Written Fall 2019

When eminent professor Dr. Lykas sets his sights on one of the oncologist Anthony Davis’s patients for experimental trials, Anthony struggles internally if he is helping or healing.

Trial 1

Doctor Lykas considered himself as much an artist as anyone you’d find in a museum. Just like a pair of bickering twin sisters, science and art were entwined despite their mutual hatred. And his easel:

He picked up the trembling mouse and gingerly brushed the top of its head. Poor thing, covered in tumors. In his left hand, he brought the syringe in contact with its snow white coat and pushed in the contents. Its eyes clenched. Carefully, he set it back down in its cage. Running to the other side, it let out a defiant squeal that joined with a wall of mice in a miniature opera. Lykas brushed his hand on his jacket.

“So brave, that one,” he thought, smiling at the critter. He imagined its scatterplot. It was beautiful. He’d make this one himself, and spare Sarah another afternoon of crunching numbers in excel. Besides, the joy of this experiment was his to witness first hand. She could wait. 

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Elsewhere and later, a doctor in his white overcoat peered over patient files. It took a special kind of trained eye to pick out the trendline from a mere patient report. He was so good he’d write out the prescriptions weeks before testing and save himself work down the line.

“1/x,” said his whisper. The remaining lifespan. He shook his head. 

Underneath the file, one labeled “Mary Wilson” peaked out. Italicized below was Trial 1. A strange anxiety brewed deep within him. He checked his mug. Nothing. Time to refill. 

The break room was always full of nurses surrounding a Keurig this early. Someone set out an assortment of donuts, but Anthony got up early to eat at home, so he refrained. As he waited for his turn, someone tapped his shoulder. 

The blonde hospital supervisor was there. She was young for her position, and Anthony always found her attractive. 

He smiled. “Ah, Holly. You’re early today.”

She forced a smile. “Yeah… and I hope you’re doing well?”

He half rolled his eyes. “Well, you know how it is.”

She gestured to the Keurig. “Need energy?”

“Already had one. Just felt stuffy in my office.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You know, you shouldn’t drink so much of the stuff. Reminds too much of fellowship.” She laughed. He laughed. 

“Well, they say it’s good for you.” He reached for the handle and pressed the steaming, black liquid into the mug. “Although they still haven’t decided if Splenda causes cancer.” He turned. “So I always take it black.”

“Gross,” she said and made a face. Her expression returned to serious. “I hope you’re ready for Doctor Lykas.”

“Oh, was that today?” he said in a forced, uncaring tone. 

Holly narrowed her eyes. 

“Joking!” he proclaimed. “Why so grim?” He took a sip, searing his throat with a shocking bitter taste. 

“It’s an honor for him to come,” She said. She raised an eyebrow. “Would a 20th century physician be disappointed to meet Alexander Fleming?”

“Maybe, considering how much business they lost.”

Her eyes widened in disappointed surprise. “I… just hope you’re ready. I want to hear good things from this.” She turned and exited.

Not all discoveries were deserving of respect. Anthony wondered what his life would be, had he somehow bumbled his way into a miracle panacea. All of it was just mold growing on a petri dish. 

Anthony spent the rest of the morning uneasy. Even during his morning patient visits, he drifted off to dark images of mad scientists and strange experiments. The growing tension snapped within when Anthony was caught on his lunch break.

“You must be Anthony Davis, the Oncologist I’ve heard so much about!” A gregarious voice boomed. 

Anthony turned to find Lykas towering over him. He was a tall man with short, graying hair. Rising, Anthony took his hand, their height difference now more apparent. 

“Yes. Doctor Lykas?”

“The same.”

They shook hands. Lykas seemed to take note of how little force Doctor Davis cared to give him. 

Lykas glanced towards the half finished lunch. “I hope you’re not too busy,” he said, checking his watch. “I can wait another ten minutes if need be.”

Anthony’s fingers trembled, ever so slightly, threatening to ball up into a defiant fist. “No, I was just finishing,” He lied. He wouldn’t let Lykas paint him as careless so easily.

“Walk with me,” Lykas demanded.

They left together, wandering up and down drab, white hallways that twisted on forever, whose ends only splayed left and right into longer tunnels.

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Doctor Davis began to drone on about the hospital. Lykas, on the other hand, found this kind of talk dreadful. Who cares? He zoned out. He needed him to ask about it. But, Davis wouldn’t so easily afford that satisfaction. He babbled, more and more, about hospital funds and patient stories, the likes of which Lykas had heard a million times before. 

No more. “You’ve read up on the process, I hope?” Lykas interrupted. 

It caught doctor Davis a little off guard. “Oh yes, this virus. Quite fascinating,” he admitted.

That’s better, Lykas thought. “It’s a modified version of the Crescerepisces benignaevita, found inside the bloodstream of the Growfish,” He explained. “A remarkable thing. Who could have known evolution had already done all the work?”

Anthony stared at him strangely. Anthony’s hand trembled, as if he’d hit Lykas if he described it further.

“They share a mutualistic relationship.” Lykas continued, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips.

Anthony winced. Lykas’s voice wavered, taking notice. He spoke louder.

“Its DNA has certain protein inhibitors that only allow it to function after scanning the host cell’s genome and finding flaws. After that, it’s a cascading snowball effect of cancer hunting viruses that pour out from each defective cell.”

“But is it safe to test on a human, doctor!?” Anthony exclaimed.

Lykas’s mouth faded into a frown. He knew physicians like Davis never understood the artistry. Lykas pitied them as much as he detested them. “All it takes is correcting the protein tails within virus as well as tags and antigens on the coat. We’ve perfected it for every test animal so far.”

“Humans aren’t a test animal,” Anthony answered. 

“They’re remarkably similar. So many processes conserved from the first eukaryote,” he said.  

Anthony wondered how Lykas could so blatantly miss the point. Or just ignore it. 

“If you don’t like it, we’ll move somewhere else.” 

A barbed statement. A lose-lose. Anthony struggled to think of an answer. 

“We start this evening,” said Lykas. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Yes.” Anthony replied, a little hoarse. “Of course.”

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Anthony checked on Mary that afternoon. He knew her well. Not too old. She hadn’t even retired as a realtor when it got her. Three children, all in their thirties. Two grandkids, ages five and seven. She lay dying in bed, her husband beside, clutching her with strong, wrinkled hands. 

“Afternoon Mary. I hope you’re feeling alright,”

“Well… I’ve been better,” she croaked weakly. 

He looked at them both despondently. “The specialist is here. Doctor Lykas. He’ll be in this afternoon for treatment.” His voice wavered. “…if you don’t want to go through with it, I can get the right papers, and-”

Her husband shook his head. 

“I’m hopeful,” she said, then smiled weakly. “I don’t see anyone else coming around to save me. It’s gotta be this.”

What she said rang true, but the notion spun round his head until he felt dizzy. No matter how many times he asked himself, he couldn’t put a face on who was being saved. Not his patients. Not Mary. Lykas had every hospital in the US to choose from, and he came here and put him in this trap. Why? 

The treatment was set for that evening. Anthony paced up and down his office. He knew this feeling well. It was sleepless nights in libraries, starving for comfort. It was the first time he stuck a knife in a live patient. The day of the Boards, when he earned his medical license and he had thought he flunked so bad that he got stupidly drunk in a London pub.  The same feeling to kill Mary Wilson.

Lykas was trying to FaceTime. Anthony picked up. Lykas was driving, his phone lying in the cupholder, tilted up, so Anthony could see the underside of his face as his arms stretched across the screen to the wheel. Lykas was good at keeping him underneath.

“I’m almost there,” Lykas explained. He stopped and made a turn. “You’re all set? I want to know you’re not shaken.”

“I’m fine. I was just tired from an overnight,” Anthony lied. His hand holding the phone started to tremble. “I assume you’re ready then?”

“Ready to go,” Lykas said, almost too cheerfully. Anthony was about to say goodbye when Lykas said, “I don’t know if you heard, but I’m going to be presenting this data at a Harvard Med Symposium.” He parked the car and picked up his phone. “They’re a little too self-important for my tastes, but it’s a good vehicle to get your name out. You’re welcome to join in, with your contributions.” He got out of the car and started walking. 

Anthony froze. He blinked a few times.

“It’s not for everyone, I’ll admit.”

Anthony shook his head. “Don’t keep my name attached to this.”

“Suit yourself.”

Doctor Lykas arrived at his office with a sharp knock. Anthony was waiting for him and opened it immediately. Lykas stepped inside and they both stood silent for just a moment. In that time, Lykas’s eyes darted over every surface of the office with a judgemental zeal. Anthony watched it begrudgingly, his life of medical modesty assessed by an inquisitive coldness only researchers could possess. 

He had to know where the Lykas mindset came from. “Doctor, when was it you last had a patient of your own?” Anthony asked. 

Lykas was massaging one of his hairy, veined hands with the other’s thumb. “I was never really the family physician type.” He scratched his head. “It was so long ago that I ever took a patient, I hardly remember.” He shrugged absentmindedly. “Laboratories are where I belong,” he said, gesturing to Mary’s patient folder. 

It creeped Anthony out, this Victor Frankenstein act.

Anthony opened his mouth. “Perhaps if you paid more attention in ethics class,” he almost said, but stopped himself. It wouldn’t do the hospital any good. He shook his head, then blurted, “I like to know my patients. I don’t think you’d understand the joy it brings to cure one, to heal one, until you’ve done it yourself.”

Lykas hardly reacted, aside from a small twitch of the lower lip. Like a smirk that formed for a brief instant before being squashed by his sense of propriety. “Well…” he started. “Perhaps we’ll see such joy today…”

Anthony stared in disbelief. How could Lykas be so unserious? Trial 1 could save her, but may just as well kill her. To so easily brush it off. At his core, Lykas was just another one of those government suit types, after all. He hardly knew real medical practice. 

They walked together to her room. They were mostly silent, save a few quick remarks about the procedure. At Mary’s door, Holly stood outside. She had an awkward smile that betrayed an inner nervousness. Or maybe it was just excitement. 

As they approached, she stepped up and took Lykas’s hand. “Doctor Lykas, what pleasure!” she began. “Sorry I couldn’t have caught up with you earlier. You know how busy it can be in the day.”

He nodded. “I know full well. Are you here to observe?”

She checked her watch. “I’m not sure I should stick around too long. I only wanted to send you both off.” She nodded at Anthony. “Doctor Davis. Good work.”

Anthony wondered if Holly also could see the implications. She didn’t look at all bothered. Just another day of business, Anthony supposed. That’s what American hospitals were. Business. 

Doctor Lykas put a hand on the door and paused. He turned to Anthony. “Are you ready?”

Anthony nodded. “Better now than never,” he rationalized.

Lykas pushed open the door. It was dark out, but Mary looked the same. Her trendline hadn’t quite given up being above the x axis. Her husband, still there, still squeezing her hands like his life depended on it. And there were men in suits. Government types. Neither he nor the Wilsons knew them, but Lykas greeted them with a nod. 

“Mrs. Wilson, good to see you.” Anthony began the usual doctor-patient chatter. The motions. He didn’t really feel there. “I hope you’re feeling better,” he said, forced smile.  

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Lykas was stone faced. As Doctor Davis chattered in the background, he retrieved the case with the syringe. This was momentous. He had to steady himself with a long inhale. His mind drifted off as he waited his turn. A strange daydream brought a past memory to light. Elementary school classroom. Number 2 pencils with funny erasers. Coloring with markers in between arithmetic lessons. He was taking a test on fractions. He blinked twice, returning to earth. He was up now.

“You may be the first woman to be cured of cancer,” Lykas lied as he administered the syringe. She watched him the whole time. Such admirability. 

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Anthony clenched his fists. Why was he so angry? It could save so many lives, so why did he feel worse now than with any patient?  He remembered Mary’s grandkids. They visited not too long ago, interrupting his daily checkup. 

“Grandma, grandma,” the blonde girl said, running into the room. “Are we going to color together?”

She gave a sad smile. “Not today, sweetie. But soon,”

“Oh, okay.”

“Grandma, guess what?” The boy asked.

“What?” She said, happier.

“Today when I read Ms. Johnson said I was so good that she wrote home to mom and she said she’d buy me a new toy and so I wanted to tell you.”

“That’s wonderful!”

It stopped there. He couldn’t be too caught up… when Anthony had just finished undergrad, people always asked him why he wanted so badly to go to med school. While internally he lusted for money, he always answered the same: “To help people, of course!” He meant it too. He thought he did. They never taught him to reduce someone to a point on a graph. 

The next day, the two of them went over the data. Its trendline was clearly visible. Anthony’s eyes were wide. Where 1/x sunk down quickly then sputtered out asymptotically, hers fell right off the deep end. No asymptote. He was sick to his stomach. Like a backwards tangent curve. Anthony shut it off. 

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Lykas agreed. This wasn’t the sort of euphoria he longed for. But unlike the Oncologist, he had patience. “Trial number 1 always goes that way,” Lykas said, as some sort of consolation.

“It killed her, doctor.”

“Cancer killed her,”

Lykas knew Anthony Davis would be upset, but not this much. Oncologists saw more bodies that morticians. Doctor Davis should be used to it. That woman was dying anyway. 

That night, Lykas remembered the rest. Third grade. Of course he was the best student in that class. During the test, this other kid had the gall to look over his shoulder the whole time. Stealing every single answer. Lykas said nothing, but waited, waited for the teacher to notice and punish that student. She would strut up the aisle between desks, getting so close. Lykas clenched onto his pen in excitement. But as she walked off, fear filled his heart with a bitter feeling. He couldn’t take it. The test. None of it mattered anymore. 

After class he found that kid and punched him straight in the face. Not just once, but until his knuckles ached. Nobody else was going to.

A year from the present, he stood in front of blinding lights on a tremendous stage in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Lykas’s voice boomed throughout the concert hall. 

“The preliminary tests proved quite useful. With it, I was able to find a fatal flaw in the viral therapy,” he flicked to the next slide. “We discovered in Jane Doe a new protein inhibitor, Lyk-12, that’s meant as an antiviral measure when cells replicate. The initial assumption that a treatment derived from our original Orangutan therapy would work was wrong because of this unexpected factor.”

Suspense in the crowd. Lykas wondered if Anthony was watching. 

“But, I was not fazed. Where others falter, I always take the necessary steps, no matter the implications. And here, I was able to perfect my treatment.” He flicked to the next slide. 

Several graphs were shown together. Davis’s patient was there, plummeting down. The next sputtered out a bit before colliding with the x axis. The next, nearly made it to the end of the graph before it too unfortunately crashed . Every patient thereafter was still alive. Their graphs all stayed above. The audience burst into applause.

This was his payoff.