The longer we went on, the more time I spent on the internet running thousands of searches in a desperate attempt to find something, anything, that would help us get out of this nightmare. Like TV, the internet can be a great tool or it can bring a lot of junk into your house. In many ways the internet is worse than TV in that there is a very low “entrance fee.” With social media, anyone can post comments or create a web site and put their ideas out there for all the world to see, or worse be influenced. I found this out early on when I first started running naive searches. Put in “cancer” and get back 400,000+ hits that range from “what's your sign?” to social commentary about what's wrong with society today. Endless hours were spent scrolling down page after page trying to separate the wheat from the chaff in order to find something that would help us. Night after night I would turn off the light and crawl into bed bleary-eyed and feeling guilty because that I didn't spend more time looking for “the answer.” Then one night, just as I was about to call it quits, the last entry on the page caught my eye. “Working on a Medical Breakthrough? You may qualify for a grant from Medical Funding Incorporated! Send us the details; you won't be sorry!” I looked at it for several minutes trying to decide if I should even bother; it seemed like so many other sites that are just a come on. There was a toll-free number and an email address. I called the number deciding I'd rather get it over with quickly and move on. I was startled when a person answered on the second ring. I briefly explained my situation and said how desperate I was for anything they might have. I had reached a second-shift computer operator on the West Coast. She told me the company has a strict policy and doesn't give out information. She must have heard the desperation in my voice, she hesitated and said “I have a friend who's doing cancer research and he's had some very good results with his experiments so far. He doesn't have any association with Medical Funding so I can give you his name and number if you like.” I welled up with tears, not because I held out any hope that anything would come of this but rather it was hearing someone offering to help after so many blind alleys. “Yes, please give me his name and number.” Her name was Cindy Robbins and she was the lone operator on the second shift going on ten years now. Her high school friend is Wayne Harding.' They both live in California. Wayne is a medical researcher by day and a cancer “pioneer” by night. I found out later from Wayne that Cindy would let him connect to MF's database and read papers archived there. Wayne told me they were a tremendous help and that many of them were “bleeding edge” in their discoveries and methods of finding cures for the worlds ills. He was puzzled why so much promise never materialized into anything concrete; if he had only known. I controlled my impulse to call Wayne until a reasonable hour tomorrow. I was too tired and I wanted to be alert and able to plead my case if necessary. I didn't say anything to Vicki, she didn't need me adding to the emotional roller coaster she's been riding for the last few months. I had trouble falling asleep. As much as I would tell myself not to get my hopes up, that's exactly what happened. I held off until noon East Coast time and then nervously called the number only to get Wayne's answering machine. I left a few details and my number and asked him to call anytime day or night. Wayne called at nine P.M., he had just gotten home and heard the message. I called him right back so we could talk on my dime. We talked for two hours and at the end of the call I was more upbeat than I had been in a long time. Every treatment I described Wayne would jump in and tell me the results. He was very knowledgeable but not condescending. He respected the medical profession, but he had no time for their approach to problem solving and their “Holier than thou” attitude. Wayne was pragmatic, he had no use for tradition or the closed minds of many of the medical researchers. He didn't believe in evolution, he believed in revolution and from what he said, his methods and results showed it.
Wayne was thirty-four, single, and obsessed with his research. He was a paid medical researcher by day but his real passion was doing his own cancer research own his own time at night. He had gone to an ivy league university medical school and graduated at the top of his class. While most went after the dollars, Wayne decided research was what he wanted to do. He landed in a large pharmaceutical company and he continued his own research at home unhampered. About the time I was trying to decide whether or not to pursue this long shot, something happened at home that made the decision easier.
“Doctor Stevens is dead.” The words carried no emotion, it was a matter of fact “it's raining” kind of statement. I was getting ready for work and had come into the kitchen for coffee. Coming down the hall I heard the phone ring. Vicki had her back to me and the phone was still in her hand.
The last patient, an eighty year old lady in for a checkup, said “good by” and left Doctor Stevens alone in his office with a plate of cookies she had made for him. It was twilight and he had worked through dinner again as he was prone to do since his wife of forty-five years had died six months ago. It was easier than going home to an empty house and a TV dinner or worse eating out, alone in a crowd.
The office was getting darker as the sun set and in the fading light things began to take on different appearances. Softer, not as real as in the bright light of day. The darkly stained, heavy oak furniture looked almost black in the dim light. The roll top desk and chair, every item in the office, with the exception of the coffee maker, looked like it came from the early 1900's and it did. Every flat surface had papers piled on it. On top of the papers were an assortment of “medical items” so that the overall effect was the appearance of a flea market. But Doctor Stevens knew where everything was and, he planned to get it put away “very soon.” He took his glasses off, laid them on the desk, and slowly looked around the room. His eyes were burning from the strain of the day and he rubbed them. Times like this, bone tired, sitting in his dark office he thought back to days gone by when he and his wife were young and just starting out. The future looked bright and the world was theirs. He was going to start with his general practice and then move to a big city hospital and “specialize.” In what he didn't know, but it was an up and coming thing and a way to make a lot of money. Things didn't work out as planned. Somewhere along the way, taking care of broken bones, delivering babies, and fighting death, he found that he belonged in this little town, it felt right and the people needed him. His wife understood and agreed. Besides, on a doctor's earnings they would be able to travel every year and see the world; they were happy with their prospects. Now, forty-five years later the sum total of their travels consisted of an annual two weeks at the Jersey shore and one week in the mountains. Through all those years Edith never complained, now he was alone and the travel brochures were still in the bottom of a desk drawer. He looked at her picture for a long time “goodnight my love” he said. He got up slowly, turned off the lights and locked the door behind him. As he walked to his car he noticed it was a cloudless night with a nearly full moon. The cold September air smelled fresh and good. As he drove through the small town on his way home, he noticed a group of people up ahead standing on the sidewalk. As he got closer he could see someone lying on the ground. Pulse quickening, he pulled over and grabbed his black bag from the passenger seat. “What happened?” he asked as he approached the group. A teenage boy spoke up. “He was just walking along and he fell over and hasn't moved since, that was about two minutes ago.” As soon as Doctor Stevens got through the circle of spectators he saw a couple things: one, it was his long time friend Bill Powers, and two, the gray pasty look of someone having a heart attack. “Has anyone gone for help?” His question was met with blank stares. “Someone get an ambulance! He's having a heart attack!”
Quickly Doctor Stevens rolled Bill on his side and checked his mouth for any obstructions. He rolled him back and arched Bill's neck to open the airway. “Anyone here know CPR?” Doctor Stevens asked desperately hoping someone in the crowd of more than ten would be able to provide the actual breathing while he supervised. No one spoke up, the people either starred at him blankly or looked away
. One person commented to another that a course had been offered at work but it was after hours and you didn't get paid to take it.
Doctor Stevens couldn't chance teaching someone with his friends life on the line so he started the routine with the compression's and breathing. Doctor Steven's pulse was racing wildly and the forced breathing was the last thing he needed but he had no choice. As he worked on his friend, long ago memories came flooding back of things they did together: time spent at the proverbial swimming hole, sneaking a smoke behind the barn, awkward first dances and even a fight over a certain girl in high school who had long since moved away to New York City. So much of his life had been shared with this friend he couldn't live with himself if he let him die.
“Where's the ambulance? Did anyone go for help?” People looked at each other. A young girl said “I don't think anyone went.” Five people started off to get help; one rose to the occasion. “I'll go” shouted the girl as she ran off. The others sputtered out and came back to watch the one old man try to save the other old man. Such was life before cell phones.
Doctor Stevens was so intent on keeping the rhythm that he failed to notice the growing pressure deep within his chest. The first sharp pain was like being kicked in the ribs and it took his breath away. “Oh no! Not now!” Bill was just beginning to breathe but then stopped. “Come on Bill! I can't keep this up! Just a few more times!” The second pain was sudden and massive, it took Doctor Stevens and he collapsed unconscious on top of his friend; his last thought was of Edith. In the distance you could hear the siren of the approaching ambulance, but it was too late for either one of them.
Chapter 5 Finding Wayne
Doctor Steven's death made a possible move seem even more logical at this time. There was nothing of promise here, maybe new doctors, new surroundings, would give everyone a much needed change. Vicki was emotionally and physically drained and withdrawn, so I took the lead to make the temporary move to California. There were hundreds of things to arrange. The average family moves once every four years but this was our first time and it wasn't easy getting ready. As the move got closer the family got caught up in the adventure and the hope that there was help for Shawn at the other end.
We found a place to rent on the beach just North of L.A. Expensive, but Shawn loved the location and wanted to try surfing; I figured anything positive would be a plus. We got the kids enrolled in school and Vicki and I looked for jobs.
Before we decided to move, I had taken Shawn to meet Wayne to see if the situation held enough promise to warrant a move. Even today I find it incredible how, when you get desperate enough you throw caution to the wind and grab at anything no matter how absurd it might seem under normal circumstances.
The first time Shawn and I went to meet Wayne it was a shock and my heart sank. In hindsight I jumped to all the wrong conclusions. The mental picture I had formed of the place and the person bore no resemblance to the reality. I had thought it would be in a middle class white collar neighborhood and Wayne would be a “typical” young doctor type. The place were Wayne lived and did his “research” was in East L.A. In a area I wouldn't want to walk through at night. Wayne looked like a football player with dreadlocks. In fact, he had had a chance at a sports scholarship but turned it down to study medicine. I hid my disappointment from Shawn. Wayne lived over a garage behind a small, single house on a crowded street. His “Lab” was the ground floor and it was crammed with storage cabinets, a desk and a large workbench. After a few minutes of “first meeting” conversation, I took a back seat and let Wayne and Shawn start the long process of getting to know each other. I felt the chemistry between them would be critical to any success and I didn't want to muddy the water.
Previously I had sent Wayne all of Doctor Steven's records on Shawn's medical background. The first thing Wayne did was give Shawn a basic checkup to give him a baseline. Wayne put Shawn on a special diet and gave him a supply of “medicines” to hold him over until we made the move out here.
On the way back to the hotel I let Shawn do the talking while I listened and evaluated what to do next. Shawn liked Wayne and felt good about how they hit it off and what Wayne said they would do to get him back on track. A positive outlook means so much in any situation, but especially when it comes to staying healthy or fighting a disease; score one for the move.
By the time we got back to Pennsylvania I had called Vicki several times and we had decided to make the move. Neither Wayne nor Shawn ever found out how tenuous the go / no go decision was before their first meeting.
Vicki, being a registered nurse, was able to quickly find work at a nearby hospital and started the second week we were in California. She would have preferred Real Estate but getting licensed in a new state takes time and it's a hit or miss business until you're well established. I was glad to see her active, even if it was nursing for right now.
The first few weeks were very full of getting adjusted to new surroundings. I don't think any of us thought it was real. We kept expecting to collectively wake up and be back in Pennsylvania; but it never happened. Several months had gone by and we had settled into a routine of sorts. One day Wayne and Shawn came out of the garage, each with smiles from ear to ear. They had obviously decided to torture me as long as possible, but Wayne couldn't hold back. “Shawn's gaining weight!” The words were so simple yet said so much. I looked at Shawn with tears in my eyes and he looked at me and said “it's working Dad!” The three of us grabbed each other in a spontaneous group hug and stood there laughing and crying and enjoying the moment; we must have looked quite strange to anyone passing by, or not, in California.
“A few more months with progress like this and I'll have to file a paper to make this known. Shawn's doing so well I can't keep this from helping others.” It was a joyous night in that rental house on the beach with Shawn and Wayne taking turns telling us how they work together. We hadn't had a night like that in a long time. We felt like we had turned the corner and now everything was looking up. Wayne had become a member of the family and his joy was as great as ours.
The next few months went quickly. Shawn was getting stronger every day. I was taking pictures and the change was amazing. The family was healing and getting stronger along with Shawn. We had gone through the darkest time and could now see the light at the end of the tunnel.
One day when Shawn and I were at Wayne's garage, Wayne took me aside. “I'm sending my papers in on all of my research and Shawn's treatment and results will become public knowledge.” I felt strangely sad, like a closely held secret was going to be shared with the whole world and somehow that might diminish the effectiveness of Shawn's program by placing new demands on Wayne. I knew it was ridiculous and I was being selfish, but still I worried. I knew it was the right thing to do and he should do it as soon as possible. Wasn't that long ago that I was on the searching side and would have wanted to kill anyone who tried to keep a cure from my son. “Let me show you this; you'll think I'm paranoid but here's where I keep all my important papers.” He slid a tray out of the bottom of a cage containing several rats. Under a false bottom was a plastic bag with papers in it. “Here's the guts of everything I've done, my experiments, dead ends and successes, and of course Shawn as the living proof of the results. I'm showing you this just in case anything would happen to me before I file my papers. I'd want you to get this to the proper medical authorities. It wasn't nearly so important to me until I saw how Shawn responded to the treatments.” Wayne was almost apologetic to get the recognition for having discovered a process that was saving my son's life. I tried to make the moment a little lighter. “Well, tell me when you send the papers off so I can stop scanning the obituaries everyday looking for your name.” He laughed, “yea, you're right, I'm being ridiculous but it's so close now I don't want to fumble it." “Don't worry, I'll cover it.” Two weeks later Wayne called to tell me he had filed a copy of his papers via registered mail and had gotten confirmation of their delivery. He was very happy. Within a month Wayne w
ould be dead.
Chapter 6 The Conference Call
The private line rang and Duke picked it up. A voice on the other end said “I sent you some material you should take a look at; you'll probably want to have a conference call to decide what to do.” “Thanks.” Duke opened his secure line and spent the next two hours reading the research papers Wayne had sent to the clearing house for peer review. When Duke finished reading everything he broadcast a message to “the group” with an access code to the data and a date and time for a conference call to discuss it. A few days later, Duke glanced at his watch and noticed it was almost time for the conference call. He handed the reins over to the trainer with instructions to put the horse in for the night. As he crossed the paddock he looked back at the thoroughbred pawning the ground with pent up energy. The horse set him back a million four, but it was only money and there was so much of it it was difficult to find ways to use it up fast enough.
He cut through the pool area and hit the remote control to open his office. Once inside he used the remote again to set the lighting and close the drapes. He sat down in his leather chair behind a huge, highly polished mahogany desk. The office was large and filled with expensive items to give it an impressive ambiance to intimidate the occasional visitor. The walls were covered with book shelves and numerous paintings of race horses on green rolling hills with those horizontal, white wooden rail fences that seem to go on forever.
The Cure Conspiracy Page 3