By the afternoon I have carpool duty. They tumble into the car, hair in sloppy buns, leggings and T-shirts askew, evidence of a solid rehearsal beginning their spring production. They plunk their lumps of backpack on the floor and slam the doors.
“Oh my God mom! You won’t believe . . .” Diana explodes.
“Shut . . .” Tess stops short of using the forbidden words. “I can tell her myself, you don’t have to out me.” I wait. “So you know that guy I have a crush on, Peter?” I remain silent; acknowledging would stifle her openness. “He’s so cute! And he came up to my table at lunch and asked if he could sit down and he was so sweet asking all kinds of questions like what colleges I’m interested in, about my dogs, even about you guys . . .” She is clearly enamored.
“That’s a good sign.” I say in a monotone.
“Ugh mom it was, except, I’m such an idiot!”
“Because…”
“Because I started asking about him, and when he told me his father was from Austria I said, Oh! Do you speak Austrian?” My eyes widen. “Mom, the moment it came out of my mouth I knew what an idiot I sounded like, but there was nothing I could say!”
“What did he say?” I cautiously ask.
“He just said he grew up speaking German at home as a child, but he’s pretty much dropped it as a teenager.” I try not to chuckle. “I know you’re dying mom.” I don’t say a word. “I know you’re thinking it’s a good thing apples don’t fall up into the trees.”
I wait a moment. “Nope not me. He sounds like a nice guy.”
“He is,” she said as she threw her head back. “I’m such a dope!”
A few heartbeats passed, and we all bust out laughing. I reached over and rubbed her arm, quickly, as to linger would overstep. As I concentrate on the road, I find comfort in knowing that I must be doing something right if my teenaged daughter is able to have a sense of humor about herself.
Like microwaving popcorn, their teenage energy bursts out in punctuated excitement briefly filling the car. But by the time we stop by the grocery store, silence reigns, induced by the levity and self-professed wisdom of posts on Reddit and Twitter. “Facebook is for people your age, Mom,” I’ve been informed many times.
Finally, Chris and I retreat to our bed. Lying on his chest, I feel the protection of my soul mate, and am reminded of an anonymous poem I found in high school: “Baked in an enamel shell, I am strong. But please don’t scrape too hard. Porcelain cracks so easily.
Sunday, Day 7
Anna is up to speed on everything, though still adamant about releasing samples and our data through the CDC if something goes wrong and this is not settled by tomorrow, Monday COB. Rachelle fended off Regnum’s attack on her over the weekend, which means they will likely have no reason to move forward with their threats.
The university is moving ahead with our press conference. Anna, Jamie, Megan, and Haley are all here at our house; so is Sandy, who briefs us all on what to say, but mostly what not to say. I practice my presentation, revised by Sandy for the public, and receive a rousing ovation from the peanut gallery. Their excitement is infectious and I can feel a renewed sense of purpose melting away all sense of trepidation. We have stopped CRFS.
We call it an early evening. It’s going to be a wild and busy day for us tomorrow. Chris and the girls and I cuddle watching a taped episode of Portlandia. Tess claims it’s based on Chris and me, with our bohemian wardrobe and his role as the recycling police. The dogs sprawl out on the floor. I’ll remember this.
The girls are in bed, Chris reading in ours. Ania sits in the hallway in anticipation, watching me shut down my computer. I close the lid, she stands. We are both creatures of habit. I pick up my phone to plug it in for the night. There is a text from Neil that I somehow missed. I’ll be in touch tomorrow. You’re going to love this.
Finally. Okay, I respond, content that he is alive and apparently amused. We head for the bedroom. I glimpse myself in the hall mirror. The stress-induced resting bitch face has softened, replaced by a kinder, gentler me.
Sofie, snuggled in my space, moves to the floor, while Ania assumes her hierarchical spot. I crawl under the covers just as Chris is turning off his light. We cuddle goodnight, and I retreat into the dim light of my Kindle and Ania’s warmth at my feet.
DOG GONE
Monday, Day 8
Somewhere between Mark’s insistence that they stay for another set, and Tasha walking on the beach to clear her head, I fell asleep in the plot of a mediocre novel I will never finish. It is morning and I am swept up in the current as the day flows around me. Chris is showered, dressed, and has placed a cup on my nightstand, inches from my nose. Coffee essence lures me to the conscious world. Voices and dog feet are quiet, as sunlight slowly fills the house.
Almost ready, I step out on the screened-in porch. It is surprisingly warm. I sit down and draw in a breath of pristine air. The trees have shed their hard edges and seem relaxed in the coming of spring. Soon they will return to work filling the empty spaces with dappled green.
Chris gently breaks the spell as he joins me. “We need to get going.”
The girls, still sleeping, will be picked up by our neighbor and brought to the university. They were excited last night to be included in today’s events. While they seem to grasp the importance of our results, getting out of school for the day seems to be the more significant reason.
“You look ready,” he says.
“You think I look too much not like me in this suit?” I ask. “Funny how I feel solid with all the technical stuff, but I’m unsettled by picking out clothes.”
“You’ll be facing a lot of people, including the press. Makes sense you want to influence their impression.” He gives me his best smile. “You look perfect. Professional. You.”
“I was going to go with the tortoise shell . . .
“I like those blue frames better, they’ll look good on camera. Did I mention, you look hot?” and he offers his hand affirming why he is my life.
We are on our way to pick up Anna and then head over for a final meeting with Nathan, Douglas, Laura, and Sandy. Laura called yesterday morning and asked us to have Rachelle contact her. She too will be joining us, I guess for Anna and Chris’ benefit.
Karen is there to greet us and shows us into the large conference room. “Can I get you anything this morning? You all must be so excited!” She smiles brightly. “Dr. Abrams is almost here, but the Regnum folks called and said they are stuck in traffic, so they will be a little late.”
“Regnum?” we say in unison.
Before she can reply, Nathan bursts in and dumps his briefcase on the table, tossing his coat on a side chair. “Good morning all! Beautiful day for a press conference, don’t you think?”
“Dr. Abrams, would you like me to take your coat to your office? I’ll bring you coffee.”
“The coat can stay, Karen, but coffee would be perfect, thank you. Anyone else?” He registers our deer-in–the-headlights expressions. “Please, please, sit. Get comfortable.” We don’t. Opening his briefcase he takes out a stack of folders and slides one across the table to each of us. “We don’t have a lot of time, but—”
“Good morning, folks!” Sandy announces. Douglas, Laura, and our lawyer Rachelle follow behind.
“Good morning, all. I was just passing out the new script to everyone but haven’t told them yet what transpired late last night.” Great, more Nathan surprises. “You must be Rachelle; nice to meet you in person.” He extends his hand for a greeting and offers her a seat. “Please take a chair.”
“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Sandy beams. “We have so little time before they get here.”
None in my group have uttered a word yet. Rachelle is smirking.
As Sandy and Douglas are sitting, Nathan says, “so it seems that Regnum decided if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, and they called late yesterday afternoon with an offer to do a joint press conference.”
“You agreed?” An
na asked, shocked.
“Sit, sit, please.” Reaching out again, Nathan says, “You are Dr. McDowell—Anna, right? We’ve met a few times at some of the university functions.”
She shakes his hand and slowly lowers herself into her seat. “Yes, and you are Dr. Abrams.”
“Nathan, please. And Chris? Good to see you again.” Engaging Anna, Nathan says, “Back to your question. Yes, we agreed because it is all on our terms and more. I trust that when this is all on the table, all of you will be very pleased.” He sits and puts on his glasses, pulling one of the folders in front of him. “Now, if you will open the folder I just gave you.” Karen quietly places a coaster and his coffee. “Thank you.” He smiles at her.
We are barely though the details; have not even begun to process, much less rehearse the revised presentation when Karen’s voice comes over the intercom. “The Regnum team is here.”
“Wonderful! Bring them in,” Nathan says cheerily. “Be nice,” he whispers to us as he stands to greet them.
We all stand as they enter. The President, CFO, CEO, CSO, Chief Counsel and two of his minions, and Neil. Neil and a woman in her sixties, elegantly dressed and poised. Nathan motions for me to do the introductions, but we don’t really need any. I round out the formality with “Of course some of you know Neil, and—I’m sorry I—”
“Donna, Donna Peebles.” She smiles genuinely, extending her hand. “We’ve never met but we’ve spoken many times.”
Barely perceptibly, I can feel Neil laughing his ass off.
It’s time. Karen is standing at the door. Nathan sees her, looks at his watch and says “Folks, it’s show time!” We all stand and Karen leads our procession down the hall; two loose lines, we are careful not to mingle with the Regnum folks. Like being inches away from a growling dog with nowhere to run, the elevator ride to the auditorium is unsettling. Chris gently takes my hand and squeezes a smile out of me. Feeling like Ania having retrieved the ball from the deep weeds, I hold my head up as we take to the stage.
A pre-release from the university stating that it had news to announce on the findings and end of CRFS, resulted in a packed room, including a gallery of not just local but national press. Megan, Jamie, and Haley are seated in the front row, along with the girls, Anna’s technicians, Dr. Martenson’s lab group, and other members of my department. Bright stage lights blind us from above, while news media flashes give a strobe-like effect. We file onto the stage and are seated, separated from the Regnum team by the podium where Nathan takes his place, puts on his glasses, and lays open his folder. Five hundred people sit suspended in silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming this morning. I am pleased to announce the discovery of the cause of CRFS by our research team lead by Dr. Claire Winthrop. She will be giving a statement and details on the discovery in a few minutes and she will be taking questions at the end of her presentation.” Indiscriminate comments rumble the room. “The cause of CRFS”—abrupt silence—“The cause of CRFS is a contaminated cat vaccine for Feline Leukemia Virus or FeLV. Dr. Winthrop will provide details on the mechanism of infection, but put briefly, in the normal process post-vaccination, cats shed the contaminated modified virus for a period—typically twenty-four to forty-eight hours. In this case, dogs who were exposed to the shed virus were affected by the contaminant, which caused a catastrophic collapse of their adrenal system.”
Like rolling thunder, chatter erupts. A few brash reporters yell out questions. Nathan waits patiently for quiet that slowly comes. He’s enjoying this.
“Folks, this is going to be a long morning. We have prepared slides to walk you through the science, and handouts will be available upon exit. We will make sure that we provide as much detail as you need and allow plenty of time for questions. I ask that you all give us the first ten minutes to walk you through the research and actions taken, and I promise you this will all be made very clear.” The audience engine returns to idle. “Thank you. As I was saying, the cause is a contaminated cat vaccine made by the pharmaceutical company Regnum. Joining us in this announcement today is the President of Regnum, Dr. Scott Tennant, who will explain their investigation and what they have done to stop any further spread of CRFS.” A few of the reporters cannot contain themselves and fire questions at the stage.
“You are lying!” A man shouts as he unfurls a Canine Crusaders banner. He is quickly shut down by security.
“Before I bring Dr. Winthrop up to the podium, I would like to tell you a little about her, and acknowledge the incredible significance of her team’s findings. Over the last nine months we have all seen the tragic loss of thousands of dogs across the country. Dogs who were companions, friends, and members of families. The heartbreak that has unfolded before our eyes cannot be adequately described, but it ends now thanks to Dr. Winthrop’s dedication and brilliance as a researcher.” Yikes, this is uncomfortable. “Dr. Winthrop and her colleague Dr. Anna MacDowell have been working tirelessly for a number of years to find a genetic link and remedy for Addison’s disease in dogs. This love of dogs is what drove her team to work diligently to help find a cure for CRFS. As she will explain, better than I can, CRFS affects dogs much the way Addison’s does, and it is this parallel that provided the key to unlock the mystery of CRFS. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking Dr. Winthrop and Dr. MacDowell, and their whole team, for their hard work and significant research.”
The room erupts in applause as Nathan turns to me inviting me to join him at the podium. He is beaming, crashing his hands together as if they were cymbals. Everyone is rising around me. The room is erupting in a standing ovation. I look to Chris, who stands, and offers me his hand to lift me to this new height. My heart is pounding as hundreds of flashes of light pummel me. I am propelled to the podium by some invisible force.
Nathan leans into the microphone and announces “Dr. Winthrop” and steps back. I am standing for what feels like minutes while the crowd continues to applaud and call out commendations and questions. Having never experienced this before, I am at a loss for how to quiet them so I stand, stunned.
Finally, I shift into lecture mode, comfortable in front of a class, going through slides and explaining the details. I pause several times for quick questions until I have the presence of mind to ask to hold questions until after our presentations. Control your audience, measured responses.
I would like to now ask Dr. Scott Tennant of Regnum, to join me and provide”—I have to look at my actual script—“to join me to provide his company’s response to our findings and their vision for the future.” I turn and give my biggest, fake smile, and offer a welcoming gesture. “Dr. Tennant.”
Polite applause, if that. For the first time I really look at his face as he walks to the gallows. He is stoic and calculated. Though, I think, a bit unnerved. He adjusts the microphone higher, places and opens a folder on the podium, and grasps the podium as if preparing for a bumpy ride. I quietly take my seat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Abrams, Dr. Winthrop, and Dr. MacDowell, thank you for all your work, and for working with us to put an immediate end to this horrific disease.” He is smooth. “The spread of CRFS stopped last week when we met with Dr. Winthrop’s team and learned of her research results. Even though we had not yet confirmed the results, we immediately recalled all suspected vaccine, and notified the veterinary community of the need to cease all use of the lots that contained the contaminated virus.” Well, not exactly. “We have also confirmed the results, and by the end of the week, we were able to determine how the vaccine became contaminated.”
The tension in the room is palpable. I can’t see the audience beyond the first few rows but I could swear I hear pitchforks being readied. I shift to the edge of my seat since I haven’t heard this part of the story.
“We have prepared a detailed statement which will be made available at the end of this session, but in short, a senior quality control manager became careless and negligent in his misguided attempt to prove he could increas
e productivity, and the FeLV product was compromised. His actions included a cover-up once he learned of the mistake, which further prevented our stringent second level of the quality assurance process to be effective. This manager has been dismissed, and criminal charges for his actions are likely.”
Someone shouts out, “What about the dogs that have died?”
“You ask an excellent question. We, like so many of you, love dogs. We are dog owners, they are members of our family, and our work is dedicated to the health of dogs. We have been personally and now professionally devastated by CRFS. To learn that it was one of our own that caused it is beyond belief. We know that no words we can say, nothing we can do, will bring the dogs back. But our heartfelt condolences go out to those who have lost their dogs, and we take full responsibility.” A wave of people start moving towards the microphones for questions.
“While we are still analyzing the situation to ensure that we provide the appropriate and just response, we have already established the following: A victims’ compensation fund has been set up, much like in response to impacts from defective vehicles and food borne illnesses. The fund will be administered by an external board, headed by the well-known reparations lawyer Quincy Meyer, and facilitated by our former CSO, Dr. Neil Franklin, who understands the science exceptionally well. In addition to the fund, we have established an endowment here at the university, so that Dr. Winthrop and her team may continue their work on Addison’s, as well as other debilitating canine diseases. We have also made generous donations to the AVMA and the AKC, which have been instrumental in coordinating the sample and information sharing between researchers like Dr. Winthrop and the CDC. And we remain committed to fund the grants we awarded last fall to support the work of other researchers who were dedicated to finding a cause and cure, so they can continue to contribute to our understanding of canine genetics. Many of them have joined us here today. I will turn the podium back over to Dr. Abrams and remain available for questions at the end of this session.” He closes his folder, turns and walks to his seat.
Decoded Dog Page 26