Hope Borne of Misfortune

Rebecca Reedy was a doctor. It was a calling she had felt from a young age. By 27, she was practicing medicine, and she was content for a time. Then, one day, in her second year, her father became a statistic. He became one of the 75% of individuals who lose their battle with lung cancer.

After his death, Rebecca was caught up in the swirling eddies of emotion, pulled deeper and deeper into helplessness. That’s when she realized that she never wanted to tell another patient “There is a lot we still don’t understand.” She wanted to be the person who told them “I’m figuring it out,” and she wanted it to be true when she said it.

So, at age 30, Rebecca Reedy went back to school for her doctoral degree, and came out the other side with a firm belief that she was going to cure cancer. For the next three decades, she studied viral vectors, developing various oncolytic viruses that could be injected directly into malignant masses to target cancer cells. Her research was promising, taking a much more aggressive line than previously approved viral oncolytic therapies. Of course, that also meant that her research was tied up in tissue testing and animal trials much longer than more conservative options.

At 64 years old, Dr. Rebecca Reedy could have been comfortably retired, but something inside her recoiled at the idea of handing her life’s work off to a twenty-something year old with no sweat and no blood in the game. And besides, Rebecca’s beloved mother had been diagnosed with lymphoma two years prior, at the age of 85. Rebecca felt, unquestioningly, that there was only one gift she could give her mother to repay her for decades of love and protection: a good death. And to Rebecca, a good death meant not cancer.

***

With the review board convening at week’s end to examine her data, Rebecca and her lab team had been working overtime to amass as much data as possible. If they could show, beyond the shadow of a doubt that significant cancer cell death was occuring consistently under exposure to their new oncolytic virus, then maybe the board would see fit to propose limited human trials in the new year. The possibility is worth the sacrifice of sleep and food and whatever other basic needs Rebecca has been steadily ignoring.

Rebecca’s bloodshot eyes feel gritty as she sips her third cup of coffee and sets it down next to her working samples.. Normally, Rebecca would be behind her desk, analyzing her team’s data as it came in to her. But with her anxiety levels mounting, she had delegated the task of waiting and made her way back to where she started 30 years ago. Tissue samples, Petri dishes, pipettes, and test tubes.

Using her microtome blade, she slices a thin section of tissue from a carcinoma tumor and places it in a Petri dish. The centrifuge stops its rotation, and beeps. She removes the test tubes containing her oncolytic virus and uses a pipette to transfer several drops of the solution into the waiting Petri dish. As she covers the tissue sample, her phone begins to buzz on a nearby table. Rebecca uses her smartwatch to take the call on speakerphone.

“Becks, have you seen the news?” her sister’s voice rings out over the speakerphone.

“Um, no,” Rebecca responds distractedly, loading another set of vials into the centrifuge. “It’s been hectic these last few days. I don’t think I’ve been home since Monday night. What’s happened?”

She hears a sharp intake of breath from the phone and notices a couple of her colleagues glance over. She reaches for her cell to turn off the speakerphone as her sister continues in hushed tones, “It’s the president. Or rather, her daughter. Becks, she’s sick. They’ve seen multiple doctors. They are saying it's a rare type of myeloma.”

Rebecca freezes with her phone pressed to her ear and her left hand braced on the slick metal table. She can feel her colleagues’ eyes on her as she makes her way across the lab to the hallway exit door.

Rebecca swallows hard, and she doesn’t know what to feel nor what to say. Her voice is very quiet when she finally responds, “I’m sorry for it. You are absolutely sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s been in the news all day. The president is stating that additional funding is going to be redirected to any labs conducting end stage cancer research, and human trials are going to be expedited. That means your lab, Becks. Believe me, I feel terrible for that poor girl, but this could save so many.”

Rebecca leans against the hallway wall and raises a hand to her forehead, covering her eyes. “Sarah, my research is probably still 3 years away from human trials. There is no way it will get bumped that far.”

“It will. Let’s be real, Becks. Your research was ready for human trials 5 years ago, and it’s been nothing but bureaucratic red tape holding you back. You know my opinion on this. The desire for profit will keep your research from ever seeing the light of day. Now, there is going to be an opposite force pushing back. Rebecca, thousands - no, millions of lives are going to be impacted by this,” Sarah’s voice is somber, but full of conviction.

“Does Mom know?” Rebecca asks, chewing her lower lip.

“Wasn’t my place,” Sarah responds. “She’ll want to hear it from you, anyways. And hey, do me a favor. Don’t start the guilt crap. I know you stand to profit from an innocent girl’s misfortune, but that doesn’t make it your fault. Use this opportunity to help her and so many like her. You may finally have a chance to be the good that the world is so sorely lacking. Tip the scales, Becks.” Sarah pauses for a brief moment and finishes, “I’ve got to get back. Call me later. I love you.”

“Love you t–,” Rebecca begins, but the call is already ended.

***

Rebecca does not go back to the lab, where she is sure her colleagues are busy discussing the implications of this development, feelings of excitement, sorrow, and guilt warring within them. She feels all of these things within herself, and so she turns on her heel and walks in the opposite direction.

For a while, she doesn’t really notice her surroundings as she travels. Instead, she thinks of the myriad of potential futures spread out before her. She registers her exit from the building into warm sunshine, but she keeps walking, her brain pulling one hypothetical scenario after another.

Some minutes later, when she feels soft grass underfoot, Rebecca finally stops and takes in her surroundings. She finds herself looking around the expanse of City Park. She closes her eyes and draws in a long breath. Then, she takes out her phone and dials a number, one that is ingrained in her brain nearly as deep as her own name. It rings for what seems a really long time, and on the sixth or seventh ring, there is a click as someone picks up the landline. A few seconds later, Rebecca hears a shaky “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom,” Rebecca begins.

“Becky? Is that you?” her mom’s voice comes over the line, a bit faint..

“Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright. Bit more tired than usual today, but nothing I can’t handle. Connie was just here for tea. You remember Connie? From three houses down? She babysat you and your sister once when you were young. Turns out you were a bit of a handful. Probably why she never had any kids of her own,” her mom chuckles dryly.

Rebecca feels a smile tickling at the corners of her mouth.. “Yeah, Momma, I remember. I’m glad she stopped in. But hey, listen, are you free for dinner tonight? I’ve got some big news.”

“Sure, honey, whatever you want. Everything okay?” A slight note of concern echoes in the older woman’s voice.

“Yeah, I think so,” and as she says the words, Dr. Rebecca Reedy begins to believe them. “Mom… I think everything is about to change.”

THE END