August 15, 1793
We are still trying to figure out what it was that this man contracted. What we are calling it at the time being is the Yellow Plague, because his skin and eyes are all yellow, and he has the common symptoms of a plague. Cold and heat sweats, fever, blotchy skin, random scabbing. It all adds up to plague, but not like one we've ever seen.
We're still trying to get information from the patient, but he can hardly remember how to even breath at the moment; much less can he remember his own name.
I came out of my office, and went into the man's bedroom. The nurses were taking good care of him so far. Keeping him calm, and keeping up with his vital signs well. I smiled at Sue as she walked by. "How is he doing?" I asked her quietly.
She nodded. "Well, he is actually doing better than we expected. He seems a lot more comfortable around women, though. So I'd watch out if I were you, doc."
I patters her shoulder gently and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Thanks, Sue."
"Any day, doc. Now, I need to go check up on Miss Gen. She just woke from her nap."
I nodded, and let go of her shoulder, and continued on my way to see the patient.
He was sleeping, and sweating heavily. In his sleep he began scratching at his clothes, and started thrashing. At first it only began as what looked like he was trying to kick off the blanket, but it turned wild. He pulled at his wrist and ankle restraints; we had to keep then on him while he slept because he did these such things.
I quickly maneuvered my way over to him, and put my hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him. I shushed him quietly as he began to pant heavily, but stop fighting.
I took my hands off of him, and backed up a bit. Suddenly, his eyes shot open, and he bolted upright. He looked around wildly, and struggled with every wheezing breath he took.
He then looked up at me slowly, and then to his wrists, which were being unchained by two nurses that happened to be there.
He looked up at me one last time, the wild look still in his eyes, but turning more into worry. "Doctor... What's wrong with me?"
YOU ARE READING
As The Yellow Storm Approaches
Historical Fiction"August 18, 1793, This heat is killing me. But I am so cold. My body shivers as if I had just run out in the snow barefoot, but I sweat as if I just ran with a herd of wild horses. My hands were shakey as I lifted them up to inspect them. My skin lo...
