Noble Vision

by LaGreca, Gen

  “And?”

  “And the first two cats regained their vision.”

  “David!” Her face blazed with excitement. “That’s fabulous!”

  He did not respond.

  “What could possibly be wrong?”

  “The next two cats died on the table.”

  Her face flashed with a horror that he wished he could have spared her.

  “A poison got into their brains, and I don’t know how. I have one animal and twenty-four hours left to find out. That’s why I must go, so I have to leave you frightened like this! All I can say is don’t underestimate me. Don’t give up hope.”

  Nicole’s face struggled against an inner turmoil. He watched helplessly, for he had no reassurances to offer.

  “David,” she whispered finally, “I knew when we began that this was experimental. When I told you that I wanted the surgery, even if my chances of . . . dying . . . were ninety-five percent, I meant it. I know you’ll do your best. You don’t have to worry about me. I . . . accept the risk.”

  I don’t,” he said gently, fighting his own battle. He wanted to wrap his arms around her shoulders and pull her close. “I’ll never risk your life. Never! If I don’t solve this problem, I won’t operate.”

  “You must operate! I want the surgery more than anything. I accept the consequences. After all, two of the cats made it—”

  He placed his fingers over her lips. “Don’t waste your time, Nicole. There’s nothing you could say to persuade me. Some things are more precious than sight.”

  “Not to me!”

  “To me. Your life is precious to me.”

  The words hung in the air between them.

  “I need to count on you to be all right now, Nicole.”

  “I’m okay.” Her voice was almost steady. “I won’t make this harder on you.”

  The dignity in the soft voice seemed to reassure him. He called in Mrs. Trimbell to take Nicole to Admissions.

  On their departure, he reached for the wall phone and dialed a number that he had memorized from frequent use. Dr. Harold Wabash, the director of the Warren Lang Institute for Medical Research, answered.

  “It took me seven years to develop my new procedure. Is it going to take you that long to approve it?”

  Wabash laughed. “Dr. Lang. I was about to call you. The feds have just approved your new procedure.”

  “Good!” David exclaimed. “My patient is being admitted to the hospital now, and I have to operate as soon as possible.”

  “There’s just one more thing—”

  “How can there be another goddamn thing?”

  “One more agency has to check one more thing. But you’ll have your final permission by five o’clock this afternoon, I assure you.”

  “If you think I’m gonna let your little fiefdom make my patient’s life go up in smoke—” He suddenly looked astonished. “Vapor!” he whispered to himself. “That’s it!”

  “What did you say? . . . Dr. Lang? . . . Are you still there?”

  The phone he dropped clanged against the wall as David flew out of the examining room. He returned to West Side University, his white doctor’s coat billowing in the wind.

  David found John Kendall in an organic chemistry lab in Danzer Hall.

  “Hey, John.”

  Kendall saw wild green eyes peering at him from the other side of his lab bench. A face full of tumultuous emotions shone between jars of chemicals on a shelf above the counter.

  “What’s up, David?”

  “When we mixed the replacement anesthetic with the scar inhibitor, the anesthetic was in a pure liquid state, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right. I took it from the canister where it was packaged as a liquid. Why?”

  “In the blood, that anesthetic is in gas–liquid equilibrium.”

  “Hmmm,” said Kendall, his lips curled in concentration. Various anesthetics possessed the property that David mentioned. “That could change things.”

  “Exactly! In its liquid form, the anesthetic doesn’t react with the scar inhibitor to form benzyl alcohol. But maybe in a gaseous state, the way it exists in the blood, with oxygen and water present, it would react differently.”

  Kendall nodded thoughtfully. “I still have samples of the anesthetic and the scar inhibitor. Let’s try your idea.”

  The two men were still on opposite sides of the lab bench, talking through the gaps between items on the shelf.

  “John, I owe you more beers than I can count.”

  “Or than I can drink.”

  Soon after, the two of them sat in a small room before a piece of equipment resting on a table. A pen slowly plotted a graph on a drum of paper. The precision instrument was measuring the chemicals resulting from mixing the scar inhibitor with the gaseous form of the replacement anesthetic used on the dead cats. The device was about to share its secret with two sets of unblinking eyes. The place where the band for benzyl alcohol appeared was approaching on the drum. Would the tiny pen rise to form a nice peak at that point?

  It did.

  “There it is!” David cried triumphantly.

  “That’s the band we’re looking for,” said Kendall. “There’s benzyl alcohol in that mixture.”

  David gave the professor a crushing hug. “My patient’s gonna name her first kid after you!”

  * * * * *

  In the executive offices of Riverview Hospital a handsome blond man in a starched white shirt sat at his desk. Randall Lang took a call informing him that Nicole Hudson had been admitted to the hospital. A check with his compliance people told him that no approval had yet been issued for Nicole’s experimental surgery. He called the governor:

  “My brother must receive approval today. His patient is ready for surgery now, and it can’t be delayed. With only a week before the election, Governor, I’m sure you wouldn’t want our little deal to go bust.”

  “I’ll call Henrietta and get back to you.”

  Burrow phoned the head of CareFree, and then returned Randy’s call. “Your brother will get approval today. The last hang-up is Animal Welfare. Before any research project involving animals is undertaken, that department has to approve it.”

  “But Nicole Hudson isn’t an animal.”

  “Still, your brother’s research project includes animal studies. The laboratory facility that he uses is overdue for an inspection.”

  “The William Mead Research Center?”

  “Whatever its name is.”

  “Then will you arrange to have that building inspected immediately?”

  “Animal Welfare is doing it today. Once that’s completed, your brother gets approval. I left strict instructions that nobody goes home today until the final authorization is issued for your brother.”

  “All right, Governor. I’m counting on you to get that lab facility inspected at once.”

  * * * * *

  Chief Inspector Daryl Denkins of the Department of Animal Welfare wore a colorful bow tie under his colorless face. He opened the valve on the antiquated radiator in his run-down midtown office, waiting for a rush of heat that never came. He threw a woolen sweater over his shirt, swearing at the radiator, at the paint chipping from the ceiling, at the dirty windows, at the shabbiness of his working conditions, at his supervisor, at every supervisor he had ever had, at the city at large, and at all the people who never gave him the consideration he deserved. Daryl Denkins did not like people. He liked them even less that day, because his supervisor had just told him to inspect the William Mead Research Center immediately.

  He had protested, explaining that he needed to schedule such a job in advance, that he did not have the staff available at that moment, that he would have to drop other pressing work. Why must William Mead be inspected that day? Denkins had asked his supervisor.

  The superior had shrugged his shoulders. He truly did not know why he had just received an urgent call from a new guy named Harold Wabash at CareFree, followed by a call from the head honcho, Henrietta Ric
hards, herself.

  “Who knows why? All I know is that somebody big is involved. If we don’t get that job done today, heads are gonna roll. It’s overdue for an inspection, you know,” the supervisor had said pointedly.

  “Give me more inspectors, and I’ll get the labs checked on time!”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just get this one done today.”

  When his supervisor had left, Denkins had thrown a stapler at the recalcitrant radiator and felt a brief satisfaction from nicking a piece off.

  Swearing to himself, he made various phone calls to summon people to assist him. One call was to a medical practice where a young doctor was examining a child’s tonsils.

  “Marie, it’s Daryl Denkins over at Animal Welfare. How are you doing, dear?”

  “Hey, Daryl! How nice to hear your voice. I’m fine. How are you?” said Marie Lang.

  “I’m in a bind.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve got to inspect William Mead, and I’m short on manpower. I need to call on committee members to assist.”

  Among her many networking activities, Marie served on the Department of Animal Welfare’s laboratory committee, composed of doctors, veterinarians, community leaders, and government regulators who reviewed standards of animal care, recommended new legislation, and assisted with inspections of research facilities.

  “I can help, of course, Daryl. When do you want to do it, next week?”

  “I’ve got to do it today. Don’t ask me why, because I haven’t a clue. Some big kahuna twitches, and the rest of us have to drop everything. You’re so close to that facility, Marie, I wondered if you could help me out there this afternoon.”

  Marie paused. She had a full schedule of patients.

  “I called because I know I can always count on you. I was just telling that to Fred Carson the other day. You know, I’m always singing your praises.” Fred Carson was the high-level CareFree administrator whom Marie’s practice dealt with.

  “Well, okay, Daryl. I’ll help you out. What time?”

  “Two o’clock. I’ll meet you in the lobby of William Mead. You’re the best, Marie! You’re one of us.”

  * * * * *

  From his office, David called the anesthesiologist scheduled for Nicole’s surgery. The surgeon described the deadly reaction of his scar inhibitor with a particular anesthetic that must emphatically not be used in Nicole’s surgery. David asked his colleague to give Nicole the anesthetic that he had been using from Morgan Pharmaceuticals.

  “That one’s not available anymore, David. CareFree pulled it from the formulary, and there’s none of it left in the hospital.”

  “I have to work with an anesthetic that I’m certain won’t react with my drug. Can you get the agent I want from another hospital?”

  “I’ll try. Let me ask around.”

  Later the anesthesiologist called back: “There’s none of the anesthetic you want anywhere in the city. Hospitals don’t keep much inventory on drugs anymore, with all the changes nowadays. Let me tell you the general anesthetics still available.” He rattled off a list of drugs.

  “I haven’t used any of those with my nerve-repair experiments. What about these?” David named general anesthetics that he had successfully used with his new procedure.

  “None of them are left on the formulary.”

  “What?”

  “It’s true.”

  David’s face hardened with contempt. He thought of the ancient philosopher who believed that the world was an ever-changing flux, where one could never step in the same river twice. The surgeon felt trapped in that kind of whirling existence, in a current that changed with every political breeze. Could he allow himself and Nicole to be the flotsam and jetsam drifting at sea after the shipwreck of medicine? He could not.

  “I’ll get the anesthetic I want from Morgan Pharmaceuticals. You’ll have it in time for my surgery tomorrow morning. Okay?”

  “Sure,” said the anesthesiologist.

  The next number that the surgeon dialed brought a familiar voice to his ears.

  “How the hell are you, David?” said Phil Morgan of Morgan Pharmaceuticals in Ohio.

  “Why in hell’s name were you such a jerk to defend me? Damn you, Phil!”

  David explained that he needed one of Morgan’s drugs for his nerve-repair surgery the next day. He felt an instant sense of calm at hearing a competent human being say:

  “It’s done. It’ll arrive at your office by eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll have a courier deliver more than you need.”

  “Would you, Phil?” David sounded like a weary swimmer being offered a life preserver.

  “Of course. And save the empty canisters for me. I want to display them in the lobby of our world headquarters, with the inscription ‘Morgan Pharmaceuticals provided the anesthetic used in the first successful regeneration of the central nervous system in human history.’ I want you to make that happen tomorrow in the OR, you hear?”

  When he hung up, the tension had drained from David’s body. He glanced at his watch. Two o’clock. He would go to his laboratory to perform the second operation on the final animal. Because he was short on time, he would have to do this cat’s surgery in the afternoon, rather than wait until nightfall. He would give the feline the small amount of Morgan’s anesthetic that he had remaining. When he injected the scar inhibitor, there would be no adverse reaction with Morgan’s drug. Then he would introduce the replacement anesthetic and watch the animal’s heart arrest. That would be the in vivo corroboration of the laboratory experiment performed by Kendall. After the cat’s surgery, David would get a blissful night’s sleep. In the morning, he would awaken refreshed and ready to perform the most important surgery of his career. He phoned Nicole to report his progress as he began a pleasant walk to his windowless lab on the second floor of the William Mead Research Center.

  * * * * *

  In the lobby of William Mead, Daryl Denkins was giving assignments to his team of inspectors.

  “Mark, you take the surgical areas,” he said to one of them. “Nancy, you take the animal holding areas,” he said to another. “And Marie, here’s a master key for you.” He dropped the passkey into Marie Lang’s outstretched hand. “You take the windowless labs on the second floor.”

  Chapter 29

  Meeting Overdue

  David Lang arrived at his lab, his purposeful steps a lively contrast to his sleepless, swollen eyes. He changed into clean scrubs and prepared his instruments for operating on the final cat. He was eager to confirm the cause of the two prior cats’ deaths through this final animal surgery, so that he could operate safely on Nicole. Then why was he hesitating? His notebooks were closed; he thought he had left them open. One of the cages looked as if it had been moved. Was he imagining these things? He observed the lab carefully. Everything else looked untouched. Dismissing his suspicions, he finished preparing, placed cat 5 on the cloth-covered operating area, and, with a mask over its face, anesthetized the animal. As he was about to run an IV into the cat, scrub his hands, and begin the surgery, he heard the lock turn in the door.

  In utter astonishment, he watched a woman enter. The soft, silky auburn hair and shapely legs seemed overshadowed by the severe lines of her business suit and the coldness of her eyes.

  “What the hell—?”

  “Don’t even think of throwing me out. The Department of Animal Welfare is inspecting this facility. As a member of its lab committee, I was asked to assist. I have a right to be here,” said his wife.

  “If you have a right to be here, then where does that leave me?”

  “Still arrogant?” She said to the man in scrubs standing before an unconscious cat and an array of surgical instruments. “You want to tell me I’m wrong, even when I catch you red-handed in the commission of a crime. I know you don’t have approval to perform animal experiments.”

  David wondered why she did not look surprised at her discovery.

  “You’re still going full thrott
le, acting as if nothing else existed but you and your work, even after the governor generously found a way for you to do your surgery legally.”

  “You mean after he backed down when I threatened to expose CareFree on national TV?”

  “I think you break the law just to throw your insolence in our faces.”

  David had noticed a more pronounced bitterness in Marie of late. Gone were the pleas for reconciliation, the lip service to his research, the undertone of apology when he challenged her position, the cries of also being the victim of a system that she liked no more than he. Marie was stepping beyond a point where he could reach her.

  “I have every right to shut you down, David.”

  “Why are you serving on a committee that shuts scientists down?”

  “Why must you always have your way? The rest of us have to follow the rules. But you break them anytime you wish. Why should you be above the law?”

  “The experiment I’m about to do is essential in making my new surgery work on humans. Don’t you want me to succeed?”

  “You make me sick!” Marie’s mouth fell petulantly. “Why should you get to follow your lucky star while the rest of us can’t?”

  “You’re not afraid I’ll fail and disgrace you. You’re afraid I’ll . . . succeed. Aren’t you?” David’s eyes widened as if seeing the answer to a long-standing puzzle. Old, confusing impressions flashed before him in the rush of a new clarity. “You once loved singing opera, but you gave it up because it made you an outcast among classmates who couldn’t appreciate or equal your talent. You chose to win the approval of mindless kids instead of following your dream. And you once loved cardiology, but you became a general practitioner because it was the more acceptable thing to do. So you gave up that dream, too. You once had standards as a doctor, but you gave them up to practice cookbook medicine and be more popular with the regulators. You could’ve tagged along with the new order grudgingly, as most doctors do. But instead you twirled the baton in the CareFree parade. Because you caved in and I didn’t, you resent me, don’t you? Why did you sell out, Marie?”

  “Nonsense! I didn’t sell out. I’m doing just what I want to do. And to everyone in medicine—except you—I’m the one who’s successful. I have a future, not you.”