“Yes, sir,” Harris said as he got to his feet. By reflex he started to salute, but he caught himself in time.
“Very impressive!” Sean said aloud. He was sitting by himself in the glass-enclosed office in the middle of his expansive lab. He was at an empty metal desk, and he had the copies of the thirty-three charts spread out in front of him. He’d chosen the office in case someone suddenly appeared. If they did he’d have enough time to sweep the charts into one of the empty file drawers. Then he’d pull over the ledger featuring the protocol he’d developed to immunize the mice with the Forbes glycoprotein.
What Sean found so impressive were the statistics concerning the medulloblastoma cases. The Forbes Cancer Center had indeed achieved a one hundred percent remission rate over the last two years, which contrasted sharply with the one hundred percent fatality rate over the eight years prior to that. Through follow-up MRI studies, even large tumors were shown to have completely disappeared after successful treatment. As far as Sean was concerned, such consistent results were unheard of in the treatment of cancer except for the situation of cancer in situ, meaning extremely small, localized neoplasia that could be completely excised or otherwise eliminated.
For the first time since he’d arrived, Sean had had a reasonable morning. No one had bothered him; he hadn’t seen Hiroshi or any of the other researchers. He’d started the day by injecting more of the mice which had given him a chance to get the copies of the charts up to his office. Then he’d toyed with the crystallization problem, growing a few crystals that he thought would keep Dr. Mason content for a week or so. He’d even had the director come down to see some of the crystals. Sean knew he’d been impressed. At that point, reasonably confident he wouldn’t be disturbed, Sean had retired into the glass office to review the charts.
First he’d read through all the charts to gain an overall impression. Then he’d gone back, checking on epidemiological aspects. He’d noted that the patients represented a wide range of ages and races. They were also of varying sex. But the predominant group consisted of middle-aged white males, not the typical group seen with medulloblastoma. Sean guessed that the statistics were skewed due to economic considerations. The Forbes was not a cheap hospital. People needed adequate medical insurance or sizable savings accounts to be patients there. He also noted that the cases came from various major cities around the country in a truly national distribution.
But then, as if to show how dangerous generalizations were, he discovered a case from a small southwestern Florida town: Naples, Florida. Sean had seen the town on a map. It was the southernmost town on the west coast of Florida, just north of the Everglades. The patient’s name was Malcolm Betencourt, and he was nearing two years since the commencement of his treatment. Sean noted the man’s address and phone number. He thought he might want to talk with him.
As for the tumors themselves, Sean noted that most were multifocal rather than being a single lesion, which was more common. Since they were multifocal, the attending physicians in most cases had initially believed they were dealing with a metastatic tumor, one that had spread to the brain from some other organ like lung, kidney, or colon. In all these cases, the referring physicians had expressed surprise when the lesions turned out to be primary brain tumors arising from primitive neural elements. Sean also noted that the tumors were particularly aggressive and fast-growing. They would have undoubtedly led to rapid death had not therapy been instituted.
Concerning therapy, Sean noted that it did not vary. The dosage and rate of administration of the coded medication was the same for all patients although it was adjusted for weight. All patients had experienced about a week of hospitalization and after discharge were followed in the outpatient clinic at intervals of two weeks, four weeks, two months, six months, then annually. Thirteen of the thirty-three patients had reached the annual-visit stage. Sequelae from the illness were minimal and were associated with mild neurological deficits secondary to the expanding tumor masses prior to treatment rather than to the treatment itself.
Sean was also impressed with the charts themselves. He knew he was looking at a wealth of material that would probably take him a week to digest.
Concentrating as deeply as he was, Sean was startled when the phone on his desk began to ring. It was the first time it had ever rung. He picked it up, expecting a wrong number. To his surprise, it was Janet.
“I have the medicine,” she said tersely.
“Great!” Sean said.
“Can you meet me in the cafeteria?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” Sean said. He could tell something was wrong. Her voice sounded strained. “What’s the matter?”
“Everything,” Janet said. “I’ll tell you when I see you. Can you leave now?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Sean said.
After hiding all the charts, Sean descended in the elevator and crossed over the pedestrian bridge to the hospital. He guessed he was being observed by camera and felt like waving to indicate as much, but resisted the temptation.
When he arrived in the cafeteria Janet was already there, sitting at a table with a cup of coffee in front of her. She didn’t look happy.
Sean slid into a chair across from her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“One of my patients is in a coma,” Janet said. “I’d just started an IV on her. One minute she was fine, the next minute not breathing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sean said. He’d had some exposure to the emotional traumas of hospital life, so he could empathize to an extent.
“At least I got the medicine,” she said.
“Was it difficult?” Sean asked.
“Emotionally more than anything else,” Janet said.
“So where is it?”
“In my purse,” she said. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching them. “I’ll give the vials to you under the table.”
“You don’t have to make this so melodramatic,” Sean said. “Sneaking around draws more attention than just acting normal and handing them over.”
“Humor me,” Janet said. She fumbled with her purse.
Sean felt her hand hit his knee. He reached under the table and two vials dropped into his hand. Respecting Janet’s sensitivity he slipped them into his pockets, one on each side. Then he scraped back his chair and stood up.
“Sean!” Janet complained.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you have to be so obvious? Can’t you wait five minutes like we’re having a conversation?”
He sat down. “People aren’t watching us,” he said. “When are you going to learn?”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
Sean started to say something, then thought better of it.
“Can we talk about something fun for a change?” Janet asked. “I’m completely stressed out.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“What we can do come Sunday,” Janet said. “I need to get away from the hospital and all this tension. I want to do something relaxing and fun.”
“Okay, it’s a date,” Sean promised. “Meanwhile, I’m eager to get back to the lab with this medicine. Would it be so obvious if I were to leave now?”
“Go!” Janet commanded. “You’re impossible.”
“See you back at the beach apartment,” Sean said. He moved away quickly lest Janet say something about his not being invited. He looked back and waved as he left the cafeteria.
Hurrying over the bridge between the two buildings, he thrust his hands into his pockets and palmed the two vials. He couldn’t wait to get started. Thanks to Janet, he felt some of the investigative excitement he’d expected when he’d made the decision to come to the Forbes Cancer Center.