The Cost Of Living-Robert G Carlson, MD
CHAPTER 1
Tampa, Florida. Fifth Avenue Housing Project
“Please help,” she said forcing air through her parched trembling lips. “Oh please help me God.” The once strong voice, now only a whimper, muffled by a damp pillow pressed against her ghostly white face.
Maria Suarez lie sprawled on her back, motionless on a filthy mattress that smelled like day old vomit. A small plastic lamp, molded into the shape of a pineapple, the only possession she kept from a horrifyingly abusive childhood, now reflected a hazy glow in her darkened room. The odor of stale cigarettes lingered and a locker room stench of sweaty clothes permeated the stagnant thick air. A rattling hum originating from a small metal fan was her only comfort and provided a slight breeze across her bare skin. Struggling to relieve the pain and agony throughout the night, Maria had pulled off the blankets and sheets, leaving her outstretched and naked on the mattress.
Moving her trembling fingers away from her clammy forehead, she ran her fingertips through sweat drenched hair. Snagging on a knot, she slowly pulled the long strand toward her face and struggled to focus. How had she gone down so fast? So far? A tear trickled down the side of her face as she stared at a knot of her hair lacing its way through a clump of pink chewing gum. Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person. This isn't fair. Tears streamed down her face as she tightly squeezed her eyes together hoping to block out her tormenting reality.
Rolling onto her side, a wave of nausea overwhelmed her and threw her into a bout of retching. Struggling to sit up she fell backwards clutching her stomach. Staring at the water-stained and paint chipped ceiling, tears continued streaming down the side of her face. When had she last eaten? Was it this morning or was it yesterday, or was it even the day before. I'm not sure, I just can't remember. Shaking uncontrollably her fingers gently brushed her swollen pregnant belly hoping not to stir the agonizing pain. Her long thin fingers traced along the sweat soaked contours of her body, until she touched her protruding navel. I can feel my heart beat. Should I feel my heart beating through my belly? Something must be wrong. Biting her lower lip, she prepared for the next agonizing cramp. Reaching out with both hands she rubbed her belly in a circular motion. My belly is on fire. Why is my belly on fire? I have to do something quick or the heat will kill my baby. Her eyes darted throughout the room searching for something to cool her down. But there was nothing. No water and no one to help her. "Oh dear God please help me." She whispered.
Maria reached along her side and ran her fingertips across the drenched sheets. Finding her rosary, she lifted it up to her face and kissed the cross. Trembling fingers coursed along the rosary searching for a bead. "Hail Mary," she whispered, her breaths coming in rapid succession. "Full of grace, the Lord is with thee…" She started to cry. Why can't I remember the words? I've known them since I was a little girl and I can't remember them. What is wrong with me?
The room started to spin and she lowered her head to the damp mattress. Closing her eyes, she slowly began counting: One, two, three, four, five, she took in deep breaths and blew long exaggerated bursts of air through her pursed lip with each number. Maybe it would all go away. Opening her eyes she realized that nothing had changed, and the nightmare was real. Another cramp suddenly burrowed into her and she rolled over into a fetal position, writhing and struggling to find a position of comfort.
Staring at the little fan straining to force the hot muggy air around the room she raised the rosary back to her face and kissed the cross. Crying softly she prayed, "Father, please forgive me." Reaching to her side she found her feather pillow and placed it between her legs trying desperately to take the pressure off her belly. Lying still, she kept her eyes tightly closed, afraid to move yet afraid not to. Why couldn't someone help her, even maybe get her a glass of cold water? That’s all she really wanted. But there was no one to help her now; she had forced the only person who cared about her away.
Each wave of pain became more intense and drove her closer to passing out. If only she would pass out, it would at least relieve her of her agony. “Oh, Jesus,” she cried into her pillow. "Please help me." Squeezing the sheets between her fingers her bloodless hands reflected a ghostly pallor. The pain was getting worse.
Struggling to get up off the bed, she lost her balance and fell backward onto the dirty linoleum floor. At first the floor felt refreshing, its coolness providing some relief from the raging fire exploding in her body and the unremitting river of perspiration. Grimacing with pain she rolled back into the fetal position. Fracturing a brief moment of reprise, a new wave of tormenting pain ripped through her like a searing hot poker, twisting from inside and forcing its way out of her belly. She bit down so hard on her tongue that she tasted blood in her mouth. When will the pain go away?
At least between the contractions the excruciating agony subsided to a tolerable burn. Unfortunately during the contractions the pain was unbelievable, like a sharp dagger heated to a bright red orange color, and repeatedly stabbed over her entire belly, the rapidity of the tormenting attacks reaching a crescendo and then abruptly stopping. Realizing she was nearing complete collapse, she stared up at the ceiling her arms and legs now almost paralyzed with fatigue. I don't think I can take this much more. Why is my baby trying to kill me?
Maria tried to sit up, her arms shaking rhythmically, all her strength drained out of her. Her heart racing faster and faster, she struggled to the sitting position, her right hand becoming immersed in warm fluid. Looking at the floor she moved her hand back behind her trying to support herself while searching where the fluid was coming from. Raising her hand towards her face she tried to understand what was happening and stared at her soaked fingers dripping warm thick blood. “Holy Mary Mother of God,” she gasped. Shifting backwards she desperately tried to focus on the pool of blood that rapidly spreading between her legs. Reflexively she pressed her tremulous hands between her legs and frantically squeezed her weakening legs closer together trying to stop the hemorrhage. Unfortunately, the flow of blood wouldn't stop. It seemed to flow faster, the puddle expanding before her eyes.
Turning back towards the bed she struggled to focus on the mattress. Oh my God it's covered in blood. How long have I been bleeding like that?
Suddenly it was so strange, everything seemed to move in slow-motion, almost like a dream. But it wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare with her young life tumultuously spiraling towards death, and there was nothing left to do but pray for her and her baby's souls. She had seen images like this in scary movies, but this was no movie. It was real. Rigorous muscle contractions overcame her body, leaving her shaking uncontrollably. What little strength she had left poured out of her body leaving her paralyzed and drenched in sweat. She fell backwards, her head striking the cold, hard floor with a dull thud. Staring up at the ceiling, she felt the room spinning out of control. “Help me,” she moaned, and then everything went dark.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Chapter 1-first section- The Cost Of Living
CHAPTER 1
Tampa, Florida. Fifth Avenue Housing Project
“Please help,” she said forcing air through her parched trembling lips. “Oh please help me God.” The once strong voice, now only a whimper, muffled by a damp pillow pressed against her ghostly white face.
Maria Suarez lie sprawled on her back, motionless on a filthy mattress that smelled like day old vomit. A small plastic lamp, molded into the shape of a pineapple, the only possession she kept from a horrifyingly abusive childhood, now reflected a hazy glow in her darkened room. The odor of stale cigarettes lingered and a locker room stench of sweaty clothes permeated the stagnant thick air. A rattling hum originating from a small metal fan was her only comfort and provided a slight breeze across her bare skin. Struggling to relieve the pain and agony throughout the night, Maria had pulled off the blankets and sheets, leaving her outstretched and naked on the mattress.
Moving her trembling fingers away from her clammy forehead, she ran her fingertips through sweat drenched hair. Snagging on a knot, she slowly pulled the long strand toward her face and struggled to focus. How had she gone down so fast? So far? A tear trickled down the side of her face as she stared at a knot of her hair lacing its way through a clump of pink chewing gum. Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person. This isn't fair. Tears streamed down her face as she tightly squeezed her eyes together hoping to block out her tormenting reality.
Rolling onto her side, a wave of nausea overwhelmed her and threw her into a bout of retching. Struggling to sit up she fell backwards clutching her stomach. Staring at the water-stained and paint chipped ceiling, tears continued streaming down the side of her face. When had she last eaten? Was it this morning or was it yesterday, or was it even the day before. I'm not sure, I just can't remember. Shaking uncontrollably her fingers gently brushed her swollen pregnant belly hoping not to stir the agonizing pain. Her long thin fingers traced along the sweat soaked contours of her body, until she touched her protruding navel. I can feel my heart beat. Should I feel my heart beating through my belly? Something must be wrong. Biting her lower lip, she prepared for the next agonizing cramp. Reaching out with both hands she rubbed her belly in a circular motion. My belly is on fire. Why is my belly on fire? I have to do something quick or the heat will kill my baby. Her eyes darted throughout the room searching for something to cool her down. But there was nothing. No water and no one to help her. "Oh dear God please help me." She whispered.
Maria reached along her side and ran her fingertips across the drenched sheets. Finding her rosary, she lifted it up to her face and kissed the cross. Trembling fingers coursed along the rosary searching for a bead. "Hail Mary," she whispered, her breaths coming in rapid succession. "Full of grace, the Lord is with thee…" She started to cry. Why can't I remember the words? I've known them since I was a little girl and I can't remember them. What is wrong with me?
Tampa, Florida. Fifth Avenue Housing Project
“Please help,” she said forcing air through her parched trembling lips. “Oh please help me God.” The once strong voice, now only a whimper, muffled by a damp pillow pressed against her ghostly white face.
Maria Suarez lie sprawled on her back, motionless on a filthy mattress that smelled like day old vomit. A small plastic lamp, molded into the shape of a pineapple, the only possession she kept from a horrifyingly abusive childhood, now reflected a hazy glow in her darkened room. The odor of stale cigarettes lingered and a locker room stench of sweaty clothes permeated the stagnant thick air. A rattling hum originating from a small metal fan was her only comfort and provided a slight breeze across her bare skin. Struggling to relieve the pain and agony throughout the night, Maria had pulled off the blankets and sheets, leaving her outstretched and naked on the mattress.
Moving her trembling fingers away from her clammy forehead, she ran her fingertips through sweat drenched hair. Snagging on a knot, she slowly pulled the long strand toward her face and struggled to focus. How had she gone down so fast? So far? A tear trickled down the side of her face as she stared at a knot of her hair lacing its way through a clump of pink chewing gum. Why is this happening to me? I'm not a bad person. This isn't fair. Tears streamed down her face as she tightly squeezed her eyes together hoping to block out her tormenting reality.
Rolling onto her side, a wave of nausea overwhelmed her and threw her into a bout of retching. Struggling to sit up she fell backwards clutching her stomach. Staring at the water-stained and paint chipped ceiling, tears continued streaming down the side of her face. When had she last eaten? Was it this morning or was it yesterday, or was it even the day before. I'm not sure, I just can't remember. Shaking uncontrollably her fingers gently brushed her swollen pregnant belly hoping not to stir the agonizing pain. Her long thin fingers traced along the sweat soaked contours of her body, until she touched her protruding navel. I can feel my heart beat. Should I feel my heart beating through my belly? Something must be wrong. Biting her lower lip, she prepared for the next agonizing cramp. Reaching out with both hands she rubbed her belly in a circular motion. My belly is on fire. Why is my belly on fire? I have to do something quick or the heat will kill my baby. Her eyes darted throughout the room searching for something to cool her down. But there was nothing. No water and no one to help her. "Oh dear God please help me." She whispered.
Maria reached along her side and ran her fingertips across the drenched sheets. Finding her rosary, she lifted it up to her face and kissed the cross. Trembling fingers coursed along the rosary searching for a bead. "Hail Mary," she whispered, her breaths coming in rapid succession. "Full of grace, the Lord is with thee…" She started to cry. Why can't I remember the words? I've known them since I was a little girl and I can't remember them. What is wrong with me?
Friday, June 18, 2010
Robert Carlson MD Sarasota Mystery Novel
The Cost of Living
Robert G Carlson, MD
Sacrificial killing of pregnant girls in sunny Florida transpires for the benefit of wealthy politicians and the financial gains of cutting-edge medicine. Only four days separate these poor girls and their babies from life and death. The controversy of stem cell research meets the thrills of Robin Cook's Coma in a novel with twists and turns on every page.
As a Board certified cardiothoracic surgeon, I bring 23 years of surgical experience to create the medical thriller, The Cost Of Living. I have eight publications in peer reviewed medical journals and one book chapter. The Consumer Research Council of America has recognized me as Top American Surgeon in the Guide to America’s Top Surgeons 2002-2003, 2006-2007, and 2010 editions.
The controversy of stem cell research meets the thrills of Tess Gerritsen's Harvest in The Cost of Living .Who has the right to kill your unborn child? Who has the right to sacrifice your life for their own fame and fortune and the good of their wealthy clients? Dr. Kentley Sinclair, cutting-edge human cloning researcher may not have that right, but who is going to stop him? The Cost of Living is a medical thriller that delves into the dark side of stem cell research and exposes the motivations of a cruel, megalomaniac physician,
Luring pregnant girls through an inner city woman’s clinic, Sinclair insists that his research can save their supposedly endangered babies; instead, he uses their wombs to grow his stem cells to help save the hearts of wealthy clients, and then disposes of both mother and baby.
One man, heart surgical resident Dr. Steele Russell, finds himself drawn into this vicious plot when Anna, the daughter of a beloved mentor, becomes entwined in Kentley Sinclair’s lethal web. Steele visits Dr. Sinclair to investigate his research, but has no clue of the bizarre chain of events to follow. Dr. Sinclair quickly realizes that Steele could disrupt his multi-million dollar cloning and stem cell research project and that he must be disposed of as quickly as possible. But will it be that easy?
As the body count escalates, Steele depends on his previous training as an Army Ranger to overcome unimaginable odds, protect his friends, and search for Anna. . Even worse, he finds himself propelled into the middle of a Secret Service operation with the Vice-President of the United States, a man desperately in need of Sinclair’s stem cells for his own failing heart.
Steele finds himself plunged into a rescue mission so intricate and perilous that his chance of success is at best miniscule. The arrival of his longtime military friend, The Spiceman, tips the scale in his favor and despite a near lethal injury, Steele overcomes the odds and saves Anna. At the end of it all, though lives were lost, many were saved; Steele's own life was changed forever.
Robert G Carlson, MD
Sacrificial killing of pregnant girls in sunny Florida transpires for the benefit of wealthy politicians and the financial gains of cutting-edge medicine. Only four days separate these poor girls and their babies from life and death. The controversy of stem cell research meets the thrills of Robin Cook's Coma in a novel with twists and turns on every page.
As a Board certified cardiothoracic surgeon, I bring 23 years of surgical experience to create the medical thriller, The Cost Of Living. I have eight publications in peer reviewed medical journals and one book chapter. The Consumer Research Council of America has recognized me as Top American Surgeon in the Guide to America’s Top Surgeons 2002-2003, 2006-2007, and 2010 editions.
The controversy of stem cell research meets the thrills of Tess Gerritsen's Harvest in The Cost of Living .Who has the right to kill your unborn child? Who has the right to sacrifice your life for their own fame and fortune and the good of their wealthy clients? Dr. Kentley Sinclair, cutting-edge human cloning researcher may not have that right, but who is going to stop him? The Cost of Living is a medical thriller that delves into the dark side of stem cell research and exposes the motivations of a cruel, megalomaniac physician,
Luring pregnant girls through an inner city woman’s clinic, Sinclair insists that his research can save their supposedly endangered babies; instead, he uses their wombs to grow his stem cells to help save the hearts of wealthy clients, and then disposes of both mother and baby.
One man, heart surgical resident Dr. Steele Russell, finds himself drawn into this vicious plot when Anna, the daughter of a beloved mentor, becomes entwined in Kentley Sinclair’s lethal web. Steele visits Dr. Sinclair to investigate his research, but has no clue of the bizarre chain of events to follow. Dr. Sinclair quickly realizes that Steele could disrupt his multi-million dollar cloning and stem cell research project and that he must be disposed of as quickly as possible. But will it be that easy?
As the body count escalates, Steele depends on his previous training as an Army Ranger to overcome unimaginable odds, protect his friends, and search for Anna. . Even worse, he finds himself propelled into the middle of a Secret Service operation with the Vice-President of the United States, a man desperately in need of Sinclair’s stem cells for his own failing heart.
Steele finds himself plunged into a rescue mission so intricate and perilous that his chance of success is at best miniscule. The arrival of his longtime military friend, The Spiceman, tips the scale in his favor and despite a near lethal injury, Steele overcomes the odds and saves Anna. At the end of it all, though lives were lost, many were saved; Steele's own life was changed forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)