The Magic Bullet (26 page)

When Judith Novick showed up at the hospital the following Tuesday for her second treatment, the change was unmistakable. Though she was still unsteady on her feet—and, to the naked eye, her tumor appeared undiminished in size—her color was dramatically better, and so was her disposition.

“I’ve been feeling great,” she confirmed. “Less tired than anytime I can remember.”

Standing beside her in the examining room, Logan and Sabrina exchanged a quick glance, sharing their pleasure.

But Sabrina deliberately understated it to the patient. “This is good,” she said evenly, “a very good sign.”

For, of course, both doctors knew that such a reaction—if, indeed, what they were seeing was even a reaction to the drug—could prove fleeting.

Still, checking the tumor, there was no question it was slightly more yielding to the touch: more like a tennis ball than a hardball. And when they measured it, they found that it had even shrunk three quarters of a centimeter—not statistically significant, but still a very encouraging development.

In any case, Novick wasn’t waiting for the doctors’ authorization to celebrate her sudden new vigor. “This past week has been so wonderful,” she announced. “I’ve been seeing people again. My husband took me to the movies. The other day I even went out shopping.”

“That’s terrific, Judy,” agreed Logan. “Just wonderful.” He hesitated, not wanting to play the ogre. “Just remember: Go slow, take it easy. We’re still very early in this process.”

“Of course. I know that. I don’t have any illusions.” Suddenly she smiled and her face looked nothing short of radiant. “But, I’ll tell you, I almost don’t care. I never thought I’d ever feel this good again—not even for a day.”

A
s she lay in bed, waiting for her treatment to begin, Faith Byrne appeared as calm as could be expected. “That’s our girl,” encouraged Nurse McCorvey, inserting the IV line into her arm. “You’re not gonna feel a blessed thing.”

Since Faith had assumed the fourth slot—it had previously belonged to a certain Hannah Dietz, who welcomed the delay—they’d been through the procedure three times by now; it was starting to feel routine. In fact, standing off to the side, Logan was the lone representative of the Compound J team on hand. They’d decided that “witness duty” would revolve among the three of them.

“That’s right,” echoed Marion Winston, “easy as pie.” The patient care representative placed her hand lightly on the patient’s arm. “I wish I were as comfortable as you look in that bed.”

“Hey,” said Faith, through a tight smile, “feel free to change places. And I mean
anytime
.”

Though they’d had their first face-to-face meeting only the evening before, on Faith’s arrival at the ACF, the rapport between Winston and Byrne was obvious. Watching, even Logan had to agree that Winston had a special touch with patients in need of reassurance.

“How long will it be?” Faith strained to get a look at the overhead bottle bearing the Compound J.

“Just a minute now,” said McCorvey. “You want me to tell you when it starts?”

“Of
course
. It’s my life.”

“Then just hold on, dear. I’ll let you know.” McCorvey
waited a few seconds and gingerly removed the clamp. “Now.”

The patient exhaled deeply and, staring up at the ceiling, lay perfectly still, working at trying to relax. Logan snuck a peek at his watch. Nine thirty-eight. At, say, ten of, he’d be able to think about leaving.

Two minutes went by. Then a third.

“Something’s not right,” spoke up Faith suddenly. “I feel strange.”

Instantly, Logan was at her bedside.

“What, Faith? What is it?”

“Stop the medicine! Please!”

“What is it? Tell me.” Logan looked over at McCorvey. Her face reflected his own intense concern.

“I feel chilled all over! I’m getting nauseous!”

Reflexively, Logan weighed the data before him, focusing on the worst-case scenario: She could be undergoing anaphylaxis—a severe toxic reaction, similar to that produced by a bee sting in someone with an extreme allergic sensitivity.

But, no, he discounted the possibility almost at once. The symptoms of anaphylactic shock hit immediately after administration; within seconds, the patient will start wheezing, then usually black out. Faith’s breathing was not labored, and her color was good.

“What’s her pressure?” he asked McCorvey.

She checked the monitor. “One twenty-five over eighty.”

“Heart rate?”

“Seventy-five.” Also normal.

The problem, he could only conclude, was nothing more than acute anxiety.

Logan nodded toward the crash cart. “Prepare a milligram intravenous of lorazepam.” A Valium analog.

He leaned in close to the patient and spoke soothingly. “Faith, I’m almost certain it’s nothing serious. We’re going to give you something to help you relax.”

“No! What I need is epinephrine!”

Under other circumstances, Logan might have laughed: talk about a little knowledge leading to big-time lunacy! Epinephrine is more commonly known as adrenaline; by speeding up the heart rate by forcing the muscle to contract spasmodically, it can lead to angina, especially in someone of Faith Byrne’s age.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” he reassured. “Let’s just see how you do over the next few minutes.”

“Doctor, the woman is telling you she’s in crisis!”

Startled, Logan looked across the bed at Winston. “Please, Ms. Winston, the situation is in hand.”

“I’m not sure it is! I would like you to call for backup!”

Goddamn it! What was it with this bitch?

“I assure you that isn’t necessary,” he replied calmly. “What Mrs. Byrne is describing is not life threatening.”

If he could just hold things together another a couple of minutes, he knew, matters would resolve themselves. It would become
obvious
there’d been no reason for concern.

“Listen,” he added, “I just think we have to be careful not to overreact. Nurse McCorvey …?”

He saw McCorvey glance Winston’s way before responding. “Yes, Doctor?”

Christ, was she going to be a problem too?

“You’ve been through a number of these treatments. Perhaps if you would reassure—”

“Never mind your reassurance, Doctor! What Faith needs is help!”

“Ms. Winston,” he said evenly, buying time, “we’ve been through this procedure several times already. There’ve been no adverse effects.”

Momentarily, this seemed to defuse the crisis. But with a sudden wail, Faith Byrne again commanded all eyes. “Oh, God,
please
, don’t let them kill me.”

Winston took her hand. “I promise you, that’s NOT going to happen. Dr. Logan, I must insist that—”

“No, it’s not,” he cut her off. By now he had to make a
physical effort to maintain the surface calm he needed to do his job. “But if it’ll set your mind at ease …”

He picked up the phone and punched in the nurses’ station. “This is Dr. Logan in room three fourteen. I’d like some backup here, please, stat.”

As he hung up, he glanced at his watch; then, to be sure, waited another thirty seconds. “I just want to tell you, we’re already past the danger point. And, as you see, Mrs. Byrne has had no adverse reaction to this drug.”

He half expected an apology. Instead, Winston only squeezed Faith’s hand a little tighter. “See that. Nothing to worry about.”

Now that all concern had passed, Logan eyed the patient care rep with cool disdain. “Ms. Winston, you are not medical personnel. I would
really
appreciate it if you would stand back now.”

“
That’s
your response, Doctor, to what’s just happened here? I happen to be doing my job.”

“Yes? Well, you’re going to have to learn that the rest of us have jobs to do also. You’re going to have to learn it and respect it.”

“What is this about? What is this problem?”

And there, in the doorway, stood Sabrina.

“Dr. Como,” exclaimed Winston. “Thank God!”

Logan nodded Sabrina’s way. “I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a misunderstanding. But I think it’s fair to say everything’s under control now.” He looked down at the patient. “Are you feeling better, Faith?”

“I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Nonetheless,” said the patient care rep, “I believe Mrs. Byrne would feel a lot more comfortable if Dr. Como took over now.”

Logan just stared at her.
Go fuck yourself, lady! You can go straight to hell!
“Is that true, Faith? Is that what you want?”

Byrne didn’t hesitate. “Yes. It is.”

“Well, then, that’s that.”
Fuck you too!
“Dr. Como,” he said, with a brittle smile, “I guess it’s all yours.”

“Yes,” she said, a portrait in studied neutrality. “Thank you, Dr. Logan.”

And Logan strode from the room, leaving the woman he loved to supervise what had, in fact, from the beginning, been an entirely routine procedure.

O
ver the days that followed, Logan couldn’t stop replaying the incident in his head. This woman had done nothing less than challenge his very credibility as a doctor. And on his own protocol!

Still, the best policy was to play it cool. He hoped against hope that word of what had happened would not get around the ACF. After a week, he’d almost begun to believe it was possible.

Then, late one afternoon, Allen Atlas sidled up beside him in the otherwise deserted junior associates’ lounge. “So, I hear you’ve been rejected by one of your protocol patients.”

Logan turned to face him. The bastard was grinning broadly.

“Say, Logan, isn’t it supposed to work the other way around? I know in Dr. Stillman’s protocol, it’s the doctor who’s in charge.”

“Don’t worry about me. Or our protocol.” He paused; then, despite himself, the words came rushing out. “The results have been very encouraging so far.”

“You’re completely full of shit, Logan.”

But for all his ostentatious contempt, Atlas couldn’t entirely disguise his interest.

“
Very
encouraging,” repeated Logan, in too deep to pull back now. “We’ve already had a partial response. Some tumor shrinkage.”

“
Some tumor shrinkage?
Big fucking deal.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Atlas, but you didn’t used to have such a filthy mouth. What’s with you, you even have to imitate the way these guys talk?”

“Talk to me when you have a serious response. Anything less than fifty percent shrinkage in a big tumor means shit, Logan, and you know it.”

He did know it. “I’ll take it,” he said blithely. “As a start. I haven’t heard anything better coming from your man Stillman’s trial.”

“Don’t worry about Dr. Stillman, he’s doing fine.” A sudden grin. “He also sends you his regrets about Mrs. Byrne. He knows her, you know.”

“I heard. She turned you guys down flat.”

“Is that what she told you,
she
turned
us
down?”

Logan looked at him.

“Logan, you’re even more gullible than I thought. The woman has a borderline personality disorder. It was in her file. Stillman took one look at it and sent her packing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Have it your way.”

But of
course
he did—it explained everything. Classically, a borderline sees others in the starkest of terms—good or bad, black or white; and when such an individual’s expectations go unmet, no matter how wildly unrealistic they are, good can turn into bad in a nanosecond. The way Faith Byrne had transformed him from hero to villain.

No one would ever knowingly include a borderline in a drug trial. Almost by definition, she’ll create havoc in a medical setting; dividing staff, playing one off against the other.

“I didn’t see any report like that in her file,” Logan tried again, lamely.

“Oh, no?” Atlas smiled, even more broadly. “Maybe that part of it didn’t get sent along. These things happen.”

If he’d expected any sympathy from Shein, coming across the senior man in the cafeteria the next afternoon quickly put that notion to rest.

“The bastards slipped a poison pill into your protocol?!” exclaimed Shein, wide-eyed.

Logan nodded. “I guess you could put it that way.”

“How much damage you think she can do?”

He’d been thinking about that himself. “To the protocol data? None—she’s still a viable candidate. My only concern is that—”