Abingdon Press
Featuring: Dr. Rip Pearson; Dr. Jack Ingersoll; Dr. Sara Miles
288 pages ISBN: 1426735448 EAN: 9781426735448 Kindle: B01ES91QRY Paperback / e-Book Add to Wish List
Dr. Sara Miles knows that the only shred of hope for her
teenaged patient is an experimental drug that has not been
approved by the FDA. The young girl's mother is eager to
try it because nothing else has worked. Chelsea Ferguson
has Staph Luciferus, otherwise known as "The Killer." No
antibiotic has proven effective against this bacterium.
Dr. Jack Ingersoll heads up the research project for
EgAm848, the experimental drug that so far has proven 100%
effective against Staph Luciferus. He isn't involved with
the actual day-to-day administering and monitoring
activities; that he leaves to his assistant, Dr. Roswell
Irving Pearson (Rip). Jack is constantly meeting with the
pharmaceutical company or busy speaking about this miracle
drug, so he isn't really seeing what is happening with his
patients.
Jack is also getting pressure from the pharmaceutical
company to "doctor" the data, speed up the experimentation
and get this product on the market before another company
beats them to it. When patients start having late side
effects, he turns his head and declares that they are just
a coincidence. But Rip thinks otherwise. He and Sara join
forces, along with a couple of other doctors, and try to
figure out just what this miracle drug is made of and why
it is attacking the autoimmune systems of patients weeks
and months after it has been administered.
In the process, Sara and Rip encounter "accidents" that
apparently occur in order to stop their searching for a
reason for the late effects. Other subversive espionage is
running concurrently with their research and mystery
abounds. Will Sara and Rip find something that will stop
the late effects and save their patients?
Dr. Richard Mabry uses his vast knowledge and years
of experience in the medical profession to bring us another
thriller in this fourth book in his Prescription for
Trouble series. This story has so many characters you
almost need a score card to keep up. It is fast-paced and
will absolutely hold you spellbound. Yet Dr. Mabry weaves
in an important inspirational message that God is in
control, you just need to hang on, and he gives us a bit of
romance on the side. Don't miss this one!
What happens when the race to stop a lethal bacteria becomes
a race to stop a killer?
Dr. Sara Miles’s teenage patient is on the brink of death
from an overwhelming, highly resistant infection with Staph
luciferus, known to doctors as “the killer.” Only an
experimental antibiotic, developed and administered by
Sara’s ex-husband, Dr. Jack Ingersoll, can save the girl's
life.
Seeking to put his life back together after the death of his
wife, Dr. John Ramseyjoins the medical center faculty staff.
But his decision to do so could prove to be costly and even
fatal.
Potentially lethal late effects from the experimental drug
send Sara and her colleague, Dr. Rip Pearson, on a hunt for
hidden critical data that will let them reverse the changes
before it’s too late. What is the missing puzzle piece? And
who is hiding it?
Excerpt
Lethal Remedy
No one knew the man's name. White male, probably in his late
seventies, found unresponsive in an alley about two o'clock
in the morning and brought to the emergency room. Just
another homeless derelict, another John Doe.
"Pneumonia, late stages," the intern said. He yawned.
"Happens all the time. Drank himself into a stupor, vomited,
aspirated. Probably been lying in that alley for more than a
day. Doesn't look like he'll make it."
"Labs cooking? Got a sputum culture going?"
"Yeah, but it'll take a day or two to get the results of the
culture. The smear looks like Staph. Guess I'll give him—"
"Wait. I've got access to an experimental drug that might
help. Let me start him on that."
The intern shrugged. It was two in the morning. He'd been on
duty for more than twenty-four hours straight—why'd
Johnson's wife have to go into labor today?—and he was
bushed. The bum probably didn't have a snowball's chance of
surviving anyway. Why not? "You'll be responsible?"
"I'll take it from here. Even do the paperwork."
"Deal," the intern said and ambled off to see the next patient.
Three hours later, John Doe lay on a gurney in a corner of
the ER. An IV ran into one arm; a blood pressure cuff
encircled the other. Spittle dripped from his open mouth and
dotted his unshaven chin. His eyes were open and staring.
"Acute anaphylaxis, death within minutes. Interesting." He
scratched his chin. "Guess I need to make some adjustments
in the compound." He picked up the almost-blank chart. "I'll
say I gave him ampicillin and sulbactam. That should cover it."
The woman's look pierced Dr. Sara Miles's heart. "Do you
know what's wrong with Chelsea?"
Chelsea Ferguson lay still and pale as a mannequin in the
hospital bed. An IV carried precious fluids and medications
into a vein in her arm. A plastic tube delivered a constant
supply of oxygen to her nostrils. Above the girl's head,
monitors beeped and flashed. And over it all wafted the
faint antiseptic smell of the ICU.
Chelsea's mother sat quietly at the bedside, but her hands
were never still: arranging and rearranging her daughter's
cover, twisting the hem of her plain brown skirt, shredding a
tissue. Sara decided that the gray strands in Mrs.
Ferguson's long brunette hair were a recent addition, along
with the lines etched in her face.
Sara put her hand on the teenager's head and smoothed the
matted brown curls. The girl's hot flesh underscored the
urgency of the situation. Since Chelsea's admission to
University Hospital three days ago, her fever hadn't
responded to any of the treatments Sara ordered. If
anything, the girl was worse.
"Let's slip out into the hall," Sara said. She tiptoed from
the bedside and waited outside the room while Mrs. Ferguson
kissed her sleeping daughter and shuffled through the door.
Sara pointed. "Let's go into the family room for a minute."
"Will she be—?"
"The nurses will check on her, and they'll call me if
anything changes." Sara led the way into the room and eased
the door closed. This family room resembled so many others
Sara had been in over the years: small, dim, and quiet. Six
wooden chairs with lightly upholstered seats and backs were
arranged along three of the walls. Illumination came from a
lamp in the corner. A Bible, several devotional magazines,
and a box of tissues
stood within reach on a coffee table.
This was a room where families received bad news: the biopsy
was positive, the treatment hadn't worked, the doctors
weren't able to save their loved one. The cloying scent of
flowers in a vase on an end table reminded Sara of a funeral
home, and she shivered as memories came unbidden. She shoved
her emotions aside and gestured Mrs. Ferguson to a seat.
"Would you like something? Water? Coff ee? A soft drink?"
The woman shook her head. "No. Just tell me what's going on
with my daughter. Do you know what's wrong with her? Can you
save her?" Her sob turned into a soft hiccup. "Is she going
to die?"
Sara swallowed hard. "Chelsea has what we call sepsis. You
might have heard it referred to as blood poisoning. It
happens when bacteria get into the body and enter the
bloodstream. In Chelsea's case, this probably began when she
had her wisdom teeth extracted."
I can't believe the dentist didn't put her on a prophylactic
antibiotic before the procedure. Sara brushed those thoughts
aside. That wasn't important now. The important thing was
saving the girl's life. Sara marshaled her thoughts. "We
took samples of Chelsea's blood at the time of her
admission, and while we waited for the results of the blood
cultures I started treatment with a potent mixture of
antibiotics. As you can see, that hasn't helped."
"Why?"
Sara wished the woman wouldn't be so reasonable, so placid.
She wished Mrs. Ferguson would scream and cry. If the roles
were reversed, she'd do just that. "While we wait for the
results of blood cultures, we make a guess at the best
antibiotics to use. Most of the time, our initial guess is
right. This time, it was wrong—badly wrong."
"But now you know what's causing the infection?" It was a
question, not a statement.
"Yes, we know." And it's not good news.
Hope tinged Mrs. Ferguson's voice. "You can fix this, can't
you?"
I wish I could. "The bacteria causing Chelsea's sepsis is
one that . . ." Sara paused and started again. "Have you
heard of Mersa?"
"Mersa? No. What's that?"
"It's actually MRSA, but doctors usually pronounce it that
way. That's sort of a medical shorthand for
methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, a bacteria
that's resistant to most of our common antibiotics."
Mrs. Ferguson frowned. "You said most. Do you have something
that will work?"
"Yes, we do. Matter of fact, when Chelsea was admitted I
started her on two strong antibiotics, a combination that's
generally effective against MRSA. But she hasn't responded,
because this isn't MRSA. It's worse than MRSA." She started
to add "Much worse," but the words died in her throat.
Sara paused and waited for Mrs. Ferguson to ask the next
question. Instead, the woman crumpled the tissue she held
and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, eyes in which hope
seemed to die as Sara watched.
"This is what we call a ‘super-bug,'" Sara continued. "It
used to be rare, but we're seeing more and more infections
with it. Right now, none of the commercially available
antibiotics are effective. These bacteria are resistant to
everything we can throw at them."
Mrs. Ferguson's voice was so quiet Sara almost missed the
words. "What do you call it?"
"It's a long name, and it's not important that you know it."
Matter of fact, we don't use the proper name most of the
time. We just call it "The Killer."
"So that's it?"
"No, there's a doctor doing trials on an experimental drug
that might work for Chelsea." No need to mention that Jack
is . . . No, let it go.
"Can you get some of this? Give it to Chelsea?"
"I can't, but the man who can is an infectious disease
specialist on the faculty here at the medical center.
Actually, he helped develop it. Notice I said
‘experimental,' which means
there may be side eff ects. But if you want me—"
"Do it!" For the first time in days, Sara saw a spark of
life in Mrs. Ferguson's eyes, heard hope in her voice. "Call
him! Now! Please!"
"You realize that this drug isn't fully tested yet. It may
not work. Or the drug may cause problems." There, she'd said
it twice in different words. She'd done her duty.
"I don't care. My little girl is dying. I'll sign the
releases. Anything you need. If this is our only chance,
please, let's take it."
Lord, I hope I haven't made a mistake. "I'll make the call."
"I'm going back to be with my baby," Mrs. Ferguson said. She
stood and squared her shoulders. "While you call, I'll pray."
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