Short: "Flu-like illness"

When an old high-school friend mentioned, on Facebook, that he and his wife were stuck in Emergency Room limbo, I offered to write a short story to distract them. No one can sleep in ER's, as I well know, and, despite having already been there for 6 hours, there was no end in sight to their stay. This short story, more of a snippet really, popped into my head and demanded to be told.

Readers of "Dremiks" will recognize Doctors Fortunas and Ruger.  The child mentioned here is their adopted daughter: Virginia Dare Hill.

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"Flu-like Illness"

“It is biologically impossible for you to have influenza.”

Dr. Ben Fortunas, stretched out prone on the metal examining table, rolled his head to the side. “I said influenza-like.”

“Far be it for me to criticize the all-knowing biologist, but even an “influenza-like” infection is biologically unlikely.” Dr. Ruger pulled on a pair of examination gloves before approaching her patient.

“But not impossible.”  He sniffed.  “Irritants to the mucosae abound on this infernal planet, so I can readily dismiss the proverbial runny nose. You will note, however, that my core temperature has risen several degrees in the past twenty four hours. Rheumatoid swelling would account for my aching joints and eye-strain induced headache.”

“Yes, but so would advancing age.”  The petite female doctor laughed as the old man on her table glared in outrage.  “Be still.  Let’s check your vitals.”  She made small sounds of assent as the readouts from Fortunas’s bio-chip scrolled on her tablet.  After reviewing the data, she began her physical examination.  She moved his knees and elbows, checked his reflexes, and examined his eyes.  By the time she inserted a swab a considerable distance up the senior science officer’s nose, he’d exhausted his patience.

“Damn it woman, there are less invasive ways of taking a sample!”

“Stop being such a baby.”  She dropped the swab into the processor.  Her tiny foot tapped a steady beat as she waited for the results.  “Don’t forget to bring home the apples for dinner,” she commented in a distracted tone of voice.

“I’m putting you and that pernicious parasite on a reduced apple regimen.  You’ll exhaust my stores, again.”

“That’s no way to refer to our daughter.”

“Which nomenclature do you dispute, her parasitic status or the increasingly pernicious aspect of said parasitism?”

“Both.”

“Medical doctors,” he snorted.  “So blithely imprecise.”

“Ha!”

“Eh?”

“You do not have a flu-like viral infection.”

“Obviously, since my body has been inoculated to prevent viral receptivity. Wait,” his bushy white eyebrows inched towards his even bushier hairline.  “Why do you sound so giddy?  What do I have?”

“A parasitic infection of uniquely Dremikian origin.  It appears to be a type of dust mite.”  She jabbed an auto-syringe at his arm, not gently.  “The infection should be resolved in twenty four hours.”

He pulled himself upright with a groan.  “Thank you, I think.”

“You’re welcome.  I’ll see you at home.”

He leaned over to kiss her on his way out the door of the medical hut, but she shied away.

“Eww, get away.” She shooed him with her hands. “I don’t want your flu!”