{"id":137,"date":"2022-02-08T17:38:52","date_gmt":"2022-02-08T22:38:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/foxglovesystems.com\/herbheineman\/Stowaway\/?page_id=137"},"modified":"2022-04-07T17:49:06","modified_gmt":"2022-04-07T21:49:06","slug":"twelve","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/herbheineman.com\/Stowaway\/twelve\/","title":{"rendered":"TWELVE"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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A lifetime of trouble. . . . progressive disability. . . . crippling arthritis.<\/em><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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The words buzzed like an angry bee inside Debbie\u2019s head. Doctor Prasad had been quite clear about the urgency of treatment \u2014 wanted to give it on the spot, in fact \u2014 but how good was it?  . . . prevent most of it, . . . relatively low risk. <\/em>Exactly what did most<\/em> and relatively low<\/em> mean? Was she hedging, in case things did go wrong, so she wouldn\u2019t be accused of inspiring false hope? Or was there genuine solace in those words? <\/p>\n

Maybe Con was right: . . . for him it\u2019s a hundred percent<\/em>. She couldn\u2019t think of it any other way.<\/p>\n

Then there was the matter of Doctor Prasad herself. Debbie tried to be respectful of and toward everybody, especially doctors. She had never met an Indian one, though, and the experience took her by surprise. Except for her slight accent, Doctor Prasad had spoken just like other doctors she had known, down to earth and kindly. Being female wasn\u2019t that bad; Debbie\u2019s obstetrician had been a woman. Still, a surgeon \u2014 with saws and hammers, and screws . . .  Debbie didn\u2019t know what to make of it. At least, Chris didn\u2019t mind Doctor Prasad. But he was too young to know about foreigners.<\/p>\n

Debbie was proud of her children. The first had been healthy and had done well if not brilliantly at school and \u2014 thank the Lord \u2014 stayed out of trouble. Maybe he would eventually get into college on a football scholarship.<\/p>\n

Chris was her baby. If that alone wasn\u2019t reason enough to spoil him, how could she avoid it now? His bleeding disorder wasn\u2019t all. She worried about his mental as well as his physical health. She\u2019d have to find a way to rein in her anxiety and still oversee the precautions his disorder required, to make his childhood as normal as she could. To take the over<\/em> out of overprotectiveness. Yes, that catchphrase would be useful; she would measure important decisions against that standard. Then she thought about Con. The signs were clear already: he couldn\u2019t deal with it. Chris hadn\u2019t cared about playing football even before he twisted his knee, but Con had been determined to fit him into the only mold he recognized as a man<\/em>  \u2014 in her mind, a jock. She wondered what was going through Con\u2019s mind as he drove back to Edison. She\u2019d wanted him to come home with them, but he\u2019d made excuses about a couple of other fellows being out. She knew the real reason. He had to get away \u2014 to deal alone with the shattering news. He might also be thinking about some of the things he had said in Doctor Prasad\u2019s office. Debbie wished he weren\u2019t so prejudiced, or at least not so open about it. And why should she, Debbie, be surprised? Hadn\u2019t she expected that the values he learned early from his father would surface under stress? And there was no shortage of stress in the present situation.<\/p>\n

Chris came back into focus. How often would he have to take injections? Who would give them? Was this for life, or would he outgrow it? Did \u201ca lifetime of trouble\u201d mean if his condition was neglected, or even if it was treated? There was no end to the questions. Suddenly she realized she knew next to nothing about hemophilia. And here was Chris, just starting school and about to mingle with boys who were bound to involve him in rough play. She\u2019d never feared that prospect before, but now everything was changed. She hadn\u2019t even asked Doctor Prasad what he was and wasn\u2019t allowed to do. Poor child! She was sure life would never be the same for him. Nor for the rest of the family. The rest of the family!<\/em> Who else had it? And where had it come from? It had come from her, Debbie.<\/em> She was the carrier. Doctor Prasad had said as much.<\/p>\n

And where had she got it?<\/p>\n

\u2756\u2756\u2756\u2756\u2756<\/p>\n

His eyes were on the road, but unrestrainable thoughts strewed the neural pathways within his brain. Somewhere between the retinal image of the stop sign and the reflex application of his brakes communication hit an obstruction. He was almost halfway into the intersection before he heard the screech on his left. Had not the other driver, who had the right of way, been more alert than he, both Con and his car might have been totaled. Behind the other windshield he saw an elderly woman, her complexion ashen.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck you!\u201d he yelled at her, pounding the accelerator. He reached the end of the next block before looking in his rearview mirror, where he saw the other car still stopped, two men standing at the open door. Maybe I gave her a heart attack, he thought, turning the corner. He broke into a cold sweat and his hands began to tremble.<\/p>\n

The near miss forced him to step outside himself, however briefly. It all came down to anger. Anger at the disease hemophilia; anger at Chris for being stuck with it and scotching his father\u2019s ambition for him; anger at the little female Indian doctor for her smug pronouncement; anger at himself for his intemperate remarks and his resistance to having Chris treated. If only Debbie had insisted on following Doctor Prasad\u2019s urgent advice, he could be angry at Debbie too. He was<\/em> angry at her, but for a reason more ominous than her willingness to expose Chris to hepatitis and God-knows-what, not to mention chiding her husband for telling the truth about those fags! That was bad enough, but it would eventually be forgotten. What could not be forgotten was that Debbie had brought the whole thing on them. OK, so she didn\u2019t know she was a carrier. But she was<\/em> a carrier, and that\u2019s why Chris was a hemophiliac. How was Con going to deal with her?<\/em> He couldn\u2019t accuse her outright; reason told him that much. But he knew his feelings would show, one way or another, maybe when he least expected them to. His resentment cried out for a scapegoat, and he could think of no other.<\/p>\n

At least they were lucky in one respect: they had no daughters. Imagine! One generation of girls after another could carry that gene without showing it, and only time would tell whom they\u2019d passed it to: further generations of asymptomatic daughters, or hemophiliac sons. But Chris was a boy, and this much he knew: boys at least were straightforward in their genetics. Honest,<\/em> that\u2019s what boys were; not sneaky, like girls. No stowaway genes among boys. Chris could<\/em> pass it on to his daughters, to be sure, if he ever got a girl pregnant, but at least he wouldn\u2019t hide it. If he had any sense, he wouldn\u2019t get a girl pregnant.<\/p>\n

By the time he got back to Edison he was calmer. Next he had to deal with an important practical question: who would treat Chris over the long haul? He expected, and hoped, that Rick Harmon would recommend a hemophilia specialist.<\/p>\n

Debbie thought Rick was perfectly competent to take care of Chris. After all, he\u2019d been the family doctor for decades. But Con was half expecting that a specialist would know of a cure that Rick was unfamiliar with and offer Chris a way to play football safely. Debbie, unafraid of that possibility, was willing to grant Con his wish. He needed this victory. As it happened, Rick had already decided that a hematologist should be consulted and he referred the Flynns to a man with whom he\u2019d worked many times in the past.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to ask a very competent hematologist to take a look at Chris,\u201d Rick said as parents and child sat in his office. \u201cHis name is O\u2019Leary, and the receptionist will give you his card. I\u2019ll have her write a referral. You may have to wait a few weeks for an appointment, because he\u2019s very much in demand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGreat,\u201d Con said. \u201cOnly the best for my boy! Definitely worth waiting for.\u201d His unspoken source of satisfaction was more specific: O\u2019Leary. At last a real doctor. A real man. An American, probably got his degree in the U.S., or perhaps in Ireland. <\/em>His pleasure showed so clearly in his expression that Debbie was happy to go along without question.<\/p>\n

\u201cActually,\u201d Rick continued as he too saw how pleased Con was with the referral, \u201cO\u2019Leary subspecializes in bleeding disorders, including hemophilia. So he fits your needs exactly.  By the way, did Doctor Prasad order plasma?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rick frowned. He didn\u2019t want Con and Debbie to think Amaya might have overlooked something so important, but he was surprised. Better say nothing, and maybe ask her about it in private sometime.<\/p>\n

On their way out Con was in a better mood than he had been for days. <\/p>\n

\u201cO\u2019Leary,\u201d he said with relish. \u201cI like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Debbie laughed. \u201cI guess it\u2019s nice to be in the hands of a white man, especially an Irishman. I hate to admit my own prejudices, but I really liked Doctor Prasad. She seemed to know what she was about.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me O\u2019Leary any day,\u201d he said. Debbie laughed again and took his arm.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t

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<< ELEVEN<\/a><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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THIRTEEN >><\/a><\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t<\/section>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A lifetime of trouble. . . . progressive disability. . . . crippling arthritis. The words buzzed like an angry bee inside Debbie\u2019s head. Doctor Prasad had been quite clear about the urgency of treatment \u2014 wanted to give it on the spot, in fact \u2014 but how good was it?  . . . prevent […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-137","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nTWELVE - The Stowaway Gene<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/herbheineman.com\/Stowaway\/twelve\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"TWELVE - The Stowaway Gene\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"A lifetime of trouble. . . . progressive disability. . . . crippling arthritis. 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