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Tim’s big date with Mary Ann was set for two weeks from Sunday because she needed to find someone to run the Blue Goose in her absence. Meanwhile, Tim’s coffee table in the living room of his condominium was becoming covered with glossy brochures, the results of his inquiries into stem cell treatments. Take a Medical Vacation in Beautiful Santo Domingo and Return Home a Changed Person. This particular brochure featured beautiful 40-something men and women who were trim and fit. The women in that picture wore a two-piece bathing suit. Some of the advertisements were rather simple, as in “Bring Us Your Double Chin and Leave it Here!” Others were more mysterious, such as “We aren’t the fountain of youth, but we are the next best thing!”
Yet, every glossy brochure was somewhat vague on what was actually done, and price lists were nowhere to be found. One thing that was apparent was the fact that no one accepted any kind of insurance, period. Not in the Dominican Republic, not in Thailand, and certainly not in the United States, where only certain procedures involving stem cells had been approved by the FDA. Even in those cases sanctioned by the FDA, most insurance would not cover stem cell treatments. Yet, the internet contained lists of diseases and conditions that had been successfully treated by stem cells—everything from cancer to mental illness. And there were lots of testimonials from actual patients, but Tim had seen this kind of advertising before and was generally suspicious of it. “It seems that you can get people to say anything these days on the internet, but how do you know if anyone is telling the truth?” Tim thought to himself. “There is just no accountability.”
After ten days of searching online, Tim was beginning to feel like an expert in stem cell treatments. He had joined two internet chat rooms where he posted questions that were met with quite a number of different responses. Many replies were actually warnings not to fall into the trap of “endless hope met with constant disappointment,” as one chat room member put it. “Your new life will be one of new bankruptcies” was another negative response. There were a number of stories of someone who had a chronic or fatal condition and a stem cell clinic would offer hope for just a little more money, but the money never seemed to be enough and the cure never came. On the other hand, there were almost an equal number of stories where a patient with no hope was given a new life thanks to treatments using stem cells. The clinics were another story. Some appeared to be very legitimate, while others were just money-grubbers.
But there was one clinic that caught Tim’s attention: the Clinton-Bush Stem Cell Research Centre.
The Clinton-Bush Stem Cell Research Centre (or the CBSCRC) was typical in the sense that they used the name of former occupants of the White House. The name by itself always seemed to lend a certain air of legitimacy, which was something every center desperately looked to establish, and the CBSCRC had two names! But what really struck Tim the most was the absence of any mention of money, be it called treatment fees or accommodation expenses. Instead, they simply said, “We would like to meet you to see what we can accomplish together.”
There was nothing else. Tim clicked on the new patient form, which appeared to be seeking certain types of people instead of medical conditions. Tim’s curiosity got the better of him, and he filled out the form and pressed the “Submit” button. An automatic response showed up in Tim’s email inbox that simply said, “Thank you for your interest, we will be in touch.”
Later that evening, Tim posted about this in the stem cell chat and asked if anyone else had ever had contact with the CBSCRC. Tim received one reply: “The CBSCRC rejected me out of hand. Within 5 minutes of submitting my application, I got an answer that said, ‘We are very sorry, but CBSCRC is not accepting applicants with your particular qualifications. This in no way reflects poorly on you. You simply do not fit our profile. Best Regards, Nurse Jennifer, Director, CBSCRC.’”
Tim replied to the post with the hope that the poster would expound a little more, but that didn’t happen. This made him wonder what separated the CBSCRC from everybody else. Perhaps it was important for the CBSCRC to maintain standards; maybe this was proof that they were not in this business just for the money. At least, that was what Tim was hoping. In any event, Tim needed to find out what was going on in his brain.
Before the accident, Tim had always prided himself on being clear-headed. For instance, he always knew what to do. He never overreacted, and most of all, he never panicked. Now, he seemed to do all three on a regular basis. This in itself was annoying, but when Tim read that these were also symptoms of dementia, he became afraid.
What would happen to him, if he had a mental illness? What could he do? He was a widower with no children. He had no siblings or any family or friends to speak of. Tim was hoping that he would make a connection with Mary Ann, but certainly not for the purpose of a caregiver. Would he take all of his money and just hand it over to some nursing home with the hope that he would be taken care of for the remainder of his life?
Tim sat down and took a deep breath. He needed to get control of his emotions. After all, there could be a hundred different things wrong with him. Had he even taken his medication for the day? Tim took at least fifteen different pills every day, most prescribed by his neurologist Dr. Gray. Fifteen pills a day was a lot of pills. God, did he need that many? All of these fears only convinced Tim that he should consider at least looking at the CBSCRC. Maybe they really could help him.
One of the pills Dr. Gray had prescribed for Tim was a blue one named Xanax. This one did have a calming effect on Tim, and he soon began to feel a little better after he took another. Tim thought about his teeth and how his dentist had told him that he may soon be a candidate for dentures. That was just fucking wonderful. I’m old and will soon be toothless, but I’m going on a date with a woman in her late 30s, he thought to himself. Maybe even younger. Maybe he should just call it off—but Mary Ann had basically asked him out, so what did he have to lose? Maybe she was just into older guys. Tim hoped so, because that’s what she was getting.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep.