Date Published: June 25, 2020
Publisher: Archway Publishing
While working independently as a pre-med student at Cleary University, the soon-to-be physician, Mary Austin, discovers a remarkable, non-toxic drug that could offer tremendous hope to cancer patients. Her work is headed for publication in a top medical journal until a drug company begins negotiations with her bosses from which she is mysteriously excluded.
Amid egregious sexual harassment, Mary's materials are blatantly sabotaged. As death threats follow and her work becomes impossible, she is accepted at Whitehead College of Medicine despite evidence that her bosses tampered with her application process. After becoming a pediatrics resident, she shares her story with her beloved mentor, Dr. Daniel Taylor, who allows her to temporarily leave her residency training to reproduce the work. Her joy turns to sorrow and then determination when she learns that Dr. Taylor is battling terminal pancreatic cancer. Even as a chain of events prompts the sabotage of Mary's drug stock and leaves her seemingly without any choice but to permanently leave academic medicine, the story of her drug is not over yet.
In this novel inspired by a true story, after a young cancer researcher discovers a breakthrough drug that could change chemotherapy, the drug industry suppresses the breakthrough and transforms her life and career forever.
The Camera Aversion of Scientists
If you want to see a lab empty out like the place is on fire, get a
camera. Almost everybody who works in labs is camera shy. This can be a problem
if you’re in that large majority and land in a prominent lab where the university
(or even local media crews) might be around on a regular basis depending on
what’s been discovered. These poor guys, who are just trying to do their jobs,
want to film scientists doing science, but the problem is that almost all of
the scientists want to run away.
One postdoc I remember even hid in the lab’s “hot room” to avoid a
news crew. That’s the term for the room where all the radioactive materials are
stored— very safely, really; there’s little to no risk to going in that room
despite its off-putting appearance. The university’s radiation safety staff
inspects those rooms regularly, and nobody’s allowed in there without knowing
what they’re doing.
But the door has those giant radiation warning signs on it, and my
colleague correctly guessed that the camera people sure as hell wouldn’t follow
him there.
…That guy in the hot room stood around for almost an hour with
nothing to do, until he was sure the crew was gone. Having successfully avoided
appearing in the video, he went back to work and faced nothing but a bit of
ribbing from the rest of us.
Promising Results Lead to Drug Company
Involvement
I was introduced to clinical researchers who were to develop the drug
at the academic center, but Dr. Cromm also involved a drug company named Dullahan
Pharmaceuticals. For a while, Dr. Cromm remained as elated about the drug as he
had been on that April day, telling me at one point, “Mary, I wish I could be
back at the lab bench, doing this with you!”
Dr. Everton subsequently invited me to a party Dullahan was throwing
for the lab, and I came, embarrassed that I hadn’t known about it that morning.
As luck would have it, I had to show up to a nice restaurant right after work
wearing ripped jeans and that same damn greenish T-shirt, which had been that
morning, as in times past, the only one that passed the smell test. Now, after
a day in lab, it doubtless didn’t even do for that; nevertheless, I went, and I
spoke with representatives from the company all evening.
Afterwards, Dr. Cromm became more guarded with me, and Evan had
closed-door meetings with the drug company, to which I was not invited.
Fleeing My Home
Isaac went with me as I got clothing out of my closet and packed a
bag, and we drove over to his nice new house. He comforted me as we sat on the
futon in his basement, where, on many happier evenings, we’d watched The
Simpsons together while eating takeout from a Chinese restaurant. Academics
don’t ask for much in terms of lifestyle. It was fun just because we were
together, laughing.
I couldn’t believe the relief at actually feeling safe in the place
where I would sleep. That had been missing for so long I had forgotten what it felt like.
Camera Aversion, Redux
It certainly came
as news that I would, very much against my will, feature in that
film [featuring Dr. Taylor] as I presented my patients that morning—and after a
sleepless night and with no makeup on, because Murphy’s Law is never not in
effect.
I ran around telling the other residents that we were apparently
going to be filmed during rounds, and that we had to hurry it up.
“Oh, crap!” said one of the other female residents. “I
have to put makeup on!”
“Well, how do you think I feel?” I asked her, laughing
ruefully. Besides looking awful, I had twelve complex cases to present on zero
hours of sleep. That my hair resembled a haystack in form as
well as color that particular morning was the least of my concerns.
I wound up giving one of the best performances I’d ever
given in rounds, presenting every single case without missing a beat. I made
all the appropriate teaching points for the students and fielded every question
they asked without dropping even one. I don’t even know how the hell I got
through it all except that it was for him.
Well, that and I drank a shedload of caffeine. But that
only served to kickstart my faltering brain; my heart was already in it all the
way for him.
St. Elmo’s Fire
St. Elmo’s fire is a beautiful natural phenomenon that
occurs in highly electrically charged atmospheres around violent storms. St. Elmo
is the Italian name of St. Erasmus, the patron saint of sailors; when the
violet light licked up over the surfaces of a ship, sailors in
bygone eras felt it was an omen that their patron saint was with them in the
storm.
The truth I was investigating was beautiful beyond
belief, but dear God, was there a storm around
it. Still, I was not going to reverse course
unless I died, and thank God Dr. Taylor, my protector, was still
with me.
You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me
He met me in the hallway between his office and the reception area. I
handed him the envelope containing all the test results and recounted
everything that had gone on.
He gave me a tight hug and kissed me on the cheek.
“I love you, Mary,” he said. “You know that, right?”
I just stared at him, still in his arms, with my eyes as full of
tears as they are now while I write this. I couldn’t speak.
It is acceptable to not say “I love you” in return if you have poured
that into every day of your life while trying not to lose someone you love so
much you can’t even speak for the thought of losing him.
About the Author
Mary Austin is the pseudonym for a physician who, in order to publicize a suppressed discovery in cancer research, had to sacrifice first her academic career, then a career as a board-certified pediatrician, and then her personal safety. She would do it again.
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