The last infection was minor this time, but I wasn’t sure how it would affect my other health problems. My eyes were still fuzzy from the virus, and the lesions on my legs were still pretty painful from the bacterial infection I had a couple weeks ago. I was not sure if I was going to be able to keep pulling my time in the lab. Every time I picked up a sample, I somehow picked up a lesser version of the same illness. I followed lab protocols, I double gloved, wore a splatter shield with a breathing mask and eye protection. My coveralls were always new and my apron was the heaviest gauge I could lift. But somehow, every time, I got sick. As if proximity was enough. Considering very few of the pathogens I worked with were even communicable, at least over the air, it was an impossible thing. No one else in my lab became ill.
I am probably the worst hypochondriac in the world.
…And I was quickly coming to the conclusion that working in the CDC was probably a death sentence. Psychosomatic illness with lesions and symptoms is a real feat! I should be in a record book somewhere. Study measles, I get a strain of something that looks like measles. Study pox, I get something that looks like pox. You get the idea.
So why am I writing this down? Why am I documenting the odd conditions that I find myself in? Well the next sample that I am assigned to study is a very strange one indeed. I have been reading the encounter team notes, and to say the least, this one is odd. It is a virus from Brazil, communicated into the village by one of their hunting parties. They were unsure of where they contracted the virus on their foray into the jungle, but they had come back with a particularly nasty little friend. It wasn’t deadly to most, but ended up culling about 10% of the population in the village, usually the eldest. It is labelled N54-220, and it exhibited very powerful flu like symptoms in most cases, including vomiting, diarrhea, fever, chills, muscle spasms, seizures, and occasional memory loss. What is interesting about N54-220 is the fact that it didn’t just cull 10% of the weaker, older people, it improved another completely distinct sample, roughly 5% of the village.
For example, out of 100 people, 10 died, and 5 became healthier. Not just more healthy… they appeared to be younger, faster, stronger. One 35 year old man, Patient S, was able to pull entire trees out of the ground. Not just small little saplings, but full size mature trees. He was able to jump over rivers that required bridges, he was able to lift boulders that five men would struggle to roll. A superman. A very short, very powerful, tanned tribesman in the middle of the rainforest. Weird, right?
I wanted to start this log of my personal activities as I studied N54-220. For the world’s worst hypochondriac disease researcher in the CDC, what were my chances of picking this sample up and having it affect me?
Hypothesis: I will study N54-220 and I will experience flu like symptoms which will result in death, normalcy, or… superman. Or, nothing will happen, because I am a damn hypochondriac and will be following infectious disease protocols.
Day 1. I am sitting at my bench, using my headset with the audio recorder on my phone, under all my gear. I have the sample in the hotbox, vialed up in a suspension isolate. Today, I move the samples to dishes for growth and propagation study. I have my transfer syringes, moving the samples to the dishes and the sequencing kit. So far, no affects noted. No breach in protocols, with a clean transfer.
Day 2. I woke up feeling ill. My back hurt and I was achy. I came into the lab to review the results at my computer station. I will stay out of the hot lab today. Not taking chances. Paperwork today, if I feel better tomorrow, I will suit up.
Day 3. Definitely sick. Called in. Again. I am going to get fired for the rate I burn up sick time. Getting fired from a government job takes some real commitment. Ha.
Day 3, entry 2. Woke up from nap with seizure. Pissed all over my bed and floor. Spent 20 minutes cleaning it all up and then took a shower. Feel worse.
Day 3, entry 3. The diarrhea and vomiting started. Cleaning out GI tract seems to be prime directive of illness.
Day 5. Have not been able to move until today. Crawled out of bed, into shower, drank my body weight in water, crawled back to bed. Try to enter log tomorrow.
Day 6. Woke up feeling much better. Fever must have broke last night. But that is not the interesting thing. I had a dream about my hypochondria. In my dream, I floated up out of myself, and was able to inspect my own fevered body with cold precision. I analyzed my body, clinically documenting my condition in an abstract way, like one talks about the weather or the condition of a worn deck. I looked down into my cells and noted that I was a mutant of sorts, able to infer biological conditions from my environment as a survival mechanism. My immunological response was to emulate the biological contaminant before it made me a host. I had the world’s first proactive immune system. I wondered at it, watching my immune system build strange proteins and RNA strands, and letting the results run rampant, only to be trounced by the very system that deployed them. What a strange dream! It felt real. I feel so good I should be able to return to work tomorrow.
Day 7. I returned to work, feeling healthy and happy, and found my samples sequenced with the reports awaiting my review. I dove in. The pathogen N54-220 was a virus payload, related to the influenza virus strain that came out of China this year. It shared a significant amount of payload material, but I could not determine anything outstanding from the results that would explain the observed behavior in the wild. In a moment of playfulness, remembering my dream from yesterday, I grabbed the edge of the worktable I was at and twisted my hand up to see what would happen. I bent the table. Twisted the metal lip almost a full 45 degrees. It felt like a twisting a twist tie on a bag of bread. I pushed it back, giddy.
Day 7, entry 2. I went to the gym today. I have never been to a gym in my life, so I tried the Y. All the free weights scared me a bit, so I headed to the machines. Bench press was first. I put the stack at 100lbs and pushed it up without any effort. I bumped the weight by 50 lbs and tried again. No effort. I bumped the weight another 50lbs, tried again. Same result. I maxed out the machine at 220 lbs and did not even struggle. I moved to the free weights, asked a couple larger guys for some tips and how to measure the weights. They looked at my razor thin frame, all 150lbs of it, pasty white skin, and smiled at the “nerd” while they explained it all. One guy laughed when I loaded the bench bar with four 45lb plates on each side. Then they shut up when I busted out 10 repetitions. I was too conspicuous. I won’t go back. I need to study this away from curious eyes.
Day 8. Work went well today. I studied three new arrivals without much fear or worry. I don’t know why. I feel… different.
Day 9. I went out for a run today. I have never ran a mile in my life. In high school, I always had a doctor’s note. Today I ran at least 20 miles. I did it in a single hour. That clocks out to a 3 minute mile. I felt like I could run faster… when I was done, I was sweating, but not uncomfortable or feeling ill. I think I laughed all the way home.
Day 10. All my symptoms and illnesses are gone. My skin is clear, the lesions are completely healed. My muscle mass appears to be unchanged, although my body weight has increased by forty pounds. I feel as if I look the same in the mirror.
Day 15. I spent the last week testing my limits. I do have them, but they are hard to reach. I think I need to go to Brazil. The desire came on me suddenly today. I feel a compulsion to meet the others. To… talk to them. I don’t know why. I filed a field request with my supervisor, but I am leaving regardless. My flight heads out in three days. I am packing everything I need and donating the rest. I feel like I am not coming back.
Day 18. This is my last entry in America. Brazil or bust!
Day 20. I rode the bus to the final point I could from the airport. I hired a guide in the local village, Tom. (If his name is actually Tom, I would be surprised.) But he speaks English and knows where I want to head. My CDC badge has gotten to the right places so far, I am trusting Tom to take me the rest of the way on foot. He estimates about a day and a half to the village I am looking for. We are starting our hike early tomorrow morning into the rainforest.
Day 22. We walked all the way alright. I arrived feeling fit and healthy. Tom was amazed that I handled the hike so readily. I waved it off. Waiting on the path, about five minutes from the village, we met Caua. I felt as if I knew him. Tom helped translate with Caua… he knew I was close, he could feel another “Sobre” close by. I could not get a translation from Tom of what Sobre meant. In Spanish, it was a preposition meaning ‘upon’. I did not press it with Caua. There are seven Sobre in the village and I was to join them. Caua sent Tom back home and took me under his care.
Day 23. Tomorrow Caua and the other Sobre are going to take me into the bush. We all feel the pull. The jungle calls us. We yearn to go. The Sobre will not be coming back, they are giving their belongings to others in the Village. I hear it now… the song. It pulls on me, caresses me. It sings a call to action, a call home. It is getting stronger, every moment. The jungle calls us. The jungle… is asking us to be something more. And I am the key. I am the key to saving everything.
This will be my last entry. I don’t know why… but the sense of immense purpose makes me calm. I am not worried about what the future holds, because I will be making it. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?
Maybe.