fh_alumni | Monday Evening: Marty's Apartment

Marty would always remember when he got the phone call. Mostly because he was reading "What to expect when you are expecting" and seemed to be stuck on two words -- "mucus plug".

While there was nothing wrong with it, it was still just something that you couldn't tear your mind away from.

So when the phone did ring, Marty was a bit distracted when he picked up. "Hello?"

	"Sir? It's Marcella," said the voice at the other end of the line.
	"Hey, Marcella. What are your feelings on the words 'mucus plug'?"
	"I hope I never have to see one if that's what you're asking, sir," Marcella replied, well used to Marty's randomness. "But it's hardly the reason why I called."
	"I told you Marcella, your name is on the potential list but I wouldn't get my hopes up," Marty replied. "Angela's still taken with Simone."
	"It's not that sir. It's your mother."
	Marty paused for a good long moment before replying. "What happened now?"
	"Well, it's actually good news, sir, if you think about it," Marcella said trying to sound upbeat. "There's a new doctor at the clinic and he's taken a interest in your mother."
	"That's his job, right?" Marty asked, feeling a bit tense. "C'mon, Marcella. What's the bad news?"
	"It's Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, sir."
	Marty felt himself sigh as he sat back on the couch. "So you're saying my mother has mad cow disease? That she just ate a bad hamburger and --"
	"Not quite sir," Marcella interrupted. "In five percent of the cases the disease is transmitted by genetics."
	Marty froze and didn't say anything.
	"Sir?"
	"I'm still here."
	"Sir, the chance of it getting passed on is still pretty low."
	"I'm not going to bet my life or my kid's on that," Marty said finally. "I'll get myself tested to make sure."
	"Here's the thing sir, the test for this wasn't developed until 1999. The doctor here recommended a clinic in New York City in 2008," Marcella replied. "The doctor there is supposed to be very good."
	"Book me an appointment," Marty said quietly. "First one you can get. I'll take care of my travel arrangements."
	"Sir? This whole time travel thing..."
	"It's a bit like the teacup ride at Disneyworld."
	"If that's the case, sir, don't eat lunch before you portal over here."
	"Thanks, Marcella," Marty said, before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.
	"What did she want?" Angela asked, roaming into the room crunching on a spicy dill and rubbing her lower back. "You told her we aren't calling it Marcella, right?"
	"Yeah," Marty said with a pause. "It was about my mom. Turns out she's not crazy. Just sick."
	Angela went to sit next to him, hand going to his shoulder. "...is that good news?" she asked. "I mean, have they found a new way to treat her?"
	"It's Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease," Marty said sounding a little hoarse. "No cure. The doctor's think it might be genetic."
	"Mad Cow?" Angela blinked. "Genetic. I didn't know that could ..." her voice faded as her hand went to her stomach, and she gave him a sideways look. "Is there a way to tell for sure?"
	"There's a test. In 2008," Marty said looking glum. "Marcella's making the appointment for me. The first one that comes available. As soon as I know when, I'm booking a trip."
	"For both of us, right?" Angela said, a little edge in her voice.
	"I hoped you would come along," Marty said rubbing his eyes. "I mean... Oh, God. What If I have it? What if I passed it on? I can't go alone. I'm so sorry... I had no idea."
	"We can't do anything about it now," Angela said. "We just need to hope you ... I can't think about this." She was trying very hard not to cry.
	"C'mere," Marty said reaching out for her and trying to be reassuring. "We'll figure it out. It's going to be okay."
	She sniffled. "How? And, oh my God, your mom! Marty, can't they do something for your mom now that they know this?"
	"There's not a cure for it yet," Marty said glumly. "Maybe they can adjust the medication to ... I guess make her more coherent or something. Maybe." He swallowed a little and frowned. "I'd like for her to look at our kid and realize that it's her grandchild."
	"We need to stop calling it, it, sometime," Angela said absently. "It's going to get a complex." She shook her head, sighed. "I'd like that too, Marty. I'd ... really like that."
	Marty nodded and held her close, his hand reaching over to protectively touch her stomach. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see."