her life with queries about Vasclear.
He knew what he was doing as he pumped her for more and more information on how the drug was handled, where it was stored, how it was labeled, how it was administered, and where the records were kept. He knew precisely what he was doing, but it was still hard to accept.
He was casing the place—casing it as he had the pharmacy at Suburban Hospital. He was taking advantage of Lucy Kendall the same way he had taken advantage of the young hospital pharmacist at Suburban, searching for a softness in the system that he could exploit. Only this time, he wasn’t looking for pills to feed his addiction. This time, he was developing a plan in case Jessup and Weber refused to admit Jack into the Vasclear study, or in case they did and he was not randomized into the beta group.
Brian felt himself begin to tremble. Less than one day back at work and already he was plotting how to steal a drug. Was there really any difference between stealing anexperimental medication to help save his father and stealing pills to stop his own discomfort—his own pain? His recovery program was built on a bedrock of uncompromising honesty. Was he emotionally ready to begin cheating the system again, however worried he was feeling, however noble the reason? After all the meetings and therapy sessions and soul-searchings, was it possible that he really hadn’t changed at all—that he had been fooling all his therapists, his sponsor, and worse, himself?
The questions made Brian queasy … but they didn’t make him stop.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WASHINGTON POST
FDA Accused of Dragging
Feet on Miracle Heart Drug
Senate Government Affairs Committee Chairman, Senator Walter Louderman (R-Mass.) has accused FDA Commissioner Dr. Alexander Baird of dragging his feet on approval of a drug that Louderman says could save the lives of hundreds of thousands of Americans each year.…
A FTERNOON SHADOWS WERE LENGTHENING WHEN L UCY Kendall reluctantly concluded Brian’s orientation and headed off to see patients. Through her garrulousness,Brian had learned a great deal about the handling and administration of Vasclear, but there were still some missing pieces—pieces that would be filled in when he actually worked a shift in the clinic.
Outside, from five stories up, he could see that rush-hour traffic was snarled in a heavy rain. The twenty-minute drive to Reading would be doubled or even tripled. The visiting nurse’s report gave him no cause for alarm about Jack, and anticipating a long day of orientation, he had asked their neighbor to schedule people until nine. There was no reason to hurry home, and every reason to become more familiar with White Memorial Hospital and Boston Heart Institute.
He was about to call Lexington to say good-night to the girls and to let Phoebe know that he had survived day one, when his pager went off. Phil answered his call.
“Bri, you done up there?”
“Just about. Why?”
“I’m heading for the ER to do a consult and I thought you might want to meet me down there. I want to hear how it went in the clinic.”
“I’ll just check in with my kids first, Phil. But after that, sure, I’ll be down. Whatcha got?”
“Oh, just the usual run-of-the-mill stuff. Seventy-four-year-old gent who fell onto the third rail in the Downtown Crossing T station.”
“And he’s alive?”
“Not only alive, but apparently ready to sign out of the ER.”
“Sounds like my kinda guy. You get started. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Brian punched in the numbers of Phoebe’s house, wondering if he would ever do so again without bracing himself for the note of disapproval and cynicism he still detected in her voice.
When Brian and Phoebe first met, he was already dependent on painkillers, although it took her years to realize it. Confronting him with her concerns only precipitated angry rebuttals, followed by additional years of lies, denial, and deception. Few things, Freeman had
He knew what he was doing as he pumped her for more and more information on how the drug was handled, where it was stored, how it was labeled, how it was administered, and where the records were kept. He knew precisely what he was doing, but it was still hard to accept.
He was casing the place—casing it as he had the pharmacy at Suburban Hospital. He was taking advantage of Lucy Kendall the same way he had taken advantage of the young hospital pharmacist at Suburban, searching for a softness in the system that he could exploit. Only this time, he wasn’t looking for pills to feed his addiction. This time, he was developing a plan in case Jessup and Weber refused to admit Jack into the Vasclear study, or in case they did and he was not randomized into the beta group.
Brian felt himself begin to tremble. Less than one day back at work and already he was plotting how to steal a drug. Was there really any difference between stealing anexperimental medication to help save his father and stealing pills to stop his own discomfort—his own pain? His recovery program was built on a bedrock of uncompromising honesty. Was he emotionally ready to begin cheating the system again, however worried he was feeling, however noble the reason? After all the meetings and therapy sessions and soul-searchings, was it possible that he really hadn’t changed at all—that he had been fooling all his therapists, his sponsor, and worse, himself?
The questions made Brian queasy … but they didn’t make him stop.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WASHINGTON POST
FDA Accused of Dragging
Feet on Miracle Heart Drug
Senate Government Affairs Committee Chairman, Senator Walter Louderman (R-Mass.) has accused FDA Commissioner Dr. Alexander Baird of dragging his feet on approval of a drug that Louderman says could save the lives of hundreds of thousands of Americans each year.…
A FTERNOON SHADOWS WERE LENGTHENING WHEN L UCY Kendall reluctantly concluded Brian’s orientation and headed off to see patients. Through her garrulousness,Brian had learned a great deal about the handling and administration of Vasclear, but there were still some missing pieces—pieces that would be filled in when he actually worked a shift in the clinic.
Outside, from five stories up, he could see that rush-hour traffic was snarled in a heavy rain. The twenty-minute drive to Reading would be doubled or even tripled. The visiting nurse’s report gave him no cause for alarm about Jack, and anticipating a long day of orientation, he had asked their neighbor to schedule people until nine. There was no reason to hurry home, and every reason to become more familiar with White Memorial Hospital and Boston Heart Institute.
He was about to call Lexington to say good-night to the girls and to let Phoebe know that he had survived day one, when his pager went off. Phil answered his call.
“Bri, you done up there?”
“Just about. Why?”
“I’m heading for the ER to do a consult and I thought you might want to meet me down there. I want to hear how it went in the clinic.”
“I’ll just check in with my kids first, Phil. But after that, sure, I’ll be down. Whatcha got?”
“Oh, just the usual run-of-the-mill stuff. Seventy-four-year-old gent who fell onto the third rail in the Downtown Crossing T station.”
“And he’s alive?”
“Not only alive, but apparently ready to sign out of the ER.”
“Sounds like my kinda guy. You get started. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Brian punched in the numbers of Phoebe’s house, wondering if he would ever do so again without bracing himself for the note of disapproval and cynicism he still detected in her voice.
When Brian and Phoebe first met, he was already dependent on painkillers, although it took her years to realize it. Confronting him with her concerns only precipitated angry rebuttals, followed by additional years of lies, denial, and deception. Few things, Freeman had
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