Too Young to Die

by Michael Anderle

“One second. I’m trying to get the proportions of this drink right.” After a clattering sound in the laboratory’s kitchenette, he emerged into the dining area with a full bottle of bourbon. He looked at the startled faces of those assembled. “It kept not being strong enough so I went back to basics.”

  “Oh, stop panicking.” Nick leaned over and patted the couch. “Sit and watch. It’ll be fine.”

  “Says the eternal optimist.” He sat with a mutter. “They’ll rip us to shreds. I woke three times last night from nightmares.”

  A few of the others nodded sadly. It had been two days since the TV crew left and yesterday, the PIVOT team had received word that the piece would air tonight—bumped forward due to the vote on Senator Williams’ bill. Everyone had been on edge since then, a fact they had tried to keep hidden from Tina when she came out of the pod for food breaks.

  Otherwise, they had all thought about little else.

  Jacob, personally, was sure that he was about to see his life’s work melt away. It was one thing to make a dud company and flame out. That was practically a Silicon Valley rite of passage and had no place there.

  Getting thrown out for medical malpractice, though? There was no coming back from that. And he’d have taken all these people down with him. He took a sip from the bottle of bourbon, decided not to half-ass things, and took a gulp. It burned.

  Good.

  “It’s starting,” one of DuBois’s assistants said.

  Amber turned the volume up and the room fell silent.

  “Questions have been mounting for weeks about the condition of the senator’s son,” a news anchor said. “Leaked reports indicated that doctors were using Justin for the trial of an FDA-rejected treatment. The news sparked an international outcry and pressure on the senator to resign his post, while Jacob Zachary, the Chief Executive Officer of PIVOT, was briefly taken into custody at the end of last month. He has been released and charges were dropped, but details have been difficult to come by. David Yang reports.”

  “Well, if that isn’t the bleakest assessment of things,” Jacob muttered.

  Yang’s face came into view. He was outside on a cloudy day and he looked somber. “I’m here at Diatek’s Elizabeth Keegan Laboratory,” he said. “This lab houses one of the most noteworthy medical trials going on today—the use of an innovative new technology to help resuscitate those in comas following brain injury. While most medical trials do not attract attention, this one has faced unusual scrutiny following the revelation that a senator’s son is part of it.”

  Justin’s face and the details of his accident came up on the screen, while Yang’s voice continued in voiceover. “This is Justin Williams. A car he was the passenger in crashed. He was flown to a nearby hospital in critical condition, where he was placed on life support in the ICU. While Justin’s family is arguably quite affluent, they were shocked by the costs of his care.”

  The screen cut now to Tad making an impassioned speech before the vote on the bill he had opposed. He spoke of his constituents and his family, recalling the phone call he’d had with the claims representative at his insurance company.

  “I was so relieved when he told me that Justin was covered up to five hundred thousand dollars,” the senator said. “And then he told me how little that would cover. He told me that the money would be gone within a month, if not sooner. If Justin failed to recover in that time, my family would shoulder the burden alone—and there would be nothing left for his recovery.”

  “Although the senator did not realize it at the time, his son’s accident had been noticed by two people who’d had very similar experiences. The first was Anna Price, the CEO of Diatek Industries.”

  The camera cut to Price in the laboratory, speaking seriously about her child’s accident. “It was only a week away from Mina’s fourth birthday when the accident happened. She was an incredible child. She was so inquisitive, so bright.” Old footage began to play of a little girl dancing through a tiny backyard and playing with blocks in a small apartment while a male voice told her about the periodic table of elements. “She was also a fighter,” Price said. A picture came up on the screen of the little girl in an ICU bed. “Her father and I never doubted that she would recover. We had no idea how much that would cost.”

  The reporter’s voice returned. “As costs mounted, the Price family sold all their possessions and eventually took turns sleeping in their car at truck rest stops near the hospital. They had small donations from their family and a church group, but the costs were too astronomical even for the community to shoulder. Eventually, they had to take Mina off life support.”

  “I will never forget that decision,” Price said. “Because it wasn’t a decision. It was out of our hands, but we still had to give the verbal consent for it. It was incredibly cruel, and I remember that the only thing that pulled me out of those years was the determination I felt that no other family should ever have to face that. I started Diatek Industries in order to research treatments for comatose patients. I didn’t simply want them to be affordable. I wanted them to be widely available and more effective. I wanted to do what I could to accelerate the research that was happening.”

  “Another blow came two years later, when David Price committed suicide,” Yang said, “leaving a note that he could not live with the fact of his daughter’s avoidable death. Still, Price never wavered.”

  “It was merely another reason,” she said. “These costs don’t only harm patients, they destroy families. If we’d had other children, how would we have cared for them while Mina was in the hospital? We didn’t have to make that choice, but others do. Parents drain their savings and go into debt. People have to choose between providing a good life for their children and helping their community with medical treatment. I don’t think it has to be that way.”

  “Price started acquiring companies quickly,” the interviewer explained. “Many of the early experiments were failures, but she does not regret them. She has said in several speeches that each failed experiment has paved the way toward better treatments.”

  Footage of her was shown which included speeches at commencements and industry luncheons, and Amber elbowed Jacob in the side.

  “The music.”

  “Huh?”

  “The music. Do you notice how it’s all epic and stirring? That has to be a good sign. Right?”

  “Let’s wait and see.”

  “But Diatek Industries was about to find a new collaborator,” the reporter said. Jacob’s face appeared on-screen, and he hunched in his seat.

  “The other person to see the news about Justin Williams was Jacob Zachary,” said the voiceover, “the co-founder and CEO of PIVOT Labs. Only months before, PIVOT faced a critical shortage of funds. Their technology, the virtual reality pod, had taken crowdfunding platforms by storm but struggled to find buyers.

  “At the same time, Zachary was facing a personal battle—the hospitalization of his grandmother after a stroke. While her condition improved slowly, the family was staggered by the cost of her care. Zachary and the PIVOT co-founders spoke about his experience to 360 News.”

  Nick appeared on-screen, seated in the laboratory. “I remember Jacob came into the lab one morning and we could see that something was very wrong. He told us how much his grandmother’s care was costing the family and we couldn’t believe it.”

  Yang’s voice returned as a picture of Amber appeared. “Amber Garcia, the third co-founder of PIVOT, was the one who realized that the pods they had developed could be modified to provide life support.”

  Now Amber was on-screen. She squinted. “They air-brushed me.”

  “Shhhh,” everyone else hissed.

  “At the time,” she said in the interview, “we didn’t think about the fact that the virtual reality component could be used. We only thought about the cost of running the pods and we knew it was so much less than the equivalent equipment in an ICU. As we looked deeper into it, though, we found that someone else had looked at using a technolog
y like ours specifically for comatose patients.”

  “That someone,” David said, “was Dr. Jean-Luc DuBois of American University. In 2002, he had sought approval for the medical trial of a technology that would stimulate a comatose brain. His early research showed that if the subject regained an interest in solving problems or interacting with the outside world, recovery might proceed more quickly and reliably.

  “The project was denied FDA testing, which he appealed on the grounds that no credible danger had been proved toward subjects. The FDA was unavailable for comment, but an anonymous source at Bentz & Jay Corp contacted us for this story and reported that several CEOs had lobbied jointly that his treatment not be approved.”

  DuBois appeared on screen and all the members of PIVOT tensed. If something went sideways, this would be one of the likeliest times.

  “The research was incredibly promising,” he said. “There is a temptation to be casual when approaching such delicate areas of health because the outcomes are already so bad. I was lucky to work with a team that was wholly dedicated to good outcomes for every single patient.”

  He explained his earlier research in plain language and with an earnest air that made Jacob realize the man would make an excellent professor.

  With a small smile, he leaned over to nudge the doctor, “Hey. This is good. Even I understand the neuroscience here.”

  DuBois looked up from his bag of caramel corn with a smile. “I worked on that explanation all night,” he said. “I practiced many times.”

  “You did?” Amber asked. Jacob could see she was as surprised as he was.

  “Of course,” the man said in surprise. “I’m not a natural public speaker and I needed to work hard to find a way that lay people could understand the research and connect with it. I wanted to show the project in a good light.”

  Jacob gaped. It was surprisingly touching that he had worked so hard on this aspect of things, especially when he had a laboratory with unlimited equipment at his disposal now.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  DuBois merely smiled and offered him some caramel corn.

  “PIVOT’s treatment went far beyond the original concept of simple puzzles,” the voiceover said. Stock footage of the video game began to play, taken from PIVOT’s advertising materials. “The video game was a Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game, akin to World of Warcraft or Everquest, in which a basic character could be leveled up to make it stronger.”

  “You know, in case you lived under a rock and didn’t know what an MMORPG was,” Nick said in disgust.

  “Remember,” Amber said idly, “half the people watching this still think D&D is about demonic summoning.”

  Everyone snickered.

  “DuBois was excited about this development, however,” Yang said. The camera panned to show him interviewing the doctor.

  “It was the social aspect that interested me the most,” DuBois said. “It was something my original research had been unable to replicate. I would describe it as the Holy Grail of coma research—how to get through to patients. This game provided that, and because it waited for player input, the patient could rest and wake without having perceived the intervening passage of time. It would allow patients to interact at their own speed as they recovered.”

  “The next task,” the reporter said, “was to convince Justin’s parents that he was a good candidate for the trial. It had not been widely publicized, which meant they were unaware of it.”

  “I think we were cautious,” Mary Williams said. She looked professional, if fragile. Her name was shown in the corner of the screen. “It was a new treatment, obviously, and that was a risk. What impressed us both, I think, was how…how much each member of that team cared. Often, in a hospital, it’s easy to feel like you’re simply another patient. There are so many who live and die that the doctors aren’t surprised by anything. The PIVOT team and Dr. DuBois not only knew their technology, they really cared about Justin.”

  The screen cut to Jacob speaking about his grandmother. With a start, he recognized the background and phrasing. This had been after the camera crew realized Justin was in the pod. The music took on a solemn tone as he explained how much he wished his grandmother had been able to access the treatment.

  “It isn’t abstract for him,” Nick said when he appeared on-screen. “When we first came up with the concept, we wanted the first trial patient to be his grandmother. We knew this treatment could give people a reason to live and remember the best parts of life.”

  “Jacob’s grandmother, Elizabeth Keegan, passed away soon after,” Yang reported. “Zachary has said that her death and his inability to help her have spurred his efforts to make sure other families do not go through the same thing his family experienced. The partnership between Zachary and Price could not have been more natural.”

  Anna Price appeared on-screen now. “As soon as I heard about the treatment PIVOT was using, I knew it might be the breakthrough we had hoped for. I was familiar with DuBois’s work, and seeing him come out of retirement to team up with PIVOT meant that Diatek could truly help out.”

  “There’s some confusion about timelines,” Yang’s voice said to her. “Elizabeth Keegan died on May 2nd, the day after Justin’s accident. Now, at that time, there was no record of PIVOT seeking FDA approval, which was part of why Jacob Zachary was arrested in July, a few days before PIVOT’s acquisition by Diatek.”

  Price nodded. “That was a very serious error in communication,” she said somberly. “With things happening so quickly between all of us—Diatek, PIVOT, the doctor—and the transfer of the patients, there was an absolutely inexcusable lack of communication with the FDA, who very justifiably believed that there was a danger to the patients in the trial. All of us sincerely regret that Jacob was arrested as part of this confusion, and I have personally apologized. I think our greatest regret, however, has been the fallout suffered by Mary and Tad Williams.”

  The rest of them had not listened during this part of the initial interview, and they leaned forward with interest.

  “Diatek has remained a private company in part because I knew that, as a parent of an injured child, public scrutiny would have been the last thing I could endure while Mina was fighting for her life,” she said. “When the news broke of where Justin was and the speculation began about what treatment he was experiencing, his parents were on the receiving end of…truly unimaginable vitriol.”

  “You’ve said that the FDA decision was understandable,” Yang said. “Do you think the public outcry was also understandable?”

  Price paused. “The FDA absolutely has to act when there is a dearth of information,” she said. “From their perspective, there was no indication that what was happening was safe. I am…upset, however, by the public reaction. I would have hoped that the press and the public would wait for details, especially once they learned that the FDA had withdrawn the charges.”

  “Can you comment on Justin’s condition?” he asked.

  “Details about individual patients are confidential,” she responded. “What I can say is that early results are very promising. There are some patients for whom this kind of nervous system engagement would not be the best treatment, but there are also those for whom social interaction is a pathway back to consciousness. We have many rounds of testing ahead of us, of course, but I know that I am sincerely hopeful that we will be able to bring this treatment to the public.”

  The camera cut back to Yang standing outside the laboratory.

  “Justin’s parents were able to comment on his condition,” he said, “and they report that he has shown considerable improvement. They believe that this would not have been possible without PIVOT’s involvement.”

  Clips of the team in the laboratory began to play, all juxtaposed against uplifting music.

  “When I asked the team if they had anything more to say about the experiment,” his voice said, “it was DuBois who summed his feelings up—not with hope, but with anger.”
<
br />   Everyone in the room tensed as the doctor appeared on-screen again.

  “It was difficult to see my work dismissed,” he said honestly. “Especially knowing that there were no verifiable concerns about safety. I had to put that behind me in order to move forward with my life, and I believed that it was in the past. PIVOT’s work has been life-changing, but I have also rediscovered that anger. If we had begun these trials eighteen years ago, this treatment would have been available to the public by now and I cannot imagine how many people would have been helped by it.”

  He paused, then looked directly at the camera. “We like to think that we leave the schoolyard behind when we grow up, but the truth is that there are still bullies in the adult world. I don’t know why my treatment was blocked the first time. I only have conjecture on that and I have no interest in speculation. What does concern me is how many people—how many families—could have been helped with treatments for all kinds of conditions. Unfortunately, those treatments have been lobbied against by industry insiders.”

  The reporter returned to the camera for an earnest breakdown with the news anchor, and they discussed Tad Williams’s measure that would go to a senate vote in two days. They mentioned the voting records of various senators and the fact that the measure had, unusually, both bipartisan backing and bipartisan opposition. This was juxtaposed against statements from lobbying groups and pharmaceutical CEOs. The piece did not connect the dots.

  It did not need to. The implication was absolutely clear.

  Jacob exhaled a breath. “Was it only me, or…”

  “No.” Amber was smiling. Her eyes were bright with relief. “They completely vindicated us. “Jacob, they…they liked us.”

  “Or it was profitable for them,” he said grimly.

  “Stop it,” said a new voice and Mary Williams tapped him firmly on the shoulder. “They could be spreading scandal. Lord knows, they’d have the viewership if they did. Amber is right—they vindicated you and your research. After seeing the laboratory and speaking to all of you, they realized that you’re not here to make a quick buck or sell snake oil.” She squeezed his shoulder. “And Tad and I are only the first parents who will be grateful to all of you for your work.”