On Call | Grey's Anatomy // Book 3 // COMPLETED

4 | S.C.I.D.

The average person touches their face about eighteen times every waking hour. That leaves you susceptible to infection about one hundred times a day. Infection has a nasty habit of taking advantage of our everyday behaviors. It spreads by touching doors, desks...elevator buttons, pens, sharing cups. Even money. All we can do is try our best to prevent it from spreading. Because once it's out there, the infection usually wins.


"There is a viral infection running rampant through this hospital." Owen explained to me and a few others when I arrived for work that morning, "It feels like flu symptoms, then G.I. stuff. It goes without saying that soap, water, and hand sanitizer are your best friends. And if you do feel sick and you can go home, then go home. Spread the word. That's all for now."


Putting on a pair of gloves and meeting up with April, the two of us went over the chart before meeting our patient for the day. Since April had recently passed her Boards, having taken them a second time, we worked together more often now since we were both certified. "Hi, I'm Dr. Kepner and this is Dr. Forrest." April introduced us, "Are you Braden?"

Braden's mother, Teresa, smiled, "Yes, this is our little Brady bug."

"Mom!" Braden turned to his mother.

The father, David, gave us a nod, "So, did you speak to our doctor?"

"We did." I confirmed, "He said Braden has S.C.I.D."

"Bubble boy disease," Braden spoke up.

"Braden." David warned his son with a small chuckle, "He knows we hate it when he calls it that."

"And he sent you here?" April asked, talking about their family doctor.

Teresa nodded, "Yes, he's out of the country, s-"

"Right," April cut in, "but patients with severe combined immunodeficiency syndrome are generally advised to steer clear of high-risk infection areas like a hospital. Without an immune system-"

"We know, even a common cold can be life-threatening." Teresa sighed, probably having heard this hundreds of times.

"Well, he's on enzyme injections, and they've been working very well." David added, "And we were just so worried and...Braden. Face."

Looking over, we saw that Braden was playing with what looked like a small bump on his forehead. "I'm not picking at it." Braden said, "Just touching it."

"Braden, how long have you had that?" I asked him.

Braden looked confused, "This zit? I don't know."

"I'm just gonna keep an eye on it, okay?" I walked over, pulled out a sharpie and drew a circle around the zit to keep track of how big it was.

"Geez, why not just draw an arrow and the word 'zit'?" Braden huffed.

Braden's mother looked down at him, "Braden! Last night, he got congested, and we thought he might be getting a sinus infection, so we called our doctor."

"And he sent you over here to get I.V.I.G. antibiotics and labs." April looked at the chart quickly, "Great. Let's get him started."

"Stop touching your face!" both of Braden's parents said at the same time.

Slowly, Braden lowered his hand away from his forehead. Chuckling, the two of us headed out to check on the medicine.

About half an hour later we returned. "Poor guy conked out," Teresa told us as we laid eyes on the sleeping boy.

"Hey champ, doctor's here." David woke his son up.

"Hey, Braden, you feeling any better?" April asked as Braden sat up with his mask on, and we instantly noticed that the zit on his forehead had gone from very small to very big.

"I don't know." Braden answered, having no clue about his head, "Still a little stuffy but...yeah, maybe a little better."

Both of the parents looked to April and I, worry on their faces but trying not to alarm their son. "Okay, Braden, we're gonna move you to someplace a little more comfy, okay?" April told him.

Braden sighed as I stuck my head out of the curtain. "We need to move my patient into isolation right now," I whispered to the nurse. Nodding, she took off and I got a good look around the E.R., which was full of nurses wearing masks and sick people roaming around. We needed to get Braden out of here right now.

Not long after we had Braden in an isolation room. On the door, there was a large box full of gloves, disposable gowns, and masks. "So, every time you go into Braden's room, you will put on a fresh gown, gloves, and mask," I explained to the parents.

Teresa took a deep breath, just processing everything, "Right. Every time."

"The lump of Braden's head is a rapidly growing infection." April explained, "We just want to make sure he doesn't get any more."

"But he's been taking the enzyme." David told us, "It's supposed to stop this kind of thing from happening."

"His labs show his T-cell count is zero, which means he's developed antibodies to the enzyme and it's no longer working." I said, staying calm while still giving them the information they needed to know, "He's highly susceptible to all types of infection. Have you considered a bone marrow transplant?"

"We tried to find the match right after he was born, but ethnic donors are so hard to find." David answered, "They recommended the enzyme instead. It's been working. It was working."

Putting their masks on, they both stepped closer to the door. "You ready?" David asked.

"I'm ready." Teresa inhaled sharply as David opened the door and they both stepped inside.

April and I watched through the window for a few seconds. "What are we gonna do?" I huffed, "This hospital is literally crawling with infections right now."

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"Hey, Braden Morris is here?" Bailey approached April and I as we leaned against the nurse's station and watched Braden and his family, "He was my patient a few years ago. What's going on?"

"His meds stopped working." April answered, "He's got acute frontal sinusitis. It's spreading fast."

Bailey sighed as Jackson emerged from the room after doing an exam. "Well, it's a potts puffy tumor." Jackson removed his mask, "He should get to surgery right away, get it drained. Make sure it doesn't spread and-"

"You look horrible." April placed the back of her hand to her husband's forehead.

Bailey nodded, "Yeah, correct. You look horrible. What's going on with you?"

"Oh, nothing." Jackson's voice was raspy and quiet, "It's...my stomach's a little screwy. I'm fine. Gonna, um, go book an O.R., though."

"No, you're not." I crossed my arms, "The best thing you can do for this kid is to be nowhere near him. Or me, for that matter."

"Because you look horrible." Bailey repeated herself, "Yeah, I can drain a potts puffy tumor. Go home."

April nodded, "Yeah, you should go home. You need to-"

"I'm fine." Jackson told us as he laid his head down on the nurse's desk, "Okay? I can take care of myself."

April just smirked as she watched him, "Mm-hmm."

"Maybe I will," Jackson admitted.

"Yes, you should go home, put on some good, fluffy socks." April rubbed his head, "Oh, there's soup in the pantry, and just go get in the shower and sit in it to-"

"April!" Jackson's head shot up, "I know how to be sick. I'm not even sick."

"Just trying to help him." April huffed as Jackson walked off and Bailey started to put on a gown.

Bailey pointed to Braden, "Well, let's go help him."