Dog Flu

By Louis Fabre

Dr. Fabre is a MD PhD board-certified psychiatrist. He developed over 30 psychiatric drugs including Prozac and Xanax. He has seen patients over the last 50 some years. He was a contemporary of Michael Crichton who wrote Jurassic Park. Both were medical students concurrently. Some know that Jurassic Park is written on two levels: one, a story ab

• Language: English
• Publisher: Travivo Tales
• Release date: Nov 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986946023

Book preview

Forward

After almost forty years as a practicing psychiatrist, I pondered the idea of conveying to the general public some of the knowledge I had gained. Most people do not have the luxury of personal psychoanalysis, or even psychotherapy. This is the best way I have been able to convey these ideas.

Others in the field, such as Freud and Jung, have tried to convey this knowledge through textbooks~ Few from the general public can benefit from these efforts. More recently, there has been a flood of self-help books, by a variety of authors who have tried to make psychoanalytic concepts easier and more palatable for the unsophisticated reader; for example, Transactional Analysis by Eric Berne, and The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck.

A still more recent approach has been the popularity of skills manuals or courses: how to be an efficient manager, how to negotiate, how to control your anger or the anger of others, such as those produced by Jim Baker and others. This approach has been a welcome addition and has imparted valuable information to the public.

I entertained the idea that my task was not modem. How was information about motivation, relationships, internal conflict, etc., imparted before the advent of psychotherapy?

The ancient Greeks did it through plays, such as Oedipus Rex and Electra by Sophocles, and Agamemnon by Aeschylus. This approach continues today though psychologically-driven dramatic works like Equus.

Just as valuable are fairy tales, such as those recorded by the brothers Grimm, which are faithful compilations of stories, handed down by word of mouth.

Another pre-psychology approach was the novel. Works like War and Peace by Tolstoy are not famous because they are about war and peace. They are famous because the intricate interaction of the psyches of the characters imparts useful information about who we are and what we are about.

After careful consideration, I decided that the best vehicle to teach the psychological concepts that I learned over these forty years is the novel - or better yet, a series of novels. The first, Dog Flu, is not about a flu epidemic, nor is it about the failings of the FDA. It is about the characters: Kyle, Katya, Mary, Rita, and Dale. It is about how they are put together psychologically, and how they flail though their lives unaware that their genetics and early childhood experiences have already propelled them in directions they cannot easily change – and about Dr. David Abrams, who has the answers, but only for those who will listen carefully.

One of the basic principles in Dog Flu is that no good dead goes unpunished. Since I consider the writing of this book to be my "good dead,’ I am sure I will be punished accordingly.

LFF

List of Characters

Kyle Best, MD,: PhDPharmacologist and Specialist in Infectious Diseases

Mary Best, MD: Kyle’s Wife and Internal Medicine Specialist

Sarah Best: Kyle’s Child with Rita

Rita Best: Kyle’s Ex-Wife

Gene Sayers: Medical Student

Glenn Johnson: Medical Student

Sid Gordon, MD: Director of the Institute

Max Flanagan, MD: Head of a Department at the Institute

David Conigan, MD: Mary’s Father

Mrs. Stanton: Kyle’s Grade School Teacher

Mr. Martin David Abrams, MD: Kyle’s Grade School Assistant Principal

Dick Armbruster: Flight Instructor

David Abrams, MD: Psychiatrist

Katya Kravchuk, MD: Ukrainian Internal Medicine Specialist

Vladimir Kravchuk: Polkovnik, KGB

Olga Norchak, MD: Ukrainian Pediatrician, Katya’s roommate

Ania Asimova, MD: Ukrainian Pediatrician, Katya’ s roommate

Irina Yaroshenka: Nurse

Irma Mirgorodskya: Veterinarian

Dale Fernwood, M: Cardiologist

Ivan Maximov: Accountant, the Oslek

Sam Alston: Caretaker of Bahamas Property

John McInnis: Customs and Immigration Officer, Bahamas

Bob Ferris, MD: Kyle’s Partner

Alice Ferris: Bob’s Wife

Winston Smith III, JD (Trey): Criminal Lawyer

Bruce Stockton, JD: Lawyer

John Bolton, MD: Center for Disease Control, Atlanta

Jose Reyes, MD: Director of Maxfarma, Barcelona, Spain

James Cardwell, MD: Texas Institute for Public Health

Chief Townsend: Chief of Houston Police

Lupe Valdez: FDA Inspector

Pedro Gonzalez: DEA Inspector

Dr. Stu (no last name): Director of the Curriculum

Mike (no last name): Lab Assistant

Maria (no last name): Security at Airport

1

The Endurance Athlete

Kyle Best was in a hurry and the traffic was terrible. The hot Houston sun cast blinding reflections off the thousands of cars and trucks that progressed slowly or not at all. But the traffic was always terrible after work trying to go from the medical center to the memorial drive area. As usual, one lane on the freeway was shut down for construction. What construction? Kyle wondered. All he could see were half a dozen construction workers standing around watching one guy work slowly. No wonder a few years ago Houston commuters started shooting the construction workers with BB guns. Where was the BB gun when you needed it?

Kyle was impatient and angry. He thought, why would anyone in their right mind live in Houston? Nobody thinks I am in my right mind anyway—not even one. He chuckled. He was late again. Of course, he was always late. How could he be anything but late in this damn traffic?

Maybe she will open the door; maybe she won’t. She didn’t open the door the last time he was late. The worst thing about a divorce was the stress of visitation. Kyle had to deal with his hostile ex-wife. Since he had gotten the restraining order against her, at least she wasn’t cutting the tires on his car any more. But she wasn’t going to help one bit about visitation. Now that the restraining order had lapsed she didn’t have to take his daughter Sarah to a neutral point any more. But she could come halfway. She could bring Sarah to his house half the time. But she wasn’t going to do anything except bitch that he was late and maybe not even open the door.

The traffic was at a standstill. It was hot. It was the third of June, and it was 97 degrees at 6 p.m. Even with the air conditioner on full blast, it was hot in the car. Kyle wiped his wet forehead with his handkerchief impatiently. The collar of his shirt was wet, and the sweat was running down his belly into his shorts. While he waited for the traffic to move, he flipped through the channels on the radio. The news blared out, Merck has announced another layoff of six thousand workers, intended to save one billion dollars a year, all due to their recent losses in product-related lawsuits. On another note, the announcer continued, the FDA announced today it would no longer employ anyone who had ever worked for a drug company, even for one day. That is great, Kyle thought, now they won’t hire anybody who knows their ass from their elbow.

It seemed like the news was always bad for the pharmaceutical industry. The big companies had thousands of sales representatives on the street, each costing about $200,000 per year - an overhead of $300 or $400 million a year. It took a new blockbuster drug every three years to feed that monster. The patents ran out that fast. For years, the progress of drug discovery at the big companies could not meet this need. Therefore, the companies came up with the new drugs with patent life that the sales force needed through mergers and acquisitions. That is, they merged with smaller drug companies that already had a patented drug, and then fired the smaller company’s sales force. There were fewer and fewer companies to merge with these days.

Kyle’s train of thought was interrupted as a red Mustang changed lanes abruptly, causing Kyle to slam on the brakes. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, and the sudden stop threw his head into the windshield.

Goddamn it! he shouted. Where did you learn to drive? He rubbed the bump on his forehead. Kyle was always screaming at traffic. He talked to the other drivers, but they couldn’t hear him. To be more specific, he always talked to himself when he was in a car. Now he was in trouble. His daughter would ask questions. His wife would be furious. She was always furious when he didn’t wear his seatbelt.

By some miracle he arrived at his ex-wife’s house. Rita’s house was a condominium.

What mother in her right mind brings up a five-year-old in a condominium, when she has enough money for a house? She certainly got enough child support. There was no place to play.

The two-story condo sat plastered against two others on a piece on concrete. There were no other kids in the complex.

Sarah is a prisoner, he thought. That is why I break my ass to get here every Wednesday night and every other weekend. Kyle knew that in Texas he wasn’t going to get custody of a five-year- old girl. So he had to suffer and feel guilty all the time.

The door opened, and Rita pushed Sarah out. She was a shy, nervous child with bright blue eyes and a blond ponytail.

Rita handed Kyle a pile of doctor’s bills. Pay these right now, or you will hear from my lawyer, she snarled.

Up yours with a wire brush, Kyle wanted to say, but he just took the bills and kept his mouth shut.

Come on, Sarah, Kyle said, taking her by the hand and picking up the bag of clothes and toys.

Your head is bleeding, Daddy! Are your brains going to come out? Sarah asked.

They came out a long time ago, Kyle joked and dabbed his head with his handkerchief. He opened the door to the car and helped her in.

Sarah calmed down for a while but as they backed out of the driveway she started again.

Can I have a dog?

Honey, I’d love to get a dog for you. I would like it, too. He could run with me at the park. But you know there is no one to take care of him when you aren’t at my house. I travel too much, and Mary won’t take care of him when I’m not there. Ask your mother for a dog. You could bring him over when you visit Mary and me.

Oh, she promises me a dog, but she never gets it.

Keep hoping. Maybe she will come through.

At this point Sarah sulked. What are we going to do when we get to your house?

You and me and Mary are going to the park. I am going to push you on the swing for a while. Then while you and Mary can play, I am going to go for a run.

Thanks, Daddy. You’re the best! My mama never takes me to the park.

Kyle liked to run. He had been running for years, and at this point he tried to get in six miles a day. This had been a worse day than usual, so he thought he would run twelve. He hollered at the traffic all the way home. No matter how loud he yelled at the car in front of him, it would not go any faster.

Sarah was fidgeting. Why can’t I play with other kids at your house? she asked.

There aren’t many kids in my neighborhood, and the ones that are there are too busy to play. Their parents have them in Little League, gymnastics, ballet, soccer and every other thing. So they are busy all the time, Kyle explained.

Finally they arrived at the door of his house in West University. Kyle parked in the driveway and brought Sarah’s stuff to the door. It was a medium-sized four-bedroom brick house in an upper middle-class neighborhood. There was a small yard, tastefully landscaped with trees and flowers. Still, there wasn’t much room for a kid to play. The people who lived in this neighborhood were all professionals, hard-driving people who worked all the time and you never saw them at home. But it was a quiet neighborhood, and there was no crime. And it was reasonably close to everything, in a city where proximity was everything.

Mary met them at the door. She was wearing close-fitting pants and a tight white T -shirt. Her blond hair had just been washed and smelled of French shampoo.

What happened to your head? Mary asked.

I hit it on the windshield.

Not wearing your seatbelt again, huh?

Well, I was in a hurry, and I wasn’t going very far, he said, knowing he sounded defensive.

Take your stuff to your room, honey, Mary told Sarah.

How am I going to have a baby with you dead? she whispered when Sarah was out of earshot, or maybe in a coma?

Give me a break, Mary. I just hit my head. No big deal.

When are you going to give me some sperm? Huh? How am I going to get pregnant? I need sperm! How about tonight? I haven’t had any sperm since yesterday. This is the critical time of the month, she whined. If we miss it now I won’t get pregnant this month.

Look, let’s go to the park and play with Sarah for a while. If I have a chance, I’ll go for a run. Then this evening after we get Sarah to bed, you will get your sperm.

Sure, she said. You’ll run. Come home exhausted. Eat something, and go to bed. You aren’t going to have any energy for me.

Don’t worry about it, he said. You’ll get yours.

Yeah, sure, she said, and stomped off toward the bedroom.

Kyle got out of his work clothes, which he hated, put on his shorts and running shoes, and they all headed to the park.

Today Kyle was in luck. When he got to the swing sets where he parked, he saw three girls Sarah’s age playing on the swings. When Kyle’s family got out of the car, Sarah immediately ran off to play with the girls.

Can I push you on the swing? Kyle asked.

No, Dad, she said, trying not to seem too babyish to her new friends. I want to play with the girls.

Mary sat down at a picnic table where she could watch Sarah. She had brought a book with her and she was content to sit in the shade of a big oak tree with a novel she enjoyed.

Kyle had run ten marathons over the past few years. He was a pretty good long-distance runner. He knew what it took to be an endurance athlete. A runner had to be able to block out the pain and boredom of running and think about something else. Kyle could do that. He was the best possible example of the absent-minded professor. Lots of times he would start thinking about something and find himself five miles down the trail without knowing how he got there.

Or when he was driving, he’d sometimes find himself ten miles past where he was going. He hoped today would be as usual. He had a lot to think about.

The park was a green area donated decades before by some wealthy benefactor. In the middle, a golf course and a few tennis courts entertained their clientele. Around the perimeter was the running track. It was a three-mile circular track. He would run around twice in a little less than an hour. It was hot, as usual, still 97 degrees in the sun. But it was always hot. A runner had a choice: either run in the morning when it was about 80 degrees and the humidity was 100 percent or run later in the day when it was in the 90s and the humidity was lower. Either way it was hot, but you got used to it. If you drank enough water it wasn’t so bad.

Best thing was, in that heat, the women wore almost nothing. And there were always pretty girls running around the park. Kyle’s favorite way to run, was to run slowly until a really good-looking girl passed him, and then follow her and watch her all the way around. He had to be careful not to get too close. Getting too close made the girls nervous. However, he believed that some of the girls knew what he was doing, and they enjoyed it too. Most of the girls were not there to get exercise. They were there to see and be seen.

Kyle found a long-legged blonde who was doing about eight-minute miles. She was wearing tight white short-shorts and a red running bra. She would do just fine. She had a great-looking butt. The sweat from the run made her white pants almost transparent This would be fun.

As Kyle passed the first mile, he started to think. When he thought, he shut out everything else (except the girl’s butt). He could run forever with no pain. He thought about his early years in the industry. That is what everybody called the pharmaceutical industry. He worked at an institute right after he finished his medical training. The director, Sid Gordon, was a brilliant man who had an MD, a PhD, and a DSc. He knew his stuff and had a profound effect on Kyle. The only problem was that Dr. Sid Gordon had a drinking problem. He was always all right in the morning, but he kept a bottle of scotch in his desk, and by noon they had to lock him in his office. Several of the lesser-ranking people, including Kyle, then ran the Institute. That worked very well until the Governor of Texas came to the Institute unannounced one day and found Sid drunk in his office. Sid was promptly fired. About two months after he had been fired, Sid called Kyle at home late at night Sid had been drinking, but was still reasonably coherent.

How is it going, Kyle? Hey, listen; you really. have what it takes. You’re going to be a big star in the industry someday. Don’t take any crap off of anybody. Okay? Don’t worry about me; I am somewhere that no one can find one. I enjoyed working with you, Kyle. Then Sid hung up.

Two days later, the news came that Dr. Sid Gordon had taken a dive off a high building in New York and committed suicide. What a waste, Kyle thought. Every time he remembered Sid’s voice, he got upset.

Kyle rounded the corner. Five miles down, and the blond girl was still setting a good pace. Kyle was just far enough behind her to get a good view but not so close as to make her nervous. Sweat pouring off Kyle ran down his legs and mixed with the dust stirred up by his feet to make a muddy mess in his socks and shoes.

It didn’t seem like anybody in this industry turned out well, Kyle thought. Maybe genius and insanity do run together, or more precisely maybe people who are emotionally unbalanced are the creative ones.

Kyle remembered his boss at the Institute, Dr. Flanagan. He was a short, somewhat rotund man with a quick wit. Kyle always remembered that you could give him a scientific paper to read, maybe ten pages long, of highly technical material. Flanagan would take it, and zip, zip, in less than a minute he was done, and had memorized every line and every number in the whole thing.

Kyle was bright and quick, but he couldn’t keep up with that. He remembered one day Flanagan came to work late, with a big cut on his head. It was right after Christmas.

Do you know what that bitch did? Flanagan asked.

What bitch? replied Kyle.

My mother-in-law. Flanagan had married into a rich family, and his mother-in-law was loaded and always telling Flanagan what a sorry guy he was for working in research and not making much money.

Okay, I give up. What did the bitch do? asked Kyle.

She gave me a new car for Christmas, the old bag. But I fixed her, I did.

How did you fix her? Kyle asked.

I took her goddamn car and crashed it into a bridge and totaled it They towed it off to the dump. I almost killed myself in the process, but I totaled the damn thing!

Why did you do that? Kyle asked, amazed.

Because I am going to take the insurance money and buy my own car. It will be my car, not the old bitch’s car, and every time I get into it I won’t have to think about her ugly ass. Pretty good, don’t you think? I’ll bet you wouldn’t have come up with that one.

No, Kyle agreed. Not that one.

And sure enough, a week later, Flanagan came driving up in a brand new Mercedes convertible. Better than that goddamn BMW coupe she bought. What do you think?

Kyle had to admit it was a good-looking car.

Another time, Flanagan had invited Kyle and his wife (Rita, at the time) to dinner at the Warwick Hotel dinner club. The club was on the top of a big hotel and had a wonderful view of the whole city. Everybody was all dressed up. Flanagan liked to wear a bowtie and a vest. At dinner, as usual, Flanagan drank too much. The restaurant overlooked a beautiful swimming pool. In the summer, this was a fine place and heavily populated. But now it was February and cool, too cool for swimming. Anyway, after dinner, Flanagan went down to the pool, took off all his clothes, every single thing. He ran down the deck and did a swan dive off of the diving board. He made a tremendous splash. His white ass was shining in the underwater light. With great effort, Kyle was able to get him out of the water, halfway dry, and down the back stairs before the cops came.

Flanagan liked his bourbon and always kept a fifth in his desk. Every now and then, some bum would wander into the laboratory, a dirty, smelly half-starved man who looked like he might kill you for a quarter. Flanagan would welcome him with open arms and bring them into the office, where they would drink the fifth.

Flanagan told Kyle these guys were his Army buddies before the Army sent Flanagan to medical school. The alcohol had gotten the better of them.

Flanagan had a way with women, too. He had married four or five times and had kids with all the wives. After Sid was fired from the Institute, Flanagan was fired, too. The last Kyle heard, Flanagan had died of a heart attack while he was still in his fifties. Flanagan knew he had heart trouble and couldn’t eat and drink the way he did, but that was the way he wanted to go out. I’ll bet he left a lot of wives with unpaid child support, thought Kyle.

Kyle’s mentors, the men he really looked up to, had all turned out badly. They were very smart, and for the most part they worked hard. Apparently this wasn’t enough to be a success. Kyle wondered if he would turn out badly, too.

Into the sixth mile, he saw a hippie-looking kid running along with a small dog on a long leash coming toward him. It was a chow mix or something, a little brownish-black ugly dog straining at his leash. Kyle was moving to the right side of the path to get out of their way when the dog took a leap toward Kyle and bit him hard on the left ankle.

Holy shit! Kyle shouted, and was about to grab the guy by the throat. But the dog growled and tried to lunge for Kyle again. This time the guy had the dog on a shorter leash and the dog couldn’t reach him. But Kyle couldn’t reach the guy either.

What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you control that dog? I ought to beat the crap out of you! Kyle shouted.

Hey, man, don’t get excited! He didn’t bite you all that bad. He’s had his shots, the hippie said, trying to calm him down.

The hippie dude was high on something. Kyle could see it probably wouldn’t do any good to beat him up, because he was feeling no pain.

Kyle looked at the blood flowing from his ankle. I ought to sue you! he growled. But Kyle knew the hippie dude was not likely to have any money, and it was hard to win a lawsuit in this kind of case, because in Texas dogs get one free bite. That is, until they have bitten someone before and someone has complained, there is nothing that can be done against the owner. If the dog had bitten someone before, it was likely that, like Kyle, that person hadn’t gone to the police to report the incident either.

Kyle let him go with a sneer and a threatening gesture. If I ever see you in this park again, I will kick your ass. Do you understand?

The hippie dude crossed the street heading for his car to get out of there while his luck was still good.

Kyle walked to the water fountain and washed off the affected area as best he could. He thought about wiping up the blood with the top of his sock, but it was wet with sweat and mud. He thought better of it. When he got home, he would put some antibiotic ointment on it and take some oral antibiotics as well. Kyle was not worried about rabies. He was worried about a bacterial infection.

Kyle started running again, determined to finish the last mile.