Hey, prime members, you can binge episodes nine through 16 of Mr. Ballin's medical mysteries right now and ad free on Amazon Music. Download the app today. Wonder if in June of 1993, a doctor for the Centers for Disease Control stood on the Navajo Nation reservation in the southwestern United States. He was dressed in a heavy hazmat suit, and he was desperate to take off his helmet and drink some water, but he couldn't afford to take that risk.

A fatal disease was spreading throughout the area, and no one knew what it was. But navajo elders who lived here said the disease was caused by a deadly creature known from their ancient legends. And as strange as that sounded, this doctor was actually inclined to believe them. He knew he had to find this creature and catch it before more people died.

From Ballin Studios and wondery I'm Mr. Ballin, and this is Mr. Ballin's medical mysteries, where every week we will explore a new, baffling mystery originating from the one place we all can't escape our own bodies. If you like today's story, please offer to make the follow buttons lunch for work, but only put durian fruit and sir strawing in their lunchbox.

Story is called Sin Nombre.

On Thursday morning, April 20, 1993, the sun rose over the high desert of little water, New Mexico. The air was crisp and the sky was pink as 21 year old Florina Woody went for a run with her 19 year old boyfriend, Meryl Bay. Florina and Meryl were both Navajo and lived in a small rural town on the vast Navajo reservation that sprawls across three southwestern states. Florina loved the majestic landscape surrounding the town and spent as much time as she could outdoors, and she was especially happy to be outside again after a long, wet winter. She and Meryl jogged along the country highway past small houses and trailer homes set back from the road.

In the distance, Florina admired the tall red rock cliffs glowing in the sun. The couple turned off the road and headed up a path toward a flat topped hill called a mesa. Usually the top was dry and dusty, but the wet winter had turned it lush and green and scattered with wildflowers. Once they reached the top, they stopped to look down at the town below. Florina could just make out the trailer home that she and Meryl shared with her parents.

It sometimes felt crowded living there together, but she was grateful for their close knit family, especially since she and Meryl were raising their first child, now a six month old son. Florina and Meryl jogged back down the mesa and kept a steady pace the whole way home. Meryl had recently started competing in local races and was always trying to strengthen his endurance. As for Florina, she had reasons to challenge herself, too. She'd originally taken up running to offset her asthma, which had gotten better lately.

Once they got home, Florina went inside their trailer. She showered, and then she went to relax on the couch. But when she sat down, she noticed her neck and back muscles were aching more than usual. She asked Meryl for a massage, but her muscles still felt sore afterwards. Florina wondered if she might have pulled something during their run, so she tried to take it easy for the rest of the day.

Over the weekend and into the following week. Florina's aches and pains did not get better. She developed a cough, too, that felt different than her usual asthma. By Friday, just over a week after she first felt sick, Florina realized her symptoms were not going away with rest. So Meryl made her a doctor's appointment for the next day.

On Saturday, May eigth. While Meryl watched the baby, Florina's parents drove her to Crown Point healthcare facility, which was located about an hour and a half south and east of their town. It was a commute Florina knew well since she'd given birth there. Crown Point was a small rural hospital operated by the Indian Health Service with about ten doctors. Two of the doctors were a married couple named Christine Golnick and Thomas Hennessy, who had helped deliver Florina's baby.

Florina's parents parked close to the entrance and walked with her into the lobby. Right away, Florina saw Dr. Golnick's familiar face smiling at her. Florina smiled back and waved. After signing in, she followed Dr.

Golnick to an exam room in the back. Dr. Golnik placed a stethoscope on Florina's chest and listened. Then she held her fingers to Florina's wrist and measured her pulse. Florina watched Dr.

Golnick's face for a reaction, but her expression remained neutral. The doctor understood why Florina was worried, since her symptoms had persisted for so long, but thankfully her vitals had come back normal, and so the doctor suspected it was just a bad case of the flu. But considering Florina's history with asthma and her lingering symptoms, Dr. Golnick didn't want to take any chances. She suggested that Florina spend the night at the hospital.

In the morning, Dr. Golnik's husband, Dr. Hennessy, could come give a second opinion. Florina resisted at first, since the next day was Mother's Day. She said she wanted to get home and spend it with Meryl and their baby.

But Dr. Golnick promised Florina that she could leave once Dr. Hennessy checked up on her the next day. So Florina agreed to stay. She knew that it was better to play it safe, especially because she lived so far from the hospital.

She told her parents they could head home for the night, and then she called Meryl. He told her he loved her and promised he'd come get her first thing in the morning. Once she was discharged.

The next morning, Florina woke to a knock at the door. It was Dr. Hennessy, and Florina was glad to see him because now she was feeling worse and she was struggling to catch her breath. Dr. Hennessy listened to her lungs with a stethoscope and frowned.

He told Florina that he wanted to take a chest x ray to get a better look at her lungs. Unfortunately, that meant Florina would have to stay at the hospital a bit longer. Florina was disappointed, but she was also relieved that Dr. Hennessy seemed to be treating her symptoms so seriously. Whatever was going on with her felt much worse than the usual breathing issues she experienced from her asthma, and she was starting to get scared.

A few minutes later, a technician wheeled in a mobile x ray unit and scanned Florina's upper body. While she waited for the results. A nurse brought Florina a phone so she could call Meryl. And when Meryl answered, he told Florina that their baby was napping and they'd just celebrate Mother's Day. When she got home that night, hearing Meryl's voice calmed her down, but Florina still felt helpless and lonely.

This was not how she envisioned her first Mother's day going.

A little over an hour later, the x ray technician brought Florina's test results to Dr. Hennessy. The image showed Florina's lungs all whited out, which meant they were full of fluid. Dr. Hennessy was shocked by what he saw, and he ran to Florina's room.

He found her lying there with her eyes half closed and her mouth ringed with a dry white liquid. She was desperately struggling to breathe. Dr. Hennessy couldn't believe it. For a patient this young and athletic to go from healthy to near respiratory failure in 24 hours was unheard of.

The doctor immediately called for a helicopter to fly Florina to the University of New Mexico hospital in Albuquerque, which had a much better equipped intensive care unit. But until the helicopter arrived, Dr. Hennessy had to try everything possible to stabilize her condition. He fitted Florina with an oxygen mask to pump air into her lungs, but within a few moments, she coughed up bloody pink froth. Dr.

Hennessy's face turned ashen as he realized what was happening. Florina's lungs were so congested, the extra oxygen was not doing anything. And there was another urgent problem. Florina's blood pressure was dropping rapidly. Dr.

Hennessy shouted for a nurse to give Florina IV fluids, and as the medicine entered Florina's body, Dr. Hennessy's eyes shot over to the monitors, tracking her vitals. They were still extremely weak. Florina's body just wasn't getting enough oxygen, and her organs were starting to shut down. Getting Florina to breathe was now a matter of life and death.

The doctor quickly snapped on a pair of fresh gloves. He grabbed a scalpel from an operating tray and then took a deep breath to steady himself. And then, when Dr. Hennessy was ready, he carefully cut an incision into Florina's throat and inserted a breathing tube directly into Florina's airway. He heard Florina's heart rate monitor beep rapidly for a few moments, and then it went flat.

Florina had gone into cardiac arrest. Dr. Hennessy knew he only had a few seconds left to save her life. He started CPR while the nurse grabbed the defibrillator. Once it was charged, the doctor grabbed the paddles and pressed them to Florina's chest.

And then the machine released a bolt of electricity into her body. Florina's heart rate monitor stayed flat, so Dr. Hennessy recharged the defibrillator and sent another shock through Florina's body. Just then, a nurse ran in and told the doctor that the helicopter had just arrived. But by this point, Dr.

Hennessy just shook his head. It was too late. Florina was dead.

Later that morning, Florina's fiance, Meryl, was at home sitting by the baby's crib when his phone rang. He recognized the voice on the other end as one of the doctors from Crown Point Hospital, but the words he was hearing, he just couldn't compute. Something had gone terribly wrong. Florina had died, and no one really knew why. Doctors were running tests, but they had never seen anything like it before.

Meryl crumpled to the floor when he'd kissed Florina goodbye less than 24 hours ago. She'd been a bit under the weather but it didn't seem serious. He didn't understand how this could have happened. Meryl took a moment to gather himself. Then he walked into the kitchen where Florina's parents were having their morning coffee.

He tried to tell them what had happened, but the words got stuck in his throat. Then he just closed his eyes, let out a deep breath and blurted out, Florina is dead.

Florina's parents stared at him blankly. Her mother asked him what he was talking about. Tears started streaming out of Meryl's eyes as he explained what the doctors had just told him. Florina really was dead. It had happened extremely fast, and the doctors couldn't do anything to save her.

This time it sunk in and Florina's parents started sobbing. How could a 21 year old mother in perfect health just suddenly die? That night, Meryl barely slept, and the next day he woke up in a fog. Food tasted like nothing. He fed and changed the baby, but it felt mechanical.

Everything reminded him of Florina on Tuesday, May 11. So two days after Florina died, Meryl woke up feeling weak and sluggish. He felt like it was something more than the physical effects of his grief, and he was concerned after what had happened to his wife. The doctors still didn't know what killed Florina, and Meryl didn't want to take any chances. However, he had a lot of planning to do for Florina's funeral, and he didn't want to drive all the way to the Crown Point hospital, so he decided to go to the local health clinic instead.

Meryl told the doctor there what had happened to Florina and that he was now feeling sick. The doctor agreed that Meryl was right to be cautious, but he said Meryl's situation was different than his wife's. Florina had asthma, and that likely contributed to her very rapid decline. The doctor told Meryl to rest and sent him home with a prescription strength pain reliever, an antibiotic, and an antiviral medication. Meryl took these medications over the next few days, but none of them seemed to work.

He felt more exhausted each day and even worse on Friday, May 14, which was the day of Florina's funeral, Florina's cousin picked Meryl up at the family's trailer that morning, and then they set off for the 70 miles drive south to Sunset Memorial park in Gallup, New Mexico, where Florina was going to be buried. But they hadn't been in the car long before Meryl started gasping for air. Now, this was before people carried cell phones. So Meryl's cousin had to pull off the highway at a general store to call 911 on a landline. And while he did that, Meryl stumbled out of the car and lurched around in the parking lot, panicking while his lips and fingernails started turning blue.

And then he just collapsed. Paramedics got to the location quickly and raced Meryl to the Gallup Indian Medical center. And once they arrived, nurses wheeled his stretcher into the emergency room. But by the time he was inside, Meryl had stopped breathing. The physician on duty, Dr.

Bruce Tempest, tried to revive him, but it was no use. He declared Meryl dead upon arrival.

Later that day, Dr. Tempest sat slumped in a chair, feeling defeated. He had worked at Gallup Indian Medical center for 23 years and was widely considered an expert at internal medicine. He'd even been awarded the Indian Health Service clinician of the year in 1983. But he had felt powerless being unable to save Meryl's life.

As Dr. Tempest signed and dated Meryl's time of death paperwork, an assistant mentioned that the man's fiance had died, too, just a week earlier. And like Meryl, she had been in good shape and just declined really quickly. Dr. Tempest felt a wave of fear rise in his chest.

Two young, physically fit people didn't just suddenly die of respiratory failure one right after another. Something had to make them sick. As he thought about Meryl's death, Dr. Tempest realized he'd seen other cases like it. In the past six months, he had treated three other young Navajos with fatal respiratory issues.

He couldn't help wondering if maybe these deaths were all connected. Whatever had killed Florina and Meryl might have killed the others, too. The fact that all of the dead were Navajos living within the same general area led the doctor to suspect that this disease might be contagious. And if he had to guess, it seemed like it spread through the air, since the lungs were the most affected organ in every case. If he was right, this could be the start of an incredibly dangerous outbreak.

But before he jumped to any conclusions, he needed to gather more information. Dr. Tempest called Crown Point Medical center, where Florina had been treated before she died. He explained he had treated her boyfriend and wanted to learn what happened to Florina. The doctors at Crown Point didn't hesitate to share a detailed breakdown of her illness.

Afterwards, Dr. Tempest hung up and compared both cases. Florina sounded exactly like what happened to Meryl. It just didn't make sense to Dr. Tempest.

He'd never heard of any disease that behaved like this. Also, during this call, the doctor had learned something else that totally puzzled him. Meryl and Florina's six month old son had not gotten sick at all. If this was a contagious airborne disease, the baby would have probably caught it from one of his parents. And why hadn't the grandparents gotten sick either?

There was one more thing that was bothering Dr. Tempest. So far, there hadn't been any mild cases of this disease reported. Every single person who got sick died. This disease was unlike anything he had seen before.

If it kept spreading, many more people could die. That weekend, Dr. Tempest compiled all the information he could on Florina and Meryl's cases. Then, three days after he pronounced Meryl dead, Dr. Tempest phoned the state health department and told them they had a problem.

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Eleven days later, Dr. Jeffrey Dutchen was wrapping up his work at the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia, where he investigated dangerous outbreaks of disease. He was still in training at the CDC, and the work was demanding. Now he was looking forward to spending the long Memorial Day weekend with his family. But as he was getting ready to leave, there was a knock on his door.

It was Dr. Dutch's boss, and he had a critical job for him. Something troubling was happening on the Navajo reservation. Young, healthy people were dying, and no one knew why. Six people had already died from this mystery illness, and four others had been hospitalized.

The CDC was sending out a team early tomorrow morning, and his boss wanted Dr. Dutchen to be a part of it. Dr. Dutchen immediately switched gears and started putting documents in his briefcase. It didn't matter that he had plans with his family.

This was urgent. That night, Dr. Dutchen met with the team that was being sent to the Navajo reservation to go over their plan. Once the meeting ended, he was handed a doctor's bag and opened it up to look at the equipment, along with the regular tools of his trade. He was surprised to find something completely unexpected.

A gas mask. Dr. Dutchen knew that it was too early to know what they were up against, but the signs were not good.

The next day, Dr. Dutchin and two other colleagues from the CDC landed in New Mexico and went straight to an emergency conference of over 30 public health officials. Huge whiteboards lined every wall of the conference room, scribbled with the names of possible germs and toxins, everything from herpes to heavy metals to pesticides and plagues. The mood was frantic. Dr.

Dutchen was overwhelmed by all the theories and potential diseases being proposed. Each theory was discussed and dissected. The more possibilities they ruled out, the more worried Dutchin felt. It meant that the cause of death was either something so rare, there were very few experts on it, or it was something entirely new. And the longer researchers took to find answers, the more people could die.

In fact, on the same day the conference started, a seemingly healthy teenage Navajo girl had collapsed at a school dance at a state park. She died a few hours later. Her death was a stark reminder that the clock was ticking. There was only so much the gathered scientists could accomplish by looking at whiteboards in a conference room. They needed more data.

Dr. Dutchen and his colleagues decided to survey some local residents and gather blood samples from anyone who was willing to participate.

Two days after the CDC team arrived, the president of the Navajo Nation, Peterson Zah, looked out the window of his office in Window Rock, Arizona. The whole four corners area where Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado meet and where the Navajo live, had turned into a media circus. News vans were crammed into every available space of the parking lot below. Za's phone was ringing non stop with calls from journalists, health officials, and locals asking for information on this mystery disease. Zah had nothing to tell any of them, but he hoped that would change soon.

The navajo leader was not participating in the CDC's big conference, although he was keeping tabs on their progress. He'd barely slept over the weekend because he was anxiously waiting for any updates. But from what he'd seen so far, he thought the CDC's investigation and the media attention it brought had not been much help. Za's people were terrified, and the outsider's ignorance of navajo customs was adding to their panic. Newspapers were printing the names of the deceased right away.

Even though navajo tradition forbade their names from being spoken or written for four days after they died. This was causing a lot of pain and confusion for the navajo people. They believed this would prevent the spirit of the dead from properly transitioning to the afterlife and aggravating the already sensitive situation. Some scientists were going right up to people's homes and knocking on the door. They had no idea that navajo custom required them to wait 30ft away until they were invited inside.

These cultural misunderstandings had led to escalating tension on the reservation, and Za was worried about what might happen next. Just then, the phone rang again. It was a navajo woman from the reservation, claiming that some medical researchers were bothering her family. Zah assured her he would be right there to handle the situation. Zah hung up, then headed outside.

He made his way through the crowd of reporters waiting outside his office as they shouted questions at him. He promised he'd share any new information with them as soon as he had it. Then he got in his truck and headed to the address the woman on the phone had given him. A few minutes later, Za pulled up to a cluster of low pueblo buildings that marked the address. The sun was high, barely casting shadows across the dusty ground.

Za saw a small crowd shouting at two men who were standing off to the side. Both the men looked rattled and confused. Za assumed they were the scientists that the woman had called him about. The situation looked heated, and he sensed it was about to get out of control. Za got out of his truck and recognized the woman who'd called him, and when she saw him, she ran over to him and explained what was going on.

The two scientists had knocked on her door, asking if her family would be willing to donate blood for testing. Za shook his head in disgust. Now he understood why the crowd was so upset. He wove his way through them and walked up to the two scientists. Everyone grew silent as Zah introduced himself and explained that the researchers had deeply violated navajo custom.

The scientist's unannounced arrival at the woman's house was considered trespassing by the Navajo people. But even more offensive was their request for a blood sample. The Navajo believed that blood is spiritually attached to the body, and giving a blood sample is seen as a grave violation of privacy. The scientists'ignorance of this cultural belief was an insult to this woman. The scientists'faces turned red, and they apologized profusely.

They said they were there on official business researching the outbreak, and did not mean to offend anyone. Zah cautioned them to be more careful. He wanted to stop this outbreak as much as they did. But if the scientists could not get people to trust them, then they certainly would never learn what caused this disease. The scientists apologized again and packed up to leave.

Zah calmed the crowd and told the woman to call if any other strange people came around. He had a feeling that there was more trouble to come back. At his office that same day, Za read the latest news on the outbreak. With growing discouragement, the Navajo people weren't just facing problems on the reservation. People in the wider area were beginning to shun them out of fear of the disease.

There were several articles about navajo families being banned from local restaurants and businesses. There was even a report about 27 navajo third graders from Chinley, Arizona, being denied a field trip to visit pen pals at another school in California. And worse, people were still dying. The death toll was now up to ten, and many more were very sick. Za's eyes locked on one particular article about the outbreak in the Washington Post.

A particular phrase in the opening paragraph immediately jumped out at him. It said, quote, the Navajo flu. He slammed the newspaper down on his desk and rubbed his temples. This had gone far enough. He called in his assistant and told her to schedule a leadership council meeting immediately.

The next day, Dr. Ben Muneta, an indian health services doctor in New Mexico, received a call from Zaz's assistant inviting him to a meeting that night in Window Rock, Arizona, about the outbreak. Dr. Muneta understood why he was being asked to go. His grandfather had been a famous medicine man in the tribe.

He had inspired Dr. Muneta to become a Stanford trained physician with a unique knowledge of both modern science and traditional navajo medicine. Dr. Manetta had been at the CDC's conference and could be a bridge between their investigation and the navajo people. He told the assistant he'd be there.

As he drove to Window Rock, Dr. Muneta passed a sign nailed to a telephone pole that said, quote, no media allowed, no newspaper, tv, radio, etc. This means you end quote. He could tell the locals were clearly fed up with the negative attention. His thoughts turned to his colleague at the CDC, Jeffrey Dutchen.

Dr. Dutchen and the other scientists were doing their best to solve this mystery, but they needed help from the Navajo. He hoped that this meeting he was going to have with President Zah was the start of that. A few minutes later, Dr. Manetta arrived at Zah's office and was led to a small conference room Dr.

Manetta realized this wouldn't be anything like the CDC's giant conference. It was an intentionally small meeting that left out the federal researchers altogether. Zah didn't want them interfering in navajo business. Aside from Zah, there were a few senior Navajo medicine men in attendance. The only other physician in the room was the state's deputy commissioner of health.

Once everyone was seated, President Zah asked Dr. Manetta to update them on how the investigation was going so far. Dr. Manetta admitted that the CDC hadn't found much yet, but they were testing freely, given blood samples for all kinds of diseases, and working through all the possibilities. Dr.

Manetta then turned to the medicine men and asked them for their prayers. The eldest medicine man was grateful for Dr. Manetta's request, but instead of prayers, he offered his own interpretation of the mystery disease outbreak. He believed that too many young Navajo were abandoning traditional practices such as speaking the language and living off the land. They were neglecting ceremonies that were meant to heal the sick, bring good fortune, and celebrate life's milestones.

One of the most important of these is called the blessing way, which is performed for newborns, brides and grooms, and people who are sick or who have experienced a traumatic event. Without these traditions to keep the world in balance, death was short to follow. Dr. Maneta could sense the medicine man was holding something back. However, it would be improper for him to press his elder for more information.

According to Navajo Custom, if Dr. Maneta wanted more knowledge, he had to partake in a ceremony that lasted for several days. As much as Dr. Manetta wanted to adhere to tradition, he knew there was no time to waste. He gathered himself, then sat up straight and looked at the eldest medicine man.

In a quiet but very firm voice, Dr. Manetta asked if the medicine man could just tell him more. For a long moment, the medicine man just stared at him. Dr. Manetta felt a knot growing in the pit of his stomach.

He knew how upset the Navajos already were that the investigators were violating their customs. And now Dr. Manetta, who knew better, had done it as well. Finally, the medicine man spoke. He acknowledged that Dr.

Maneta's behavior was irregular. But considering the gravity of the situation, he agreed to say more. And immediately, Dr. Manetta let out a sigh of relief. According to the elder, this was not the first time a deadly illness like this had struck the Navajo.

There had been two other bouts of mysterious respiratory failure deaths in their community. One was in 1918, and the other was in 1933. It was a long time ago, but stories were still told. Among the Navajo about those who had died. Dr.

Maneta asked if there'd been anything similar about the years in question. The medicine man nodded. Both had been unseasonably wet winters with lots of rain, just like this recent one. Then he described how water changed the land, and these changes, in turn, brought a creature that carried death. Dr.

Muneta knew what the medicine man was referring to. The creature was a real animal that was a prominent figure in Navajo mythology. Navajo called it na'atz unse and believed it was equally capable of spreading life or death. In Navajo legend, if Naats Unse entered a home and saw people being wasteful, it would then choose the Navajo's strongest young people to die.

Muneta thought about what the medicine man revealed. The doctor didn't think that this animal was literally passing judgment on the Navajo and killing them. And in real life, he'd never heard of it spreading a disease like this through contact with humans. But as he considered the possibility, he came up with a theory that explained how it could happen. And if he was right, it would completely explain this deadly outbreak.

Dr. Manetta raced back home and called his CDC colleague, Jeffrey Dutchen, who had led the emergency conference the week before. Dutchen was relieved to hear that the disease was not completely new, but he was confused when Dr. Maneta explained that the outbreak was related to the rain. This land had experienced every type of weather over time.

Rain was not unusual, but this disease was. Dr. Maneta told him that it wasn't the rain itself. It was the animal from Navajo legends that came as a result of the rain. And if they were going to solve this mystery, then they would need to find as many of these creatures as possible.

Dr. Maneta could sense Dr. Dutchen hesitate, but so far, nothing else had worked. And as strange as this theory was about mythical creatures, it was the most promising lead they had. And so Dr.

Dutchen told Dr. Maneta he'd get a team together right away, and this time, he'd make sure the investigators respected the Navajo's cultural practices.

Three days later, Dr. Duchen walked out of his hotel a few miles south of the Navajo reservation. He'd organized this investigation with the help of President Zah, and it would be conducted with the help and guidance of medicine men and other navajo representatives. Dr. Duchen scanned the parking lot and spotted four men gathered around a couple of beat up trucks.

Dr. Duchen smiled and headed over to them. They were the CDC experts sent to trap the animals that Dr. Manetta had told him about. Another car pulled up next to them and a stocky Navajo man climbed out.

He was an environmental health expert sent by President Zah to help with the investigation. He clapped Dr. Dutchen on the back and promised he'd help them find what they were looking for. Dr. Dutchin felt a surge of hope.

Thanks to the Navajos, he believed they knew what was making people sick. Now they'd be able to track down that creature that was spreading disease around the area, and hopefully they could figure out how to treat the illness before it killed anyone else. They all piled into a truck and headed for the Navajo reservation.

The next day, Dr. Dutchen stood in the middle of the desert. He was dressed in full biohazard gear, a silver suit, airtight helmet, and heavy boots and gloves. He looked across the desert landscape at the other members of his team. They were all dressed in the same protective gear.

To outside observers, they might have all looked like astronauts from a movie set. But the work they were doing was very real, and if they weren't careful, it could be very dangerous. Dr. Dutchin was standing above a trap he'd set the day before. Before he checked it, he made sure the wind was blowing away from him to avoid inhaling any harmful particles.

If he caught an infected animal, he could be at serious risk for picking up this disease. Once Dr. Dutchin was certain that he was safe, he cautiously bent down and examined the trap. Through the thick material of his helmet, he could hear a faint sound coming from inside, the sounds of a trapped animal. He looked over to his colleagues, who were also examining their traps.

Dr. Dutchen hoped that at least one of them had caught what they were looking for. Over the next few days, Dr. Dutchen and his team caught all sorts of animals. They carefully took samples and sent them off to the CDC in Atlanta for analysis.

On June 16, four days after the specimens arrived in Atlanta, Dr. Dutchen got his confirmation. The disease afflicting the Navajo wasn't entirely new. It was called a hantavirus. But this strain of hantavirus was entirely unique.

The CDC had not been able to identify it earlier because it typically attacks the kidneys, while this particular strain affected people's lungs. But thanks to the tip from the Navajo's medicine men, the CDC scientists knew what was spreading the disease. It was the creature known as the naatz unse. When Dr. Maneta met with President Zah and the medicine men, they told him how this real life animal played a prominent role in the Navajo's origin myth.

According to Navajo legend, the creature is responsible for spreading the seeds of life across the world. However, it can also be dangerous, and its breath can be fatal. This animal is incredibly common in North America, but the Navajo fear it so intensely, they burn their clothes if it even touches them individually. This animal is not a huge threat because each one doesn't carry enough of the hantavirus to endanger anyone. But if there's enough of them, they can spread disease like wildfire.

In that winter, the heavy rains in the four corners area created a concentrated population of the animal that had only occurred twice before, in 1918 and in 1933. In all three instances, the heavy rains had led to more plants and vegetation. This, in turn, fed the creature and allowed them to multiply. The creature then infiltrated the homes of Navajo people like Florina, Woody, and Meryl Bay, leaving traces of the hauntavirus everywhere they went. The creature that was responsible for spreading this disease was the humble deermouse.

And a hauntivirus is a family of viruses spread mainly by rodents. And that spring, deer mice had been all over the Navajo reservation and surrounding area. They crept into homes. They nested in sheds, barns, and storage units. No matter how many holes were plugged or traps were laid, there were just too many of them to stop.

And wherever they went, they left their droppings, which carried the deadly virus. When people like Florina and Meryl tried to clean those areas, they came into direct contact with the droppings, and the virus entered their bodies in high enough concentrations to infect them. But now that the CDC knew what was behind the outbreak, local officials could reduce the danger. After the deermouse was identified as the culprit, public health advisories urged people to avoid rodents and told them how to make it harder for them to enter their homes. And while that didn't eliminate the danger entirely, it reduced it enough to help the outbreak end.

By the middle of August, almost three months after Florina Woody died, all told, 24 people in the four Corners area were infected with this previously unknown virus. Tragically, half of them died. But thanks to the cooperation between the CDC and the Navajo people, the damage was limited, and there have been very few outbreaks since then. In keeping with the navajo custom of not speaking the names of the dead, the CDC decided to call this north american hantavirus strain sin nombre, which means without a name.

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From Ballin Studios and Wondery this is Mr. Ballin's medical mysteries, hosted by me. Mr. Ballin. A quick note about our stories we use aliases sometimes because we don't know the names of the real people in the story, and also in most cases we can't know exactly what was said.

But everything is based on a lot of research and a reminder, the content in this episode is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. This episode was written by Britt Brown. Our editor is Heather Dundas. Sound design is by Andre Pluss. Coordinating producer is Sophia Martins.

Our senior producer is Alex Benedon. Our associate producers and researchers are Sarah Vitak and Tasia Palaconda. Fact checking was done by Sheila Patterson. For Ballin Studios. Our head of production is Zach Levitt.

Script editing is by Scott Allen and Evan Allen. Our coordinating producer is Matub Zaire. Executive producers are myself, Mr. Ballin and Nick Witters. For wondery, our head of sound is Marcelino Villapondo.

Senior producers are Laura Donna Palavoda and Dave Schilling. Senior managing producer is Ryan Moore. Our executive producers are Aaron O'Flaherty and Marshall Louis. For wondering.