he suspicioned. "As you know Sir, there can be no confirming diagnosis without a brain tissue biopsy, and that, of course, is usually post-mortem."
"I figured that you, of all the authorities in Middle Earth, would. . ."
"You're right, I've seen enough cases to know. It is ALS, and the President's daughter is going to die. I suppose it would be presumptous of me to ask what you think he's going to say? You know the Man, and I don't.
"Well, obviously, he's going to be very upset."
"You know what I mean."
"No, I'm afraid I don't."
"You know damn well what I mean. If it hadn't been for him and his neolithic positions on using federal funds for Stem Cell research, then he would have at least the chance of effective treatment and potential cure for the disease which is going to kill his daughter. That is, of course, assuming he won't even pursue the other options."
"I am afraid that the President will not approach any of those countries who have been utilizing Stem Cells in order to treat neurological disorders of this nature."
"How ironic, isn't it? Both Iran and North Korea filled the vacuum he created when he closed the door on American efforts. Now, to save his daughter's life, he would have to go on bended knee to those members of his "Axis of Evil."
"He won't do that."
"What about Mrs. Bush? I understand she stood him up over the drinking, and told him 'Jim Beam or me,' years ago. Won't she force him to be a father and not an ideologue?"
The Surgeon General merely shrugged his shoulders. "Thank you, Dr. Frodo. Would you mind. . ."
"You don't have to ask. All you have to do is let me know when. I will be there to help in any way I can. Except, of course, for one thing."
"I never want to see that son-of-a-bitch."