Eric Flint: TITLE: Grantville Gazette.Volume XVIII

Stopping by Mrs. Selluci's desk, she rooted through the pile of graded homework until she found hers. She scooped it up and deposited her ungraded work on top of the other pile. Ninety-one percent she noted, wondering what she missed.

"Allie, honey, go on in and have a seat." Allie smiled nervously at the nurse and followed her into the cramped office. She shivered as she entered the room.

There were three other people in the room besides her parents. One was Doctor Adams, her family physician. The second was his nurse, Sheila Baldwin. But she didn't recognize the elderly gentleman who sat in the far corner looking at her with what appeared to be great interest.

Their faces were frozen in a look of dread. She could tell her mother had been crying. Her father sat looking glum with his arm around Momma.

"Uh…" Allie looked around the room for a place to sit. Doctor Adams indicated a small folding chair. She took a seat and folded her hands primly into her lap.

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Finally, Doctor Adams cleared his throat and began to talk. "Allie, we've done some tests. I've discussed the results with your parents." He paused. Allie looked at him and then around the room. All eyes were on her.

Momma stood. "Allie, honey… angel… you have diabetes." She began sobbing.

"But I'm only seventeen!" Allie understood the implication. She planned on being a nurse after high school. She was just months from graduating and her birthday was soon after. She didn't think this was fair. There was only one fate for a diabetic in the seventeenth century. "I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Her father stood up and started to speak. The nurse interrupted. "Maybe not, Allie. But it doesn't look good. At your age it's likely to be type I, insulin dependant. Before the Ring of Fire, it would have been more treatable. But we don't have the technology anymore. Some insulin is available again, but it's still experimental."

Momma jumped at that. "What? I didn't know that. It could save her life." She turned toward the doctor. "Doctor Adams, you've got to do something. You can't just let her die."

"Hold on, Bobby Jean. Sheila only gave you half the story. I'll get to the other half in a minute. But I warn you: It could be dangerous."

"But she'll certainly die without it, right?" Her father spoke for the first time. There was an edge of anger in his voice.

"Hold your horses, Ernest. I said there was another half. And that half is Zijbert." Doctor Adams indicated the man wearing a white lab coat and holding a cane. He had snow white hair and wore a white goatee and mustaches. The man stood. "This is Doctor Zijbert van Trumpe. He's the closest thing Thuringia has to an endocrinologist."

The man looked Allie directly in the eye and gave a slight nod. "How do you do, Miss Haggerty?" His English held a slight Dutch accent.

Allie thought he looked like Colonel Sanders. The thought made her smile in spite of it all. "I'm pleased to meet you, Doctor."

He smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. "Doctor Adams flatters me. I am more of an herbalist really, but I can treat your illness. Let us begin. This new insulin may save your life. You are a minor, but with your parents' consent, we can begin your treatment. I concur with Doctor Adams' diagnosis. Are you willing to undergo insulin therapy?"

Allie's answer was terse. "Rather than die? Of course."

"A year ago," van Trumpe began, "it would have been impossible to treat you. There are several things you can do about type two diabetes, but without insulin, hope for the type ones is slim.

"The insulin we are using is still experimental, as Doctor Adams indicated. Each batch is a different strength, so you have to undergo tests which allow the technicians to dilute it to a given strength. This insulin is weaker than up-time U100 or U500. It is about U10. The lower strength means we can use the larger syringes that are being manufactured now. I have set up a small clinic in the Three M complex. The insulin labs are there too. Your dosing schedule will be really complex and, for a while at least, we will administer your shots from my clinic. If you will come to my office on Monday, we can begin."

When Allie finally left the office, she was tired, cold and scared. But she wasn't too preoccupied with her own problems to notice the thin young man who sat alone in the waiting room.

"Allie, this is Hugo." Nurse Baldwin introduced the young man Allie vaguely remembered seeing at Doctor Adams' the other day. He was very skinny, with sunken eyes and his skin drawn tight over his cheekbones. She could see the hollow spots around his collarbones. "He has diabetes too. We thought you might like to meet him."

" Guten tag," said Hugo. "I am Hugo Sonntag."

"I'm Allie." She held out her hand. To her surprise Hugo took it and bowed deeply as he kissed it. She thought he would be cute if he could gain a few pounds.

Nurse Baldwin set a pitcher of water and two glasses on the table. "We're going to let you two get to know each other. Remember; support is really important. Don't give up hope."

"Is good to meet you, Allie. I also am type one." Hugo's English was stilted and halting, but understandable nonetheless.

She smiled at him mirthlessly. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head tossing his wavy black mane. "Is the will of God. But I have been taking the insulin. Still, I am alive."

"How long have you had diabetes?"

"For three months." He shrugged. "I should have died, were it not for the medicine."

"How old are you, Hugo?"

"Nineteen."

They talked for hours, just getting to know each other. It turned out that they had some things in common. They had hopes, and dreams, and aspirations. They both loved school. And they both hoped to live long enough to finish it. Hugo dreamt of being an astronomer; Allie wanted to be a nurse. Both of these things required time-time they might not have. By about sunset, they had finished three pitchers of water and had gotten to know each other fairly well. Allie decided that she liked Hugo.

"This is the best we can do." Doctor van Trumpe held up something that looked like a tiny wine bottle. It contained a cloudy liquid with the slightest pink tint. "Three M extracts it from the organs-the pancreas actually-of slaughtered pigs."

Allie knew insulin came from pigs and cattle, back before human insulin was available, but she was no less squeamish for the knowledge. "Well," she said resolutely, "it's better than no insulin." She squeezed Hugo's hand. In the past week they had become quite close. He wasn't her boyfriend, but lately he was the only person she felt understood how she was feeling.

She looked to her parents. The chairs had been set up in pairs; one for the Haggertys, one for the patients.

"Doctor van Trumpe?" Ernest Haggerty asked, "will this work?"

"Eventually, of course, the product will be pure. It is natural, so it will work." He set the vial down on his desk. "It works now, but the question is how much to use. The concentration is weak and not entirely pure. The effects are not always consistent."

"It's better than nothing." Bobby Jean blinked back tears.

Allie tried to put herself in her parent's position; losing their daughter just as she came of age, but she couldn't.

The doctor went to his desk and took out a small box. He opened it and showed the contents to Allie. It held two glass syringes with huge evil looking needles that appeared to be made of brass. "These are the best syringes we have," he said, offering one to her. "They are large but with the new concentration, it should not be a problem. The needles are replaceable, but not easily.

"You will come here twice a day, before and after school, for your shot. You will not skip a day, no matter how ill you are. We will start by giving you your shots."