Whale Sharks (1)
After a long time away, the house felt peaceful. Our old family dog lay quietly under the sofa, though it perked up its ears every time voices drifted in from the family. Noisy bunch. Two cats prowled the living room around the dog—new kittens my parents had brought home, it seemed. One white, one black. On the TV, Jimmy Carter was holding forth. He'd been elected president this year.
I sat still, and the white cat wandering by hopped onto my lap, eyeing me like, Who the hell are you? I turned to my parents.
"We bought a house in Palo Alto this time."
"What? With what money?"
The family stared at me, eyes wide with genuine disbelief. I scratched my head.
"I sold a patent for a new injection method to a pharma company. Syntex paid me $100,000 for it."
"Does that even make sense?"
It did! It was a thought I'd had often since coming to America. If you knew the method, if you had the skills, wasn't anything possible here? I nodded proudly.
"I made it happen."
"Being a doctor is more impressive than I thought. How much are houses in Palo Alto, anyway?"
"$100,000."
Too early to be that shocked. I chuckled to myself. The royalties hadn't even come in yet, and I had more drugs and inventions from the future in mind than I could count.
"Must take after your mom—smart like her."
No blood relation, so probably not the brains. Classic American humor.
"If you folks ever need money, just say the word."
The cat on my lap let out a meow. Our dog, half-asleep, twitched at the sound.
"Might need it someday, but thanks."
My parents were frugal types. I stroked the white cat on my lap. I wonder what its name is.
"What's the cats' names?"
Mom looked at me.
"Oh, the cats. White one's Cookie, black one's Cream."
Backwards, no? I petted it anyway.
"Cute. Where'd you get them?"
"Neighbors gave them to us—too many."
The white cat stretched out its legs. Tomorrow, at dawn, back to the hospital.
Professor Ellison sat in a bar near Stanford Hospital with a few other professors, including Dean Clayton Rich. It was a classy spot, not too noisy—just everyday chatter. The dean spoke first.
"Pulled off a big one this time. That Asian doctor who came in on full scholarship? Word is he's getting the Lasker Award this year."
The professors buzzed immediately.
"Really?"
A resident—not even a PhD—winning the Lasker? Unheard of. Possible? Professor Rich continued like he was telling a ghost story. That Asian doctor.
Professor Ellison poured champagne.
"Hospital got a call. Asked if that resident really did those studies. I said yes, and they said they're giving him the Lasker."
Ellison frowned.
"Strange business."
"McDevitt was bragging about it. Said it could change academia completely. Enzymes that cut genes, apparently."
Rumors spread fast. The medical world wasn't that big. Even if the Lasker Foundation kept secrets, they couldn't stop the whispers and guesses about winners.
The doctors launched into heated discussion. What paper? What research had his name on it for a doctor under thirty to get the Lasker?
"What paper is it?"
Whatever it was, it had to be something that shifted academia massively.
"Lasker Award—jealous."
"Blue-eyed boy... He'll be a better researcher and doctor than most of us here."
Ellison nodded. He'd seen it firsthand. That Asian doctor surpassed others in knowledge, observation, thinking. Maybe even him. Once that resident gained professor-level experience, surpassing Ellison was inevitable. At least, that's what Ellison thought.
Lots of patients to see on the internal medicine ward. I scratched my head. One difference from modern Korea: residents here had real autonomy. No smartphones, maybe the American individualist culture? No computers either. Asking professors for everything would've been a hassle.
Of course, I didn't need to ask anyone.
Responsibility might've been heavier than modern doctors'. In Korea, residents would've asked fellows, fellows professors.
I fiddled with my pen and the paper charts. Let's think. This one's legs are swollen—diuretics. That diabetic needs insulin before surgery. Routine stuff.
"Hm?"
One odd patient. Flipping charts.
-Persistent fever and pain despite adequate antibiotics. 22-year-old female. UTI and pyelonephritis treatment, but charts showed it wasn't working.
Treatment failure! In a twenty-something, no less. Bad sign. Better check her out.
University hospitals like Stanford got cases lower hospitals couldn't handle. Sometimes from other universities. Weird diseases popped up often.
I headed to her ward station. Alice hunched over an internal medicine textbook there. She greeted me right away.
"Hey, long time no see."
"Hi."
I waved.
"You should come to our family cabin this winter. We're going south to see the whale shark migration. Few family and friends coming along."
I scratched my head. Whale sharks out of nowhere? No matter how I thought about it, the Harringtons had to be Dagon cultists. Heard occult worshippers lurked in American high society...
"I'll think about it. Anyway—"
Whatever. Not important. I was here for the weird patient on our ward.
I sat by Alice with the patient's clipboard.
"Got a strange one."
She tilted her head.
"Which? Oh, Sophia. Been thinking about her."
"Yeah."
She pulled out her notebook.
"Let's see. UTI persists despite antibiotics. Checked for stones or structural issues, nonspecific symptoms too."
Really nonspecific? Skeptical take. Hard to believe. What nonspecific? Headache? Cough? Fatigue? "Nonspecific" symptoms often turned specific and serious in context.
"Nonspecific" usually meant the doctor could ignore it. Not wrong sometimes—some didn't help diagnosis or needed no attention.
But treatment failed? Back to basics. Can't hide behind "nonspecific" now.
Alice flipped charts beside me.
"Nonspecific symptoms?"
"Fever, fatigue, back pain since admission. History of gastritis treatments."
See? Not nonspecific. Something wrong for sure. Connection forming in my head. Gastritis, cold-like symptoms, UTI/kidney infection.
Something tickling my memory, but not clear yet. Need more info.
"Anything else come to mind?"
"Looking at charts. Uh... you're right? Family history of kidney stones noted."
Alice sometimes seemed like a weirdo or spoiled rich girl... but serious with patients. Never lazy or unserious.
Family history of stones? Complicates things. Stones more from diet/environment than genes usually.
Not simple oversight by her doctors maybe. Family stones and recurrent gastritis. Assume genetic family history, think where it causes stones... Ah, got it!
"Let's see the patient."
I stood, and Alice grabbed her clipboard, following.