Mystery Flu

It’s Friday and you are driving home. You turn on your radio. You hear about a small village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. Three or four people are dead and they’re sending some doctors over there to investigate it. You don’t think much about it, but on Sunday you hear on the TV news that it’s not three villagers, it’s 30,000 villagers and people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it’s the lead story. For it’s not just India; it’s Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you’re hearing this story everywhere and they are now calling it “the mystery flu” The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, how are we going to contain it? That’s when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from any of the countries where this thing has been seen will be allowed in. Then that night on the news you hear that there’s a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. It has come to Europe.

Panic strikes. As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week before you know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. And then you die. Britain closes its borders, but it’s too late. It’s Tuesday morning when the President of the United States announces, “Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I’m sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing.”

Within four days our nation has been plunged into unbelievable fear. It’s Wednesday night when the announcement is made: “Two women are lying in a New York hospital dying from the mystery flu.” Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It’s as though it’s just sweeping in from the borders.

And then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It’s going to take the blood of somebody who hasn’t been infected, and so through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals.

When you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and there are nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it. Your wife and your kids are out there, and they take your blood type and say, “Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home.” You stand around, scared, with your neighbors, wondering if this is the end of the world. Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He’s yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, “Daddy, that’s me.”

Before you know it, they have grabbed your little boy. Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another – some are even laughing. It’s the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, “Thank you, sir. Your son’s blood type is perfect. It’s clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine.”

As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and you wife aside and says, “May we see you for a moment? We didn’t realize that the donor would be a minor and we need…we need you to sign a consent form.”
You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. “How many pints?” you ask. And that is when the old doctor’s smile fades and he says, “We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren’t prepared. We need it all. We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We-we need it all!”

But can’t you give him a transfusion?” you question. “If we had clean blood we would,” he responds. “Can you sign? Would you sign?” In numb silence, you do. Then they say, “Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?”

Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, “Daddy? What’s going on?” And when that old doctor comes back in and says, “I’m sorry, we’ve got to get started. People all over the world are dying.” Can you leave? Can you walk out while he is saying, “Daddy? Daddy? Don’t leave me!”

And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don’t even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you want to jump up and say, “MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON’T YOU CARE?”

Is that what GOD wants to say to us today?

1 Comment on Mystery Flu

  1. Mimi Dedrick // June 25, 2013 at 3:49 am // Reply

    Great story!  This is definitely food for thought.  Thanks so much for sharing.

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