by J. R. McLeay
The Cicada Prophecy
A Medical Thriller
J. R. McLeay
Contents
Other Books by J. R. McLeay:
A New World Order
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
The Butterfly Effect
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
The Missing Link
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Other Books by J. R. McLeay:
About the Author
My Author Journey
Acknowledgments
The Cicada Prophecy © 2014 J.R. McLeay
Cover Design © 2016 Damonza
All Rights Reserved
Other Books by J. R. McLeay:
No One is Safe Outside…
To Tricia, who keeps me young
Part I
A New World Order
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
1
The Chief of Neurosurgery at Mount Sinai Medical Center hesitated with his microdissector poised to slice off the child’s pituitary.
Here it proudly stood, the so-called master gland, the one organ in the human body that charted the destiny of its host. The surgeon was about to remove it in an unnatural act that would forever change the course of this boy’s future.
How ironic, he thought, that nature—or God—would place it here. So easily accessible to artificial manipulation and so perfectly separated from the rest of the brain’s critical structures.
It seemed almost too easy to remove the body’s definitive organ for regulating growth and aging. Only to replace it with synthetic hormones designed to mimic these natural effects. He didn’t even have to slice open the protective casing of the cranium. The gland could be easily reached through the nostrils via the natural portal of the sinus cavity, which led directly to the base of the brain.
Funny how only the human mind could figure out how to reconfigure the human brain.
He could see it clearly now, illuminated by the endoscope’s bright flashlight. A tiny pink appendage, no bigger than a pea, connected by a thin stalk to the brain’s central processor, the hypothalamus. Shining in the open cavern of the patient’s nasal sella like a ripe apple waiting to be plucked.
“Richard?” The attending anesthesiologist interrupted the surgeon’s thoughts.
“I’m sure you’re marveling at the wondrous nature of the human nervous system and your almighty role in its ongoing evolution. But I think there’s a patient here who'd like you to stop playing God for a moment and resume your responsibility as a surgeon.”
There were few people who could talk so candidly to the brilliant and celebrated Dr. Richard Ross. Harvard-educated, Professor Emeritus at NYU School of Medicine, and Surgeon-General of the United Nations—Dr. Ross's credentials were beyond peer. But Dr. George ‘Mac’ McAllister, Chief Anesthesiologist at Mt. Sinai, had been through many of these life-altering hypophysectomy operations with the neurosurgeon. He’d earned Dr. Ross’s respect and friendship.
“I’m just making sure we remove the right part of this lad’s brain,” Rick joked, without looking up. “I have a feeling he might want to keep the important parts.”
“Uh huh,” Mac replied, “as if you’re the slightest bit uncertain at this particular moment.”
The anesthesiologist had a point. Magnetic resonance imaging equipment surrounding the patient’s head provided three hundred and sixty degree visibility of the entire lower brain cavity. The delicate depression known as Turk’s Saddle, which housed the pituitary gland, was clearly visible on a bank of monitors mere inches from Rick’s keenly scanning eyes. And the tiny flexible penlight snaked carefully up the boy’s left nostril into the sphenoidal sinus gave an unmistakable close-up view of the organ in question.
“Mac,” Rick teased, “I know you’ve always fantasized about wielding this kind of power. You’re just ticked about having the lowly job of sedating the patient.”
Rick chose his words deliberately, knowing Mac would bristle at the suggestion he was merely sedating the patient. They both knew the business of administering general anesthesia was far more complicated than that. It was critically important for the surgeon to ensure utter relaxation and stillness of the patient during the operation. One millimeter of movement at the wrong time would almost certainly mean instant death.
But he also knew his anesthesiologist was smart enough to know when the neurosurgeon was messing with him.
Mac peered across the operating table with mock indignation. “You know you couldn’t perform this operation without me—I’m one of the main reasons for your perfect record.”
It was largely true, Rick had to admit. Administering the general anesthetic was one of the riskier elements of the hypophysectomy procedure. It rendered the patient not only unconscious, but also temporarily incapable of breathing on his own. If the patient were deprived of oxygen for as little as a few minutes, he could experience irreparable brain damage or cardiac arrest. A breathing tube had to be inserted into the trachea to ensure the lungs and blood supply were sufficiently oxygenated, and the anesthetic team had to closely monitor that his vital signs remained stable at all times.
Other surgeons had experienced serious complications from similar procedures, but these two worked seamlessly together and had never lost a patient.
“Are you two going gab all day, or were you actually thinking of finishing this job?” interjected Nurse Benson, who was all business in the operating theater. “I swear—I should report you two someday.”
“For what?” asked Mac. “Wittiest banter in the operating room?”
“Or sexiest duo in scrubs?” Rick added.
“Hey, don’t use ‘sex’ and the two of us in the same sentence, pal.”
“I was talking about the lovely head nurse and me, you fool.”
Nurse Benson rolled her eyes. “Just get on with it, will you?”
Rick knew she was right, and he had no intention of dragging this procedure out. After all, a child’s life lay in his hands, and this was deadly serious work. The operating room humor just helped to ease tensions and make the surger
y less stressful for everyone involved.
Rick focused the endoscope’s light and slowly steadied the laser cutting instrument at the anterior end of the infundibular stalk. The incision needed to be far enough from the hypothalamus to minimize trauma from the separation of the pituitary and also far enough from the pituitary to prevent any spontaneous regrowth. He knew the human body had a remarkable healing capacity and the ability to regenerate severed or damaged body parts. There could be no doubt about the finality of this particular separation of parts. An undetected regrowth of the pituitary gland at any time in the future could have grave and unexpected results for this juvenile.
With all attending medical personnel prepared for the next step, Rick nevertheless always had to ask.
“Everyone ready?”
“That’s what we’re here for,” said Dr. Scott, the assistant neurosurgeon.
Rick fired a short and tightly focused beam of concentrated laser light and cleanly severed the pituitary from its connecting stalk. Milliseconds later, a clamp applied by Dr. Scott constricted the flow of blood from the severed stem. Rick ejected a small drop of surgical fibrin glue onto its end to seal the wound.
Grasping the tiny gland in a claw at the tip of his operating instrument, Rick slowly and very carefully began to withdraw the equipment from the child’s upper sinuses. The exit from, and the entrance into, Turk’s Saddle was the most dangerous part of the procedure. He wasn’t about to risk jeopardizing another perfect operation now.
Virtually all the operating equipment was computer controlled and guided by ultra-sensitive joysticks. But Rick knew every patient’s physical configuration was slightly different. It still needed his expert guidance and interpretation of the intricate pathways into and around the cerebral cortex. Watching intently through the endoscopic lens, he retracted the razor-sharp equipment mere millimeters from the internal carotid artery and optic nerves.
Three hours later in the recovery room, Rick went to see his patient as he slowly awoke from a deep slumber.
This was often the most terrifying part of the operation for every child. Waking up to see if your mind and body will be the same after having a major part of your brain removed could be a little unnerving for an eleven-year-old.
Rick should know—he’d been through it himself, like everyone else. Though the passage of over fifty years had blurred his memories somewhat.
“How’s our youngster doing, Jane?” Rick asked, upon seeing the post-op nurse attending to his patient.
Jane smiled when she saw the handsome doctor stride into the recovery room.
“All his vital signs are normal, Dr. Ross, and he’s sleeping peacefully. Would you like me to wake him for you?”
“Even though I’m sure you’d be a welcome sight for sore eyes,” Rick said, “I’d prefer he sees a familiar face when he comes to. I’d like a couple of minutes alone with him if I may.”
The young nurse left the room reluctantly. She admired Dr. Ross, and would have liked to stay as he worked his bedside magic. He had many pretty admirers among the hospital staff.
Dr. Ross placed his hand gently on his patient’s forehead. The child stirred slowly, and raised his heavy eyelids.
“Good morning Jason—how’s my courageous patient?”
“Uh… a little dizzy, Dr. Ross,” Jason mumbled, his head still spinning from the lingering effects of the anesthesia.
“You’re still a bit sedated while you recover from the operation,” Rick nodded assuredly. “It’ll go away soon.”
“Did you get the little bug?” asked Jason.
Rick smiled. That was their code word for the tiny pod in his brain that would someday make him very sick. Except this bug was a little more insidious than most germs or infections that attacked the body’s natural defenses. This one had a universal and destructive intent: to activate the internal clock that would slowly wear down and wear out every living cell in his youthful body.
“Yes, we got the little sucker, and it’s not going to do you harm any more. But I want you to rest now and let your body regain its strength. In a little while, a very pretty doctor is going to come see you and give you some medication to replace some of the important energy you’ve lost.”
As he stood to leave, Rick took the young patient’s hand in his own.
“You’re going to be just fine, young man. Now that we’ve got that nasty little devil out of your system, you’re going to live a very, very long time.”
As he gently shook the youngster’s hand upon parting, there was more than just the usual professional confidence in his gesture. As the young child glanced at Dr. Ross one last time before they separated, he could clearly see the much older doctor’s hands looked exactly like his. They were the same size, and just as youthful, as his own.
2
Mt. Sinai’s newly appointed Chief Endocrinologist, Dr. Jennifer Austin, rested coyly against the open doorframe.
“Pretty, hmm—I had no idea you thought of me that way, Dr. Ross,” Jennifer remarked.
Rick hadn’t noticed the other doctor standing outside the entrance to his patient’s room.
“Well…” he stammered, searching for words that wouldn’t betray his quickening pulse. “I was thinking more from the point of view of our impressionable young patient.”
Jennifer eyed the neurosurgeon suspiciously. Having recently transferred from Johns Hopkins Hospital, she'd only briefly met Rick in passing, even though their respective functions would require them to work together very closely. Jennifer had of course heard about the legendary Dr. Ross before coming to Mt. Sinai. He was not only the grandson of the scientist who originally broke the code to extended longevity, but also distinguished in his own right for co-developing the current protocols for pituitary/endocrine treatment in connection with the World Health Organization.
Rick was more than twenty years her senior, and roughly her same size. But she could see his excellent bone structure, as evidenced by his relatively broad shoulders and round hip muscles shaping his hospital coat. To top it off, he had a thick shock of wavy blond hair and pale blue eyes.
Very nice, Jennifer thought. With that combination of assets, no wonder he has so many admirers.
“Well then, I suppose I’ll just have to be happy making impressions on eleven-year-olds,” she replied.
Jennifer knew the irony of these words would not be lost on Dr. Ross. Both of them, like everyone else, by virtue of having had their own pituitary glands removed at the same age as their mutual patient, had similarly arrested their physical development at an early stage. Although different people had different levels of intellectual and emotional development depending upon their chronological age, for all intents and purposes, they all looked the same age: eleven.
It was Jennifer’s job as endocrinologist to see that patients received the correct balance of replacement hormones no longer supplied by the extracted pituitary. This was a delicate and precarious balance. Too much of one kind could tip the body into puberty and trigger the long and slow cellular decline referred to in medical circles as senescence, leading to eventual organ failure and death. An imbalance of another kind could lead to any number of complications, from edema to hyperpigmentation to acromegaly—a condition characterized by oversized hands and feet and grotesque facial features that made the victim look like a Neanderthal.
Maintaining just the right balance of the various types of externally supplied hormones was critically important in not only suppressing the harmful effects of senescence, but also in keeping all the systems in check so everyone felt healthy. It was no easy task replacing what nature endowed, for billions of years of natural evolution had already crafted the perfectly balanced human design.
For his part, Rick had been looking forward to working more closely with Jennifer since their brief introduction earlier in the week. He’d reviewed her credentials prior to her appointment and she had come very highly recommended by a mutual colleague in Baltimore. She had graduated first in he
r class at Johns Hopkins Medical School followed by a distinguished residency at the affiliated hospital. He himself had made the final approval, together with the hospital’s Chief of Staff, for her position at Mt. Sinai.
The fact that she turned out to be stunning was a bonus. She had perfect alabaster skin, brown doe eyes, and a gorgeous shade of naturally highlighted auburn hair, pulled back neatly in a bun behind her head.
Rick struggled to remain composed. “Speaking of our young patient, have you kept apprised of his status?”
“I observed the operation from the upper gallery. You have quite a way with words, Dr. Ross, not to mention with those expert hands.”
Rick flushed, as he recalled his comments about Nurse Benson earlier in the operating room. He’d been so focused on the delicate task before him, he hadn’t noticed who was watching from observation deck.
“Just trying to ease the tension in the operating room, Dr. Austin.”
“I can imagine,” smiled Jennifer. “And were you doing the same with that attractive nurse a few minutes ago?”
Damn, thought Rick, this new endocrinologist has got me in her crosshairs.
“Of course—I try to be amicable with everyone on my team.”
“I’ll bet. You must have quite a following.”
“Normally, I try to precede my reputation whenever possible. I suppose it didn’t work quite so well in this instance?”
“Never fear, Dr. Ross, your reputation is undiminished in my eyes.” Jennifer was having fun with her obviously flustered colleague.
“Well in that case, please call me Rick.”
“All right, Rick. And I’m officially Jennifer.” Jennifer extended her hand, and the two shook firmly.
“I’m actually pleased we crossed paths today, Jennifer,” Rick said, beginning to regain his composure. “There was another matter I wanted to discuss with you, besides Jason. Are you familiar with Eva Bronwen’s case?”