Decoded Dog
Page 7
Sorry no time, he texted back. I’ll be in Virginia in two weeks though. Lunch then?
Sure, but hope to have good reason to talk to you sooner.
That was odd. Wouldn’t he meet with all the grant recipients here after the award ceremony?
Drifting from session to session, I couldn’t concentrate on the presentations of new genes identified, new lab equipment invented, and new treatments, preventatives, and cures on the horizon. Not until the end of the four-day meeting did Regnum host their event; it was always on the evening of the closing day to keep participants from bolting early.
It was a rare, slightly formal event for my typically casual colleagues, but I found it fun to play dress-up for the night. Donning a long skirt and flowy blouse, I had carefully pinned up part of my hair, with select tendrils looking as if they just casually cascaded along my face, when in fact it took several tries to get that carefree look—I kept reminding myself that the perfect is the enemy of the good, to no avail. I added simple costume jewelry and gold metal frames. I actually felt confident and ready to be on for the night.
The evening proved interminable. Regnum hosted a lengthy cocktail hour for all of us scientists to stand around in unfamiliar business attire amongst strategically placed sales reps espousing their latest product. Luckily they tend to stay clear of the run of the mill university scientist, i.e., me, and congregate around the potential decision makers from veterinary schools or private industry that do their best to stay on the cutting edge of technology. The wine was helpful though. It took the edge off and allowed me to engage in exchanges with colleagues and competitors, and hear a bevy of theories on CRFS. Neil was nowhere to be seen.
Finally we were seated at large round tables, and several hundred scientists sat politely, quietly, as Regnum executives thanked collaborators, recognized innovators, and I don’t know what else. It all blended into one long presentation punctuated with occasional forced applause. The minutes ticked by slowly. Neil sat on stage at the head table, his face a familiar, pleasant mask. He suffered with the rest of us who would prefer to have been on the barren tundra with a herd of caribou, than to be stage right. He was a master of the façade.
Dinner, dessert, coffee (decaf as I was already wired). There were to be five awards. Regnum had received thirty-two applications, a fair amount given the narrow time frame. It was all boilerplate: Thank you to all who took up the challenge, thank you to all who are as devastated by this syndrome as we at Regnum are and who want to find the source and cure as much as we do. We encourage all who do not receive an award this time to reapply if there is another round, though truthfully we hope for the sake of our canine companions that the mystery of CRFS will be solved quickly.
And oh dear God, would they just make the announcements?
The first three awards went to well-known researchers in domestic animal infectious diseases. All three proposals sought to look for the causative agent, but in different ways, using DNA-, antibody-, and blood-sourced biomarker-based techniques. The fourth went to a small private company for a novel idea to look at blood chemistry on a small group of victims for which a succession of samples had been taken as they died. Understanding the moment-by-moment changes that occurred as the poor dogs died might reveal clues on how the causative agent worked, and thus reveal the culprit. Intriguing. Gentle applause encouraged the cautious recipient to the stage to receive his check. The fifth and final award had everyone on the edge of their seats. It went to the Xlar team led by Dr. Kendal Kovak, for research on SNP comparisons in breed cohorts. The applause grew, if not for the recipient, at least for the end of the announcements.
Something was wrong. That was our proposal, but with the wrong name. Had they screwed up the award? I looked at Neil, blank-faced, staring directly at me, and mouthed, “Did they mess up the name?” He blinked long, briefly locking eyes with me, then he turned his attention to applaud Kendal as she took the stage.
Everything moved in slow motion. The few colleagues at my table who knew about our proposed approach were leaning in, whispering questions. “Wasn’t that your proposal? Did the committee screw up?” Kendal floated across the stage, shaking all of the executives’ hands, giving Neil a hug. He smiled; was it genuine? The president of Regnum took center stage to thank everyone for coming, as a cacophony of chatter rose in the room. People were rising, chairs were shifting. Kendal’s table mates were shrieking as she rejoined them, drawing attention. I looked back at the stage to find Neil chatting with some unknowns. Look up, look up! I willed him. For a fleeting moment he met my eyes, then turned away without communicating his thoughts.
The remainder of the event was a tornado of faces flying by and hands reaching out in goodbyes spinning me towards the exit. I crashed through the conference center doors, and headed up the block, frantically searching my phone for the airline’s number to get a flight out that night. I stumbled as I dodged around a gray stranger, only to look up as the lamppost glared down at me. I retreated back into my little screen. The tips of my fingers were barely warm enough to elicit a response from my iPhone, by the time the agent searched all the remaining flights with no luck, the cold announced itself on my hands and face with brutal pain.
I darted quickly into a convenience store to pick up a questionably drinkable bottle of wine. My pace quickened as I stormed to my hotel, which was beyond a comfortable walking distance. My stupid room cardkey flashed red several times before I slowed down and slid it in the slot the right way. I tore off my clothes and threw on my sweat pants, ordered cheesecake and chocolate mousse from room service, and searched for the night’s schedule of B movies knowing sleep would keep its distance, taunting me. I would not allow myself to think. Chris called and texted me twice, the final one reminding me why he was my rock.
I take it by your silence that you need to be alone. I’m sorry. I’m here when you need me.
You were right, need some time, love you, I texted back.
I turned on the t.v. as I was getting ready to leave. The local news aired coverage of last night’s events, highlighting the hope of the grant awards. But they also showed scenes from outside the conference, focusing on a growing group calling themselves the Canine Crusaders, who were picketing outside the center. The commentator said something about how they believed that the pet industry is being used to further the agenda of an as-yet-to-be-named hate group, reminding the public of other post market product tampering cases of Tylenol, Jello, and even Girl Scout cookies. Though they didn’t say how or through what mechanism or what this supposed group hated. I angrily switched it off.
Friday morning, I engaged in every distraction—the paper, in-flight magazine, a downloaded movie on my iPad. My plane landed, mid-day. I couldn’t go home. Tired, angry, and disappointed, I had to shake it off before I faced Chris. He was right, I should have repeated his suggested mantra, that it was only one of many grant applications. It was not personal. Chris was smart and insightful, and knew my vulnerabilities. He would never rub it in my face, but even so it takes me a while to eat crow. I needed to pay more attention to him, in a lot of ways, just not yet.
The lab was quiet, though everyone was there. Each of them said a quiet hello, then returned to being busy. No one made eye contact, no one mentioned what happened, but obviously everyone knew we didn’t get an award. Jamie broke the silence as I stood there frozen in the doorway.
“Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?” Jamie’s look was sincerely empathetic.
Megan rolled her eyes.
“The conference was very interesting. There are some new immunotherapy cancer drugs coming out, in particular one for canine osteosarcoma that shows promise, and Regnum has developed a rapid detection kit for parvovirus that should be on the market by the fall.”
Megan not only opening the wound, but getting out the salt shaker. “What happened? Did someone really get an award for the same thing we proposed?” She was defiant. “Is there anything we can do to protest?”
“Who?” Kate asked.
I cut off Megan’s response. “I’d prefer if we all just concentrate on the work we do have funding for. There will be other opportunities, and we should be grateful for what we do have.”
Kate remained the only unemotional one, “Is there anything we can do?”
“No. Thanks. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last that we do not get a proposal funded.” My demeanor shifted as I accepted the truth, and I smiled for real. “It’s all part of our world.” I parked my suitcase, dumped my computer backpack on the bench, and shifted my attitude. “So, how are we doing on matching pedigrees to genetic markers?”
Jamie slid over and spread a computer-generated pedigree out in front of me.
“I’ll print out the spreadsheet,” Megan said. “We also got a whole new set of samples from Dr. Anna. She said this is a new family group of Addison’s carriers.”
Anna. Shoot, I’d forgotten to call her. I had been planning to while I waited for my plane. She would have already looked at Regnum’s website for the announcement of awards and was probably giving me some space.
Jamie and Megan crowded in on either side of me and started showing me the data. Competitors in some ways, they did make a good team, she excelling at bench work manipulating samples to extract the smallest detail, he best at bioinformatics identifying the results using computer statistics, algorithms, and databases containing billions of sequences identified and submitted by the scientific community. Exciting possibilities were emerging in my own lab, patterns of DNA showing up in affected dogs and potential carriers that hinted of an Addison’s-related gene in one breed, in one family. Setting up our next set of experiments to test against other pedigrees and other breeds cleared my mind, and pulled me back onto my path. This was where I belonged.
I sent everyone home early, and closed up the lab for the weekend. I told the grad students that they didn’t need to put in any time over the weekend; a rarity in their world. I knew they would still show up for at least a few hours, as hanging in the lab was what they’d become accustomed to doing in their free time. If they only knew how valuable and rare free time would become.
I picked up Anna’s call “So what happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet! I was so angry I couldn’t even think straight. I guess I could pick up the phone and call Neil, but I got the distinct impression he won’t tell me anything. Maybe I’ve been wrong about our relationship staying strong all these years. What’s the saying? Nostalgia is the memory of the past that never really was.”
“You’re taking this rather personally. It’s just a grant, and not even in your field of work,” blunt Anna grounded me once again.
“I know, you’re right. I need to figure out why I’m so angry. For a second I caught Neil’s eye and there was a message there that I have never seen before. Like—I don’t know—‘Don’t question me’? It sent me into a tailspin.”
“Pick up the phone and call him. What did Chris say?”
“Nothing. He’s been careful to stay back, like you, but he’s been texting the grocery list. Guess it’s his way of emphasizing what’s important. He warned me this might happen and tried to prepare me. I haven’t actually been home yet, but called him when I landed. We didn’t even mention it. Talked about kids and dogs and life.”
“Real life. Pay attention to that. Don’t let this consume you. And don’t hold it against him that he was right,” That was Anna, ever my conscience. “Or against Neil for doing business as business people do.”
“Yeah, whatever that means. I’d never make it in the business world.” I leaned back in my chair. The disarray in my office, in the lab, would never cut it at Regnum. I shook it off. “That’s why I’m still at the lab. I need to pull myself together so he doesn’t get the brunt of it.”
“Neil?”
“No, Chris,” I said, silently acknowledging that sometimes their roles were similar.
“Isn’t that what husbands are for?” she chided. “Though what do I know?”
“Beats me, I’m still reading the manual. So, tell me what is going on with CRFS in your world.”
“You sure you want to know? You’re still in an emotional state and you aren’t in the position to do anything about it.”
“I’m not in that fragile a mood. My love of dogs trumps all.”
“It’s going to get bad, really bad. All the other vets I’ve talked to swear they have been seeing cases of it. And yes, that includes me.”
“You kept samples, right?”
“Ahh, the truth revealed. Science trumps all, not love of dogs.”
“Um, I . . .”
“You are such an easy target when you’re wounded!” She laughed. “Yes, of course I have. I wouldn’t have sacrificed my life if I wasn’t in it for the science too.”
“Hey, about that, what have you been doing for fun these days? We need to meet for dinner.”
“Sure, but nothing actually. I’ve been pretty busy with emergency cases.”
“Of CRFS,” I said, not asked.
“Of CRFS,” she confirmed. “It is steadily escalating. I don’t imagine I’m going to see much fun in the coming months.”
I didn’t feel right asking about details of her cases. It had to be hard losing patients. And as our research was always interdependent, I was sure she took the grant award, or lack thereof, as a blow too. We agreed to get together sometime during the week. But I had a feeling she was going to cancel our date.
I called home to engage in what really mattered. Chris tried to comfort me but was rebuffed. It wasn’t nice of me, but I couldn’t bear to admit that he had been so right. Would I have taken this so personally if it hadn’t been Neil? I’ve applied for numerous grants that I didn’t get. Most scientists do, and this one was not even for work directly in my area of research. But this was personal and raw. “I’m on my way. I miss you guys.”
They had a surprise for me, he whispered.
I was greeted at the door, not just by two wagging dog bodies, but two teenagers with genuine smiles and hugs of gratitude for my coming home.
Chris stood in the kitchen stirring a pot. “Hi! Welcome home!” He met my embrace and held me for longer than a hello. “I’m sorry.” I held on a little longer, melting in the security of his arms.
I pulled away, and we kissed briefly. “Thank you.” I felt myself recalibrating.
Dinner was cooked, mostly by the girls, laundry was done, the house was picked up. Even their bedrooms revealed expanses of the carpet rarely glimpsed under the clothes strewn in a frantic search for just the right ensemble. With barely enough time to take off my coat, I was whisked into the dining room, which was set with plates and silverware and glasses, just the way their Polish Babcia had taught them. A bottle of wine was breathing, snuggled in its cool clay container. Food was in serving dishes I didn’t know we owned, and everyone managed to be seated around the table at nearly the same time. Not a cell phone in sight.
“Come sit, Mom. You get to relax while we serve you.” And that they did. Salad, spaghetti, veggies, all cooked to perfection.
We talked about their friends, their teachers, and about taking a trip to the Eastern Shore over Thanksgiving break, our favorite place during the off season. Maybe we would drive down the DelMarVa Peninsula to Assateague Island and bike through the Chincoteague wildlife refuge, taking in the mosaic of landscapes of dark brown and puffed white spent cattails that peek out from swaths of amber marsh grasses, around the dense dark green and brown loblolly pine that huddle close, making pockets of forest, to the white sandy beaches that stretch out and frolic with the Atlantic Ocean.
Assateague island forms a thin barrier between the Atlantic Ocean and the Virginia/Maryland coasts. It’s topography and brackish waters insulate the island, keeping it mild both in the summer and winter months. Hoodies and jeans are all that is needed in November, as the t
emperatures are still in the fifties. And maybe earplugs; definitely earplugs, since thousands of birds migrating along the great Atlantic Flyway create a discordant cacophony of honks and quacks and chirps. A symphony warming up, but never playing a singular tune.
The Chesapeake Bay area waterways rarely freeze over, offering year-round feeding grounds that attract avian travelers from both northern and southern migrations, who come to the barrier islands to rest or take up temporary residence. A field of white grows as tundra swans with their graceful long necks tipped in contrasting black bills arrive on outstretched six-foot wings. They are joined by the more compact snow geese whose bills wear a distinctive “grin patch.” Smaller brant sea geese wearing a scarf of white plumage dot the marshlands. Brown-headed pintail ducks, their tail feathers extended in black pen strokes, make their way from Canada and dominate the view and soundscape.
Closer focus reveals the smaller black-capped gray catbirds, petite striped-winged flycatchers, and an assortment of other songbirds that are passing through. The tiny dusty-blue northern parula warbler with splashes of yellow on its throat, chest, and shoulders offers both resident and migrating populations. And deep in the pine forests, the diminutive northern saw-whet owl with its giant yellow eyes makes its winter home.
Most will have travelled on by the end of the year, leaving the resident herons, osprey, egrets, and eagles to soar across a quiet winter sky. Throughout the seasons, the resident white-tailed and smaller sika deer, red foxes, and the famous rotund wild ponies go about their days, meandering across the shores, marshes, and forests, while doing their best to ignore the tourists.
The best part of a winter visit? The absence of the bird-sized mosquitoes. Really, you needed an extra-large fly swatter to kill them.
“They drink DEET for lunch.” “No, a tennis racket, Mom!” “Hit one of them with your car,” Chris said, “and you can’t see out the windshield anymore!”
It was good to be home.
“Dad told us what happened,” Diana said as the laughter quieted. “He said we could say we were sad for you, but to not dwell on it.”