I wish I was out of the frying pan

It is 42 degrees in London. And I don't have air conditioning.

Sorry about my absence. I was at the cottage for the weekend, and although the cottage has internet, I feel that this is a crime and decided not to use it. I am back, reading and writing blogs, and attempting to make comments. But it is so hot that my brain has stopped working. I will soon retire to the air-conditioned refuge of the gym, then the air-conditioned refuge of the grocery store, followed by the air-conditioned refuge of the movie theatre. Scott and I are seeing Toy Story 3 tonight.

I have been writing, and I have currently written 6,751 words in my as yet untitled novel, with plans to write more tonight after the movie, after it has cooled down a little in my apartment.

My first chapter, entitled "Out of the Frying Pan", has turned out to be much different than I thought. And much longer than I thought.  I am still stuck in the middle of it. The significance of the title of the chapter is that my main character, Mark Stanton, is a traveling businessman.  He is currently in Tallahassee, Fla. - which is in the Florida Panhandle. Hopefully he will be leaving soon.

Mark gets a call from the hospital in the middle of the night, telling him he is the emergency contact for a "Jake Cooper" and Jake is in the hospital. Mark has no idea who this is, but goes to the hospital after making sure that he is the right Mark Stanton.

He walked into the hospital looking every bit the professional in his clean, expertly pressed three piece suit and tie.  There was never a time in Mark’s life when he allowed himself to dress casually, not even when he was alone in his hotel room working into the wee hours.  This compulsion stemmed from a high school teacher who had told Mark it was always better to be overdressed than underdressed.  Mark had taken this very seriously. He searched the room briefly, glancing at the faces in the room, mostly sullen and tired.  After a moment, he noticed there a nurse walking towards him.

                “Mr. Stanton?” she asked meekly, when she was standing right in front of him.  He immediately recognized her voice from the phone.  Mark nodded quickly.  Her brow was damp with nervous sweat, and she was pale with two dark patches under her eyes and a bright red colour high in her cheeks.  It was clear that she was terrified.

                “Come with me, please,” she said as she started walking. “How much do you know already?”

                “Nothing at all,” he replied honestly.

                “I am going to take you to get into full protective equipment.  This is standard procedure for cases like this.  That is to say, unknown potentially infectious diseases, and I will let Dr. Mellanby inform you of all the details.  I wish that I could, but I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she said, and uttered a nervous, high-pitched titter of laughter. Mark nodded, suddenly terrified as well.  But never showing it on his face.

                Once he was showered, suited up and gloved, the nurse walked him to the room.  Mark could not help but notice the “Unknown Infectious Disease – Do Not Enter Unless Wearing Proper Protective Gear” sign, blood red with white writing, stuck to the door. He took a quiet deep breath and crossed the threshold.

                No amount of careful, calculated self-control could have prepared Mark for what was waiting for him on the other side of the door to room 19 of Tallahassee Memorial Hospital.  Although twenty years and 1,600 kilometers separated the time and place he had last seen him, and although Jake’s face – and most of his body , for that matter - was mostly consumed by red, swollen, angry pustules that looked about to burst, Mark recognized Jake immediately. And the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. There was  flurry of attention surrounding Jake, applying creams to the boils and blisters, making sure his airway was secure, and fiddling with all kinds of IV lines and bags. This attention was abruptly shifted to Mark as he started to teeter, his world blackening slowly, his knees weakening quickly.  He felt a firm, safe chair hit him behind the knees, and he fell softly into it.

That's all for now! Until next time, faithful readers.