Hollis Sinclair strolled into the ICU family conference room for the urgent meeting his administrative assistant had set with Bud Kazminski and his son-in-law, David Rosenfelt.
The moment Sinclair entered the room, Kazminski and David rose from the couch. With a quick gesture, he invited them to retake their seats while he sat down in a plaid upholstered chair across from them.
“I assume I have your permission to speak freely in front of your father-in-law.”
“Of course,” David responded.
“As you know, I’ve been very much involved in your wife’s care since she was admitted. For many reasons, it’s my belief that her illness is being caused by a new strain of a powerful virus. My suspicion is that both mother and baby are infected with the virus.” He paused for a moment and then with a hard stare added, “I feel certain if we don’t begin treatment soon, this illness will ultimately prove to be fatal to both of them. I am, therefore, recommending to you that you consent to a test that will very likely lead to a diagnosis.”
Kazminski stole a peek at David. The skin bunched around his eyes in a pained stare. From the time he and Sherry began dating it was clear that she was the alpha member of the relationship. David was a considerate and caring husband, but he was short on confidence, and predictably indecisive relating to matters of importance.
“Dr. Sinclair,” Kazminski began, “before we agree, I think both David and I would like to hear something of the specifics of this test.”
“I’m proposing that your daughter undergo a brain biopsy. I believe a microscopic analysis of her brain tissue will confirm conclusively that a virus is causing her illness. And, as I mentioned, such a confirmation will open the doors to beginning treatment for her and the baby.”
Over the course of a very long career as an investigative reporter, Kazminski had interviewed all types of people. Anybody who knew him professionally would say he’d been around the block more times than the UPS truck and that he had developed an astute sixth sense about people. He combed the stubble under his chin with his finger for a few moments. David remained expressionless, his eyes frozen open.
“Dr. Sinclair, are you suggesting we perform brain surgery on my daughter?”
“Technically, yes.”
“This whole thing sounds a bit risky to me,” Kazminski said.
“I assure you, it’s a very routine procedure performed by neurosurgeons across the country every day. It’s done with a needle using a CT scan for guidance. It’s called a stereotactic biopsy. I believe the benefits far outweigh the risks. And, as I’ve already mentioned, I’m convinced the biopsy will reveal the cause of Sherry’s disease.”
“Would she feel any pain?” David asked.
“Absolutely not.”
Kazminski asked several more questions, most of which Sinclair answered in a manner somewhere between offhanded and overly confident. As he expected, David was unable to give his consent for the biopsy even when pressed by Sinclair.
Finally, when Kazminski sensed Sinclair’s patience was going from thin to exhausted, he said, “I think my son-in-law and I need a little time to consider your recommendation. When do you need an answer by?”
“The sooner the better,” he said, getting up from his chair. “I’ve already discussed the matter with the chief of neurosurgery, Dr. Constantine. He agrees fully with the need for a biopsy and is ready to do it as early as tomorrow.”
“What if the biopsy doesn’t provide the information you’re looking for?” Kazminski inquired.
“I don’t believe that will be the case, but even if it is, we’ll be no worse off than we are now.”
“Except that my daughter would have undergone an operation that did her no good.”
“We are under considerable time constraints, gentlemen. Thousands of families from here to California are in a panic, demanding we find a cure for this disease. Your daughter’s in the unique position to be instrumental in ending this horrible epidemic.”
Kazminski massaged the knots that continued to tighten in his neck muscles. “May I ask you one last question, Doctor?”
Sinclair nodded.
“Why Sherry? There are thousands of young women in the country with GNS. Why her?”
“I can’t speak to what physicians in other parts of the country are doing. I practice medicine here at Southeastern State. I believe we’re way ahead of the curve when it comes to finding a cure. From my perspective, Sherry’s one of our stronger patients. I believe she would tolerate the procedure well. But you are correct, there are other women who are potential candidates for the biopsy.”
“How many other families have you already asked?”
“I’m afraid that’s a private medical matter.”
“Of course, excuse me for asking,” Kazminski said, not believing Sinclair for a minute.
Sinclair started for the door but after a few steps he turned and looked squarely at David.
“I should also mention, when the biopsy does confirm GNS is a viral illness, there will be an enormous demand for the drug that will cure it. It’s likely the supply will be woefully inadequate. If you do agree to the biopsy, Sherry would, of course, be amongst the first treated.”
With his lips pressed together to help disguise his disdain, Kazminski forced a polite nod in Sinclair’s direction. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with us.” An empty stare covered his face. He felt he had acquired a sense for the man. And, it wasn’t a flattering one. He didn’t question his ability as a physician. He did, however, wonder if his personal agenda trumped the well-being of his patients. Kazminski had no proof but he was suspicious Dr. Hollis Sinclair viewed the care of his daughter, Sherry, as a bridge to personal gain.