It was little more than a week before they had their second response. Reston was the one who first noted it. Back on board with a vengeance, he’d been making a point of seeing virtually every protocol patient in for her regular exam, hoping against hope to come up with a “hit” of his own.
There was considerable irony in the fact that the patient in question turned out to be Hannah Dietz—who, following her toxicity problem, Reston himself had tried so hard to have removed from the protocol. In fact, uncertain as to how much the patient knew about that conflict or his role in it, Reston had come close to letting one of his colleagues deal with her now.
But he was immediately reassured by the warmth of her greeting. “Dr. Reston, it has been far too long.”
He smiled back. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Dietz, I’ve been keeping up with your every move. I see you’ve licked that bleeding gums problem.”
“Yes, yes. No more of that, thank goodness.” She nodded. “My Phil is such a good fellow. You know what he tells me all the time now? ‘We beat one, we’ll beat the other.’ ”
“That’s important,” he said. “Any doctor who tells you a patient’s attitude doesn’t matter hasn’t been keeping his eyes open.”
“I’m sure.” She smiled. “It’s just too bad the other is cancer.”
Dietz’s case was distinct from the others on the protocol in that hers was a palpable tumor: a discrete rocklike mass of five by four centimeters, it was more easily monitored by touch than via X ray or CAT scan. So immediately, when Reston began manipulating the tumor, he was struck by the change. Not only had there been a significant reduction in size, but what remained was now rubbery, blending seamlessly into the surrounding tissue.
Reston made little effort to hide his excitement.
“Mrs. Dietz,” he announced, “I think I’ve got some unbelievable news for you! This tumor of yours seems almost gone.”
Having grown accustomed to doctors speaking in measured tones, Mrs. Dietz took a moment to react. “Really?” was all she could find to say.
He nodded vigorously. “I swear to God, I can hardly feel the bastard. Pardon my French.”
She grinned. “At the moment, I do not mind your French one bit, young man.”
“Would you like to call in your friend? What’s his name?”
“Phil. Oh, yes, I would like that very much.”
“Just for a minute, just to give him the news.”
“She’s better?” asked Phil a moment later, incredulous. “Is this what it means?”
Reston hesitated. “Let’s just say that we’re a lot better off than we were yesterday.”
In fact, now that he was past his initial euphoria, he was painfully aware that he should never have led them to so definitive a conclusion; a tactile diagnosis can be inexact—and sometimes dangerously misleading. Until he had solid confirming data, it would remain the medical equivalent of hearsay.
“Listen, Phil, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave us now. We’re going to have to run a couple of tests.”
“Will it take very long?”
“Not at all. Maybe forty-five minutes.” He began easing him toward the door. “And, please, at least for the time being, don’t mention this to anyone.”
“Why?”
“It’s just a bit premature. It would not be in Hannah’s best interest.”
“Now, then,” said Reston, closing the door behind him and facing Dietz. “What we’re going to do now is do a biopsy.”
She literally shrank back. “Will it, you know …?”
“Hurt?” He smiled. “Nah, you’ll hardly feel it. You won’t even have to leave the room.”
In fact, the most difficult part of the process was the administration of local anesthetic. The cytologist charged with performing the biopsy itself—a good friend of Reston’s—finished his part of the job in less than two minutes; with a modified hypodermic extracting from the tumor site two small specimens of pinkish matter.
Under normal circumstances, it is several days before the results of such a test are available. But before the cytologist headed back toward his lab, Reston called him aside.
“Listen, Roger,” he said, dropping his voice, “could you put a big rush on this one? That lady in there’s sitting on the bubble. I’d like to be able to give her some good news.”
The other considered a moment, then nodded. “I don’t get to deliver enough of that myself. And she seems like a nice woman.”
The results were back before noon the next day. The material removed from the lower outer quadrant of Hannah Dietz’s breast was nothing more than fatty tissue. Not a single malignant cell had been found.
Reading over the data, Reston let out a whoop and dashed across campus. By the time he reached Seth Shein’s lab he was breathless, his faced bright pink.
“What the hell happened to you?” asked Logan.
“I got some news,” he panted. “Get out here.” He turned to Sabrina. “You, too, signorina.”
In the hallway, he thrust the page their way.
“Hannah Dietz …” began Logan.
“Is clean. You’re holding her bill of health. We should get Shein out here, he’ll wanna know this too.”
Logan smiled broadly. “Number two. I can hardly believe it.” He stopped. “Wait a minute, when did you examine her?”
“Yesterday,” said Sabrina, eyeing the page.
“Why didn’t you say something before this?”
“He wants the credit,” said Sabrina in a low voice, turning to Reston with disdain. “This Reston, he does not change.”
“I wanted to be sure,” he countered. “I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. Including the patient’s.”
“I presume,” said Logan, “that you told her before you came running over here.”
He hesitated. “Not yet.”
“Where is she?”
“Over at the clinic with that boyfriend of hers.”
“Well,” said Logan, starting to betray the full extent of his irritation, “don’t you think that’s something you should do?”
Reston stared at him coolly. “Sure. But I’d like to tell Seth Shein first.”
“We can handle that.”
“I’m sure you could.” He snorted. “I’m sure you’d love to cut me out of this thing entirely, the way you have from the beginning.”
Logan shook his head and sighed. “Never mind. I’ll tell Hannah.”
“I will too,” said Sabrina.
Fixing him with a look of unapologetic contempt, Logan bowed low, a musketeer pointing up a rival’s utter lack of class. “Go ahead, Doctor,” he said, gesturing extravagantly toward the door to Shein’s lab, “he’s all yours.”