“No," Sam corrected, “they should all be negative."
The young man looked at Sam in confusion.
“Didn’t Jeff Edwards explain the protocol we wanted?"
The lab tech shook his head, bewildered. “I just started here yesterday," the man said timidly, “but I’m sure these test results are accurate."
Sam eyed the young man suspiciously. He had enough on his plate right now without worrying about some eager upstart flying an ethical flag in the company‘s face.
“What is your name?" Sam inquired.
“Roger,” the man stammered.
“And do you have a last name?” The man was beginning to sweat and weakly offered up his last name.
“Kaplan."
“I see," Sam said threateningly. “Well, Roger, run them again. And if they come back positive, this will be your second and last day with Dominex." The VP calmly left with the book, leaving a shaken lab technician to read between the lines. The obvious message: to get with the program or find another job.
Sam carried the information back to his office, stopping at his secretary’s desk. “Margie," he said. “We need to make arrangements to return medications to all the volunteers that have dropped out of the study. I’ll get the list of names for you."
“Gee, thanks," Margie said. Sam knew that the study had been a heavy load on his secretary.
“Margie,” he added, “You know you’re the best.”
“Yes," she agreed. “I just didn’t know if you knew it." Sam gave her a smile and headed back to his office.
“Oh, Sam," she called. He turned back around. “Charles is looking for you." Sam nodded and turned right to go back down the hall.
Sam and Charles sat at the conference table in the CEO’s office with all the study statistics in front of them. Charles was working hard to absorb the information. Finally, he concluded, “So, what you’re telling me is that forty nine percent of all the volunteers are becoming extremely sick when they stop taking Valipene?"
“That’s correct. And of the fifty-one percent who haven’t become sick, only thirty percent of them are reporting having no uncomfortable symptoms. That’s only fifteen percent of the entire group,” Sam added.
Charles looked at Sam and said, “That’s not good."
“No, it’s not. We did a quick evaluation of the remaining fifteen percent. Everyone in that category had been on the drug for less than six weeks."
“So, the longer a person has been taking Valipene, the sicker they become when they stop?"
“The correlation is not exact," Sam explained. “We find that some individuals are more prone to withdrawal than others, but in general, yes, time frame is definitely a factor.”
“You said that this would be fool proof," Charles said, taking his eyes off the pages and leveling them on his VP.
“And it will be," Sam assured him. “Do you want to know the details of Phase Two?"
“I guess I need to," Charles said reluctantly. “But before we get into that we need to look at our current financial situation.
“It will take two more months before all the volunteers have completed the study," Charles directed.
Sam nodded.
“Our recent expansion required a substantial increase in revenue and for obvious reasons, it isn’t there yet."
“And terminating a bunch of eight dollar an hour employees is going to fix the problem?" Sam asked incredulously.
“I’m afraid we will have to dip into some of the higher paid work force," Charles responded. Sam and Charles sat in silence while Sam absorbed that piece of information.
“And what do you propose to do in two months when Suprame goes on the market and we need them all back?" Sam asked finally.
“Actually," he said contritely, “I hadn’t thought that far down the road." Just then, Charles lit up and said, “Why don’t we just tell them it’s a temporary layoff?”
Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This man was not going to let go of a single luxury while honest, loyal, hard workers went months without a means to pay their light bill.
“Charles," he said finally. “That’s not going to work. Good qualified people are not going to lie around the house for two months waiting for their jobs back. More than likely you will never see them again. Why don’t you let me think about another solution?"
“Fine by me," Charles said happily. “Now tell me about Phase Two.”
Chapter 14
Carol went up to the front office to check her mailbox. She had been anxiously waiting for the lab to drop off her latest batch of drug screen results. The large green and white envelope was folded into her designated slot and she grabbed it. Not willing to wait a minute longer, she tore the envelope open and sorted through the pages until she found the alias she was looking for.
There it was in green and white. Lorenzo White, alias Brian Carter, was positive for benzodiazepines.
“Oh, shit," Carol exclaimed.
Several of the secretaries and counselors looked over in her direction.
“Fallen angel," Carol explained sheepishly and quickly walked back to her office.
She closed the door and sat down on the patient’s sofa. What am I going to tell Brian? Then the full reality suddenly hit her. If Brian was being given a compound with the same agent as Valipene, then everyone going to this doctor was being deceived in the same way. Carol had no idea how many people were going to see Dr. Donovan, but this whole situation had just escalated from unfortunate victim to intended harm. Carol got the paper she had used to compile names and phone numbers, and dialed the number for Jerry Owens. Carol waited, but she only got his voice mail. She left a generic message. She did not want to leave any details on an answer machine.
Her next contact was Brian Carter. Carol knew he would be home and dreaded having to break this kind of news to him. He had been so happy, thinking he was free from his addiction. He was more of a prisoner now than he had been before. Brian answered on the third ring. “Hey, Brian," Carol said, trying to sound cheerful.
“Hey, counselor. How’s it going?"
“Listen, buddy, I got your lab result."
“And what did it say? Do I have some fatal disease?"
Carol began stalling for time and said, “As near as I can tell, you are going to outlive us all."
“So everything is okay?" he concluded.
Carol did not respond.
“Uh oh," Brian said, when he got no response.
“You want this over the phone or do you want to meet me somewhere?" she asked, finally.
“That bad?"
“You know where the Denny’s is on Memorial and 285?" Carol asked.
“Yeah," Brian answered. “It’s not far from where I live.”
“I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes."
Carol cleaned off her desk and brought the patient files back up to the file room. Files were always locked away each night for patient confidentiality. There had never been a break in at Newberg Mental Health, as far as anyone knew. Carol couldn’t imagine what anyone would do with patient information. There were much better things to go after in the middle of the night, but it was regulation nonetheless, and they were all required to comply. Carol signed out early, telling the receptionist that her symptoms had gotten worse. The girl nodded sympathetically. Everyone knew that Carol was sick and had been unusually nice to her. Carol left the building and drove to the Denny’s to meet her “fallen angel.”
Brian was already seated at a booth when she arrived. Carol scooted into the seat opposite him and said, “”You loo
k good for someone terminal." Brian did not laugh.
“Okay, tell me what is going on," he demanded, visibly shaken. Carol could not put him off any longer. She told him about his drug screen result and explained that the result could only be from one substance. It had to have been in the vitamins, and that was what had made him feel better. “So, you’re telling me that I am back on that drug?" Brian said in alarm.
“You are," she confirmed. Brian grabbed his water glass with one shaky hand, barely able to navigate it to his mouth. “Brian, I am so sorry," Carol said not knowing what else to do.
Brian sat quietly for what seemed like an eternity to Carol. She allowed him the time he needed. She was used to uncomfortable silences. “This is a nightmare," he said finally. “The harder I fight it, the deeper I fall."
“Brian, this was not your fault," she said soothingly. “You had no way of knowing what they were giving you.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t fall for it," Brian laughed ironically. “You had enough sense to stay away from doctors altogether."
“Wait,” Carol interjected. “Don’t turn my obsessive paranoia into a virtue. I am just as confused as you are. I just happened to pick the right phobia. I got lucky." Brian grabbed the water glass again, having the same shaky result.
“What am I going to do?" he wailed, as tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of anyone, but he had not been able to contain himself. Carol handed him a napkin and waited.
After a moment Carol said, “Brian, there are only two choices." She didn’t have to provide much more of an explanation than that. He knew exactly what she meant.
“There are always only two choices," she continued. “It doesn’t matter what brought us to this point. All that matters now is that we are addicts. I kept trying to tell myself that my situation was different and that I wasn’t like those hard-core addicts I work with. But you know what?" she said, in deep reflection. “There is no difference.”
“How can you say that?" Brian asked incredulously.
“Look at what we are dealing with right now,” Carol explained. “Our bodies need that drug. Without it, we can’t function. From a medical stand point there is no difference between our addiction and an alcoholic’s.”
“Okay, medically speaking, maybe not," Brian conceded. “But we didn’t run around popping pills all day and all night. We were only following a doctor’s advice.” The man was visibly shaken by the implication.
“Brian, did you ever take more on a given day than you were supposed to?" Carol interjected.
“What do you mean?" he asked defensively.
“Say you had a really bad day," Carol continued. “Did you ever justify an extra dose because you had had a really bad day?" Brian thought about it for a moment, and shrugged his shoulders.
“A few times, maybe."
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “I did too." Carol was coming to grips with her own reality, and like it or not, Brian was going to go along for the ride. “I got blindsided because I had this hard and fast definition of addiction in my head," Carol continued. “If you were not compulsive and out of control, you were okay. We didn’t have to jump from doctor to doctor because the dose wasn’t cutting it anymore…" Suddenly, Carol stopped in mid thought.
“What?” Brian inquired.
“Increase in tolerance," Carol whispered to herself.
“What does that mean?" he asked.
“Increase in tolerance," she said again, looking straight at Brian. “The other sign of addiction is an increase in tolerance. That means the original dose becomes ineffective and you need more to achieve the same result. I was on one-milligram tablets. Within a really short space of time, that dose wasn’t getting it anymore. I started having strange symptoms." All of a sudden it was as if a light had been turned on in Carol’s head. “Those strange little symptoms were tolerance withdrawal."
“Okay, now you’ve really lost me," Brian interjected.
“Once the body’s tolerance to the drug increases, the dose is no longer enough to keep the person from going into withdrawal.”
“I guess that was when I started increasing my dosage," Brian said contritely.
“Precisely," Carol agreed. “And let’s be honest. Did we tell anyone about our extra pill popping behavior?"
“Well, no one would have understood," Brian said, again on the defense.
“Or was it that we didn’t understand it ourselves?" Carol added. Brian didn’t answer but simply nodded. The truth was blinding and impossible to deny.
“And here’s the clincher,” Carol announced. “The ultimate definition of addiction is the preference for a mood and mind altered state. We have to ask ourselves, why did we need sedatives in the first place?" Brian shrugged his shoulders. He clearly had never thought about that question and had no ready answer. Carol sat shaking her head. The truth had been staring her in the face for months, but she had been so busy taking care of everyone else and blaming doctors and pharmaceutical companies for her tragedy, that she had missed noticing the train wreck that had become her life. The wreck that she herself had caused.
“The reason I couldn’t sleep at night was because of my obsessive need to fix everyone and everything. I would become outraged at all the injustice in the world and it kept me in knots all the time," Carol reflected.
“So, how is it that you can suddenly see all this now?" Brian asked.
Carol thought about it for a minute and then said, “I got too sick to keep up the pace. You have to keep moving to stay ahead of the obvious. I can’t move fast enough anymore.”
“I think I know what you mean," Brian admitted reluctantly. “Ever since I became chair-bound, I have had to focus on everything that I had been able to ignore before.” Carol looked at Brian and nodded. Both sat and silently pondered their new awareness.
Finally, Carol let out a long breath and said, “So, regardless of the unconventional way we got here, we’re addicts. The road we are on now is identical to everyone else’s and no amount of denial or rage is going to change that fact.”
“So, what is the first step?" Brian asked bravely. Carol began to laugh.
“This isn’t funny," Brian said, trying not to smile.
“I’m laughing, because there actually is a first step; twelve to be exact."
“Okay,” Brian said, “what is it?"
“Powerlessness," Carol stated. “Admitting that we are powerless over this drug, and that our lives as a result have become unmanageable.”
“Boy, is that a fact," he agreed.
Carol fished a small book out of her purse.
“Here," she said, handing it to Brian. “Here are all twelve steps, along with a list of meetings. I get my meetings at work, and whether I had realized it or not, they were actually helping me get through this."
“But I thought those meetings were for addicts who can’t stop."
“On the surface, it is," Carol explained. “But underneath the obvious cause and effect, those meetings help us come to grips with what brought us to our addiction in the first place. Recovery isn’t just abstinence," she explained. “It is also about admitting the truth about ourselves and learning to live a better way."
Brian absorbed Carol’s words and said, “Well, I guess I just went to my first meeting."
“This was the power addition," Carol said, smiling. “No charge."
Carol left Brian to go home and begin his recovery all over again. She ran over all they had talked about and all that she had come to realize. She knew that from this moment, she could no longer run her life in the same obsessive way. She would never be able to justify her old behavior. The change would be hard, but withou
t it she would never fully recover.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sam shook hands with Gary Price and thanked him for seeing him on such short notice. “Not a problem," Price responded. “How can I help you?”
“I need to make arrangements for a loan,” Sam began. “You’re familiar with our company and all of its assets?" The bank manager nodded. “Well, we have had an unfortunate delay in the market date of our new drug."
“I see," Price responded.
“And although our spending was justified in preparation of the new product, we were not prepared for this long delay.”
“How much of a delay are we talking?"
“No more than two months," Sam said. “So, we just need a short term loan of, let’s say, two million to be paid off in six months.”
Price looked over the list of assets Sam had brought with him. “We can probably do that,” Price said finally. “But with all your other outstanding debt, we will have to have this paid off on time."
“Great,” Sam said, and stood up to shake the bank manager’s hand.
“So, you realize that we are providing this loan against your company’s assets?" Price confirmed before accepting the handshake.
Sam nodded and said, “Once this drug goes on the market, we won’t have any problem paying this off."
“Okay," Price agreed. “I’ll draw up the papers and you can come by tomorrow to sign them."
“Thanks again," Sam said, and went out the door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Carol arrived at home she noticed the answering machine blinking, indicating one message. She hit the play button and listened. It was Jerry Owens letting her know that she could contact him at the number provided any time after 5:00 PM. His home phone number, she thought. Carol decided that she could probably trust this guy. She checked the time. She couldn’t contact him for at least another hour and she had really wanted to check on Clair Warner before speaking with anyone from Dominex.
Carol pulled out her number sheet and dialed the number she had gotten off Clair’s intake form. A very groggy sounding person answered the phone and Carol did not recognize the voice. “Is this Clair?" she inquired.
“Yes," the voice answered weakly.
Silent Epidemic (Book 1 - Carol Freeman Series) Page 14