advantage of your good nature. They make allowances for other patients on this protocol.”
“That’s completely untrue.”
“Easy to say—since you haven’t let us meet any!”
“We’re bound to protect their anonymity just as we do yours.” Levitt exhaled deeply, trying to maintain his composure. “I understand, the treatment is extremely unpleasant. And, yes, thank God, the tumor does seem to be in remission. But we do this for a reason. We’ve been charting the lab values very closely and—”
“So have we,” cut in Roger, “and
we
think it’s unnecessary. At the least, we insist on a reduction of the dosage.”
“I’m sorry, we can’t do that.”
Roger Boudin shook his head, as if scarcely able to believe the doctor’s unreasonableness. “I didn’t want to have to say this, but we’ve taken the numbers elsewhere for independent evaluation.”
“You’ve
what
?” If he’d hoped to get Levitt’s attention, he’d succeeded beyond all expectations; for a moment Logan thought his colleague might lose it. But almost instantly he recovered his professionalism. “Mrs. Boudin,” he said blandly, turning toward the patient, “obviously it is your right to take that information to anyone you see fit. It is also your right to remove yourself from the protocol at any time.” He stared at the floor a moment, then cleared his throat. “If you choose to do so, kindly inform me as soon as possible so I can prepare the appropriate paperwork.”
Levitt was playing with fire, and Dan Logan knew it. Would he really let her go—or was he simply convinced they were bluffing?
Bingo!
Almost instantly, Roger began backpedaling. “I don’t mean … no, it’s nothing like that. He’s a cousin of mine. We just got to talking about it.”
Levitt stared at him coldly. “As I say, it is your choice. You have been informed of the rules.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got other patients to see.”
He turned and began walking from the room. Logan followed.
“Doctor?”
They turned. It was Rochelle, her eyes moist. “Couldyou come back later?” she asked, a lost little girl. “Maybe tomorrow? Just to answer a few questions?”
He nodded crisply. “Certainly.”
As soon as they reached the hall, Levitt clapped his hands together. “Meaning,” he added, grinning broadly, “that
you’ll
be back later.”
T
he malignant cells now number in the tens of millions. Having successfully migrated from the breast, they prosper in new environments; even when completely autonomous, free of all contact with their fellows. They have proven particularly adept at infiltrating bone
.
She tries hard to ignore the nagging pain. It is one more demand on her patience in a life full of such demands. For years she’s been saying she doesn’t believe in illness. Anyway, the Tylenol in her desk drawer still provides the temporary relief she needs
.
The progression is relentless. A malignant cell observes none of the constraints that inhibit normal ones. Each is now the equivalent of a professional killer, plundering nutrients that normal cells need to survive, showing contempt for physiological equilibrium and tissue architecture. The tumor replicates itself every three weeks. Each new generation of malignant cells is even more aggressive
.
Her husband knows her better than anyone. Before bed one evening he notices
—
not for the first time
—
that she is vigorously massaging the small of her back. Shrugging off her assurance, he insists she have it looked at
.
L ogan got very little sleep that night—but he didn’t care. Propped up in bed, surrounded by piles of spiral-bound notebooks, sipping from a coffee cup—a gift from an old girlfriend, bearing a picture of Drs. Frankenstein, Kildare, and Mengele over the words
Medicine, a straaaange businesss
—he was so immersed in the notebooks, it was nearly dawn before he was even aware of the time.
This was no mere assignment to be grudgingly
“That’s completely untrue.”
“Easy to say—since you haven’t let us meet any!”
“We’re bound to protect their anonymity just as we do yours.” Levitt exhaled deeply, trying to maintain his composure. “I understand, the treatment is extremely unpleasant. And, yes, thank God, the tumor does seem to be in remission. But we do this for a reason. We’ve been charting the lab values very closely and—”
“So have we,” cut in Roger, “and
we
think it’s unnecessary. At the least, we insist on a reduction of the dosage.”
“I’m sorry, we can’t do that.”
Roger Boudin shook his head, as if scarcely able to believe the doctor’s unreasonableness. “I didn’t want to have to say this, but we’ve taken the numbers elsewhere for independent evaluation.”
“You’ve
what
?” If he’d hoped to get Levitt’s attention, he’d succeeded beyond all expectations; for a moment Logan thought his colleague might lose it. But almost instantly he recovered his professionalism. “Mrs. Boudin,” he said blandly, turning toward the patient, “obviously it is your right to take that information to anyone you see fit. It is also your right to remove yourself from the protocol at any time.” He stared at the floor a moment, then cleared his throat. “If you choose to do so, kindly inform me as soon as possible so I can prepare the appropriate paperwork.”
Levitt was playing with fire, and Dan Logan knew it. Would he really let her go—or was he simply convinced they were bluffing?
Bingo!
Almost instantly, Roger began backpedaling. “I don’t mean … no, it’s nothing like that. He’s a cousin of mine. We just got to talking about it.”
Levitt stared at him coldly. “As I say, it is your choice. You have been informed of the rules.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got other patients to see.”
He turned and began walking from the room. Logan followed.
“Doctor?”
They turned. It was Rochelle, her eyes moist. “Couldyou come back later?” she asked, a lost little girl. “Maybe tomorrow? Just to answer a few questions?”
He nodded crisply. “Certainly.”
As soon as they reached the hall, Levitt clapped his hands together. “Meaning,” he added, grinning broadly, “that
you’ll
be back later.”
T
he malignant cells now number in the tens of millions. Having successfully migrated from the breast, they prosper in new environments; even when completely autonomous, free of all contact with their fellows. They have proven particularly adept at infiltrating bone
.
She tries hard to ignore the nagging pain. It is one more demand on her patience in a life full of such demands. For years she’s been saying she doesn’t believe in illness. Anyway, the Tylenol in her desk drawer still provides the temporary relief she needs
.
The progression is relentless. A malignant cell observes none of the constraints that inhibit normal ones. Each is now the equivalent of a professional killer, plundering nutrients that normal cells need to survive, showing contempt for physiological equilibrium and tissue architecture. The tumor replicates itself every three weeks. Each new generation of malignant cells is even more aggressive
.
Her husband knows her better than anyone. Before bed one evening he notices
—
not for the first time
—
that she is vigorously massaging the small of her back. Shrugging off her assurance, he insists she have it looked at
.
L ogan got very little sleep that night—but he didn’t care. Propped up in bed, surrounded by piles of spiral-bound notebooks, sipping from a coffee cup—a gift from an old girlfriend, bearing a picture of Drs. Frankenstein, Kildare, and Mengele over the words
Medicine, a straaaange businesss
—he was so immersed in the notebooks, it was nearly dawn before he was even aware of the time.
This was no mere assignment to be grudgingly
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