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dical Center. VIP Room.
"Right here!"
The hospital board chairman dropped his pants in front of everyone. "Whoever fixes this gets my vote!"
As his pants hit the floor, the initial snickers and smirks faded fast. His tone and expression shifted to pure nerves and desperation.
The big-shot chairman of New York dical Center—a total VIP.
But even a guy that huge turns into just another dude when sothing like this hits.
No amount of money or power could fix it now—he was at the rcy of the doctors, begging for a save.
"And no, those aren't grapefruits…"
Chairman Larry gripped the cabinet, tossing in that extra bit before turning his face away. Didn't want anyone clocking his expression.
The docs didn't bat an eye—awkwardness wasn't a thing for them. They just stared, wide-eyed, at this bizarre condition.
"Welp, looks like I'm no help here," Dr. Montgory quipped with a jab, then spun around and bailed.
She'd seen this before—so sleazy guy ssing around and landing weird STDs.
And with Chairman Larry's status? If he wanted to, that'd be par for the course.
"It's not what you think…"
Larry whipped his head back, one hand leaving his waist to throw up a dramatic "stop" gesture—like so soap opera star. But the words died in his throat.
His female secretary was right there, gazing at him with a mix of love and worry.
"No need to explain it to ," Montgory shot back from the door, pulling a face that'd make any rom-com bald guy choke. She slamd the door behind her.
"What's so funny?!"
Larry—whose hair was thinning fast—snapped. Like any baldie, he was touchy about it. He caught the smirk tugging at Mark Sloan's lips and lost it.
"Wipe that grin off your face! If you even think about doing so whacked-out surgery on , I swear, you'll be the one on the table first!"
"I didn't an it like that…"
Mark's smile vanished, and he scrambled to explain.
What the hell!
He was a plastic surgeon, not so cartoon monk!
Why did everyone keep going there?!
And he wasn't the only one smirking! Why was he the punching bag?!
"Let's run so tests first," Adam cut in.
"Right, right!" the surgical chief jumped in.
Sure, they all ntally dunked on Mark Sloan, but the chief didn't want to lose him.
Business was business, and Mark raked in cash for the hospital.
"Larry, lie down," Adam said, stepping up to help the chairman back to the bed. He gloved up and started the exam.
"Suprapubic tenderness."
"That's 'cause I haven't peed in three days," Larry said. He dealt with doctors enough to pick up the basics and spat out the reason, freaking out. "Three days, man!"
"Maybe a hernia?"
"Nah, hernias don't look like that!"
"Any trauma? Testicular torsion, twisting?"
"You'd have to knot it up three tis to get that kind of swelling—like grapefruits!"
"…"
The attendings stared at Larry's wrecked "little brother" and started tossing out ideas.
"Larry, been anywhere fun lately?" Adam asked, running through his ntal database after the exam. "Like, out in the wild?"
"I've been boating on the Amazon River the past two weeks," Larry said.
"Could be a tropical disease—schistosomiasis? Filariasis?" Dr. Burke guessed.
Dr. Shepherd nodded.
They knew the basics but were spitballing. Pinning it down ant hitting the books.
"Symptoms don't match," Adam said, shaking his head. "Larry, did you go in the water?"
"Of course," Larry replied. "Went to the Amazon for thrills—what's the point if you don't swim? But I didn't drink the river water. I've got so sense."
"Hm."
Adam didn't comnt—didn't bother asking how you swim in a river for two weeks without swallowing a drop. "Did you pee in the river?"
"Huh?" Larry blinked. "Yeah, sure. Guys pee while swimming all the ti—it's normal, especially out in the wild."
"Pool's one thing…"
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Adam shook his head. "This isn't just any wild spot—it's the freaking Amazon River. It's crawling with weird stuff. If I'm right, you've got a candiru—parasitic catfish—lodged in there."
"Parasitic catfish?!" the attendings blurted in unison.
"Parasitic?!"
Larry's face went white as a ghost.
By now, all four Alien movies were out. "Parasite" instantly conjured up images of cute little xenomorphs bursting out of chests, screeching to the sky.
Larry nearly wet himself from fear.
Good thing the candiru had his urethra on lockdown—no matter how scared he got, nothing was coming out. Saved his dignity in front of his staff… sorta. 😬
"Adam, you sure?" the surgical chief asked. He vaguely recalled reading about this—super rare, though. Needed to double-check the texts.
"The setting fits," Adam said. "The Amazon's got candiru. They're drawn to blood and urine, can swim up the stream—literally—and lodge in a guy's urethra or bladder. There are legit cases.
Symptoms line up.
But we need a suprapubic catheter and a cystourethrogram to confirm.
Yup—we gotta move fast!"
He didn't ntion the rest:
Records showed one guy actually saw the candiru and tried to grab it. Too slippery—slid right in.
These things? Under 10 centiters, slim, transparent, slick as heck. They latch onto a host, suck blood, chow down on organs, eating you from the inside out.
And the victim might still be alive, helpless, while it happens.
In tons of ways, it's Alien vibes—especially that white snake from Protheus (not out yet).
Imagine the trauma of the dude who tried to snag it.
If Larry heard that…
"Right!" the chief said, face grim as sothing clicked. "Do it now—confirm it, then surgery ASAP!"
"This candiru thing's bad?" Larry asked, picking up on the chief's vibe.
"If it's a candiru and we don't get it out fast, it could lead to sepsis," the chief said carefully.
"Sepsis?!" Larry's brain short-circuited. "You're saying I could die?!"
Sepsis and death went hand-in-hand.
All he did was pee in a wild river—how was he staring down death now?!
Adam shook his head internally.
This the thrill you wanted, huh?
Pretty thrilling now, right?
But looking at Larry, all freaked out—
Guess he's just a guy who talks big but can't handle the real deal.
(End of Chapter)
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