Murder at the House of Rooster Happiness by David Casarett Page A

Skull fractured along the parietal bones, at the top of the head. Also a fracture of the orbit, around the right eye. The jaw was broken and needed to be wired in place.
    And the brain. This is what the Americans would want to know about. Always so worried about brain function. Although, if you asked her, it seemed that many Americans didn’t use their brains for much of anything that was important. Still, it would be important to these three people sitting in front of her. Sisithorn seemed to know that, so her description was particularly careful.
    “With respect to the brain,” she began slowly after reading the entire next paragraph to herself, “there is little visible trauma. There is some clotted blood in the anterior sulcus of the parietal lobe, consistent with a subdural hematoma. That means the blood is inside the lining that protects the brain,” she explained. “But it says that there is no other sign of injury.”
    “So his brain is basically normal.” This was from the elder Mr. Fuller, and Ladarat was concerned to hear that it wasn’t a question. He didn’t ask whether his son’s brain was normal, but instead seemed to be telling them that it must be.
    Sisithorn looked to Ladarat for help.
    “Dr. Jainukul can explain this better than we can,” she said. “But the CT scan results only provide a picture of what the brain looks like. It can’t tell how the brain is functioning.” She searched back in her mind for an example that she’d heard in Chicago.
    “When you see a car that’s run out of gas,” she said, “it looks like a normal car, yes?” The Americans nodded. “But it will not run. Yet it looks like it should. CT scans of the brain can be much the same. They may make the brain look normal—as if it should run—but it does not.”
    The elder Mr. Fuller, at least, was nodding. Proving once again that to explain medical things to patients and families, you must choose your terms carefully. A metaphor that works for a man will not work for his wife, and vice versa. That insight didn’t rise to the philosophical heights for which the wise Professor Dalrymple was so well-known. And perhaps if Ladarat were wiser herself, she’d be able create a saying that would merit inclusion in the professor’s little book. But it was true nonetheless. And now, if Mr. Fuller understood, then he could help to explain things to the ladies.
    Sisithorn turned back to her, relieved, and Ladarat turned to the next page. This was the neurologist’s examination. She read quickly, and summarized.
    “Here Dr. Ratana tells about Mr. Fuller’s brain function. Remember, though, that these results are from yesterday. So, he says that Mr. Fuller was not awake. He had no response to touch. That is, he did not move when touched.” In practice, she knew, Dr. Ratana would have used painful stimuli, like a pin. But she didn’t think the Fullers would want to hear that some foreign doctor was poking their loved one with pins.
    “He goes on to describe other tests. These are the tests that your doctors in America will want to see.” She summarized the tests that Dr. Jainukul had described in her office the previous morning, omitting the interpretation, which was beyond her. As the director said, those tests included movement of the pupils of the eyes, and response to cold water introduced into the ear canals. Also reflexes. Normally that would be enough, Ladarat knew. But perhaps because Dr. Ratana sensed that doctors in America would be looking over his shoulder, he had arranged an electroencephalogram on that first day as well. She wasn’t sure how to explain the results, but it seemed as though there was some brain activity, so that’s what she said.
    And of course, the elder Mr. Fuller grasped tightly to that little bit of information. Almost immediately, she wished she hadn’t said anything about the EEG.
    “So there is some brain function,” he said, slapping both hands on his thighs. “So… he’s not