The couple sat in the doctor's office. Mike and Tammy had come to Dr. Alexander's office after being referred there by their normal physician. Supposedly, there was a new type of treatment for Tammy's diabetes that would prevent Tammy from needing to deal with insulin shots anymore, or keep such close track of her blood sugar.
"Well, it's quite simple conceptually," Dr. Alexander began. "In the specific type of diabetes that you have, Tammy, the gene that people normally have that is responsible for creation of insulin in the pancreas does not function properly. What we do, then, is to take a healthy version of that gene, and insert it in to your genetic code. After a few weeks, as new cells gradually replace the current ones, your pancreas will gradually begin to produce it's own insulin." To Tammy, that sounded wonderful....after a lifetime of insulin shots and having to watch her blood sugar levels like a hawk...it would be heavenly to finally be free of that.
"That sounds great," she agreed. "There is one thing I didn't understand though...why does this pamphlet about the procedure have this picture of a pufferfish on it?" She tapped at the cartoon rendering of a smiling inflated blowfish on the cover of the pamphlet.
Dr. Alexander chuckled and replied, "Ah...that was just the pharmaceutical industry's tip of a hat to our little benefactor from the sea. They're used quite frequently in works relating to genetics and gene therapy. Of all vertebrates, or animals with backbones, pufferfish have one of the shortest genetic codes. Smaller genetic codes make the genes easier to study, and specific sequences like the insulin genes easier to find. Much easier, for example, than using human DNA. It is going to be many years before we can completely map out the human genome and figure out where all the relevant genes happen to be." Tammy nodded.
"But are there any side-effects to this treatment? I mean, I'd like to be diabetes-free....but, the devil I know versus the devil I don't, and all that...?" she wondered, biting her lip. Dr. Alexander shook his head.
"No long term ones. We use a carrier virus to insert the genetic changes into your body, so for one or two days you may experience flu-like symptoms. After that, you will notice no side-effects at all. Aside from no longer needing your insulin shots, of course." Tammy nodded, satisfied. The doctor rose and added, "Well, if you have no other questions, take some time to think it over. If you decide that this is for you, just call my receptionist and have her set up an appointment." Tammy looked to her husband. Mike nodded back at her.
"Whatever you want," Mike said. Tammy nodded, and looked back to the doctor.
"Actually...I've thought about it enough, I think. I'm ready." The doctor's eyebrows rose, surprised.
"Really? Well then, give me just a moment. I'll go prep the injection," he offered. He left the office, pulling the door quietly closed behind him. Tammy smiled towards Mike.
"After this is over, in a few weeks....I'm going to go get a big box of those really soft and sugary glazed donuts you like...and eat them all," Tammy vowed, referring to Mike's favored brand of treat.
"Hah...careful sweetie...there's probably enough sugar in a box of those to kill even a non-diabetic..." Mike observed. Tammy grinned and slipped her right arm through his left, reaching down to hold his hand. He gave her hand a squeeze in response. Just then the door to the office opened, and Dr. Alexander entered bearing a tray. He set the tray down on the counter, and picked up a tiny cloth swab and a bottle of alcohol.
"All set?" he asked. In response, Tammy nodded and rolled up her shirt sleeve. The doctor moistened the cloth with the alcohol, and quickly wiped a patch of her upper arm with it. He picked up a tiny syringe off of the tray and uncapped it. He slid the needle into her upper arm and depressed the plunger with a practiced hand. "And...there...we...go," he stated, removing the syringe from her arm on the syllable, 'go.' "All done," he smiled.
"Thank you very much, Doctor," Tammy said, rolling her shirt sleeve back down.
"My pleasure," he replied. "On the way out, why don't you make an appointment with the receptionist to come back in in a few weeks, and we'll see where we are at that point? Feel free to call me anytime if you have any questions. Tammy stood up and nodded. Both she and Mike took turns shaking the Doctor's hand. "Make sure to give the receptionist your medical insurance information, as well," he added.
**************
"Flu-like symptoms," turned out to have been a massive understatement. Tammy had spent most of the next day in bed miserable, but she was thankfully feeling somewhat better by day two, Thursday. Even though she was feeling better, she was still resolved to spend most of the day in bed resting. She rolled over onto her right side, and saw Mike leave the closet, noosing himself into a necktie in preparation for work. "Okay, hun...running late. I'll see you tonight...give me a call if you need anything," he said. He bent over the bed and gave her a peck on the forehead. "Need anything before I go?"
"Nah, I'm fine. I'll get up in a bit and go get something to eat...I'm much better today," she observed. He nodded, and ran from the room. A few seconds later, Tammy heard the garage door opening, and Mike's car pulling out of the garage. "A few minutes...." she continued with a yawn, before dropping off again.
***************
When she woke up again, she was positively famished. Consulting the clock, she saw that it was well past lunchtime. With a groggy yawn, she decided that it was now or never. She lurched out of bed, and tugged a sweater from her closet over herself.
Resolving to abate this hunger situation, Tammy stumbled into the kitchen and began a few preparations. After mixing some canned tuna fish and Miracle Whip, she placed a cutting board on the island in the center of the kitchen and began to diligently chop a stalk of celery for some tuna salad. As she chopped automatically, she looked out the window and scanned the goings-on of the neighborhood. Intent on watching some delivery men carrying a new plush leather sofa into the house of the neighbors opposite them, Tammy didn't notice when she ran out of celery stalk. The sharp knife came down and across the inside tip of her thumb. "Ouch! Shi..." she began, but before she could finish her curse she let out an "Hi-YURP!" as her diaphragm was rocked by an enormous hiccup. Coughing slightly in the aftermath, she examined her bleeding hand. She quickly withdrew a bandaid from the cabinet by the oven and placed it over the shallow cut.
Wincing slightly, she returned to her work. She dumped the celery into the bowl with the tuna salad, and quickly mixed them together before spreading some onto two slices of bread. However, as she was about to take a bite, she realized that she didn't feel hungry anymore...in fact, she felt quite...bloated? A little confused, she wrapped some Saran-wrap over the plate containing the sandwich and the bowl of remaining tuna salad. Placing both in the refrigerator, she went to go lie back down again. Her appetite always had been somewhat fickle when she was sick...
***************
After a few hours of fitful sleep, Tammy woke up again. She still felt oddly bloated, but decided she needed to get up for good, or else she was going to lose this entire second day as well. She didn't have a shower yesterday or this morning, and the fact that she had been sick and sweating was not helping. Rising from the bed, she walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on to let the water warm up. Meanwhile, she dropped a bath towel onto the floor in front of the shower door and then removed the sweater she had put on earlier along with her underwear. She let out a huge leonine yawn, and stepped into the shower and under the stream of warm water.
The warmth felt really good on her body, sore from being ill from the gene therapy carrier virus. She started to duck her head under the shower to wash her hair, but a black shape caught her attention at the corner of her eye, on the wall of the shower. Turning her head toward the shape, she let out a yelp as she spied the biggest wolf-spider she had ever seen on the wall of the shower, one foot from her. Her yelp choked on itself, as her diaphragm contracted just like it had earlier, strangling the yelp into an even more loud hiccuping "HI-YURP!!" that echoed off of the walls of the bathroom. Suddenly, the shower seemed abruptly to be far too small for her. She felt vastly bloated...She could feel one wall of the shower on either side of her bloated stomach, and her front was pressed tightly against the wall beneath the shower head. She was huge! "What's happening to me?" she squealed with dismay. The spray of water on her now-swollen stomach sounded like rain on a tin roof. She forced her way out of the shower in panic, away from the spider and somehow conceptually away from what was happening to her, her sides forcing through the suddenly too-tiny shower door with a "pop!" "HI-YURP!" came another huge hiccup; Tammy could feel the stretching of her skin as she suddenly swelled even larger. She stumbled out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. "What the...HI-YURP...is HI-YURP...'oing on!?" With each hiccup, her waistline swelled even more, and she could feel every inch of its progression.
The phone; she had to get to the phone.
Hiccuping and swelling, she stumbled towards the phone. She grabbed it up and frantically dialed a nine on the base of the phone while holding the handset. She reached for the one, but the going seemed to be a little slower this time...Tammy's limbs were swelling now, too, and it was harder to reach. "HI-YURP, HI-YURP." Tammy felt her side begin to press into the wall by the phone. She strained and reached to hit the one key on the phone, trying to fight past the tension in her inflating body. She managed to press it once, but just as she was going to press it a second time, she inadvertently dropped the handset from her other hand. "Dammit! HI-YURP, HI-YURP!" she hiccuped. She turned back to hit the one key once again...but it was now just out of reach-she had swelled too large. "Oh no," she breathed. From the handset down on the floor came a computerized monotone voice.
"Your call can not be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again."
***********
Mike pulled his car into the garage. He shut the engine off, and then walked into the house from the adjoining door. "Honey? I'm home," he called. No response. "She must be sleeping," he said to himself. He loosened his tie with one hand, and walked towards the bedroom. He walked in and kicked his shoes off beside the door. Straightening up to look at the bed, he gave out a yell. His briefcase dropped to the carpet. "Wha...?" he began.
Tammy was there beside the bed. The phone was off its hook down on the floor. Her entire body was swollen into an enormous sphere, a little less than five feet in diameter. Only her hands, feet, and head were still visible, along with subtle bulges from the main sphere where her breasts should have been. Her skin was picking up a white highlight from the lamp beside the bed, like a taut sheet of rubber would. She looked at him from eyes that seemed surprisingly calm, given her condition. She spoke to him with muffled speech, from between plumpened lips and cheeks, "Hi, honey. I think I might have gotten more pufferfish genes than just the ones to make insulin...Could you be a dear and call the doctor for me?" Mike stammered incomprehensibly and rushed to his wife's side.
"Are you okay? Are you in pain?" he finally managed to get out.
"I'm fine. Just call the doctor...and um....don't do anything to, uh...surprise me. It's tight enough in here, already."
************