IT TOOK TWO WEEKS for Kevin to regain the strength to go back to work, but he returned with the same tenacity and optimism. On a late September morning, he and Gwen were chatting in his office when the intercom buzzed. Freddy told him Neal Canaan from the NIH Clinical Center was on the line.
“My D4T dealer,” said Kevin as he grabbed the phone.
Gwen tensed. She tried to smile. Kevin had lost more weight since leaving the hospital. She couldn’t convince herself it was simply the lingering aftereffects of pancreatitis. He needed to start some kind of antiretroviral therapy soon.
“Hi, Neal!” said Kevin, mustering all his buoyancy and charm.
As he listened, his face sagged. His posture drooped. Gwen felt her own heart speeding. This had to be bad news.
“Thanks,” Kevin said in a monotone. “Yeah, call me when you have more data.”
He hung up the phone and looked vacantly out the window. Gwen waited for him to speak until she couldn’t bear it.
“What did he say?”
“They got results from an animal study. Some rats given D4T died of pancreatitis.”
“But you don’t have pancreatitis now.”
“They’re excluding anyone with a history of pancreatitis for safety reasons. It’s a Phase 1 trial, Gwen. They have to, or the FDA won’t OK it. There might be another trial I can be in, after there’s data from animals given lower doses for a longer time…a lot longer time…at least a year.”
He gazed at the brown hills north of Golden Gate Bridge.
“In a few months, they turn green,” he murmured. “I’ll see that.”
Gwen sat on his lap and put her arms around him. She lay her head against his neck and heard his bounding pulse. She didn’t cry.