The Proteus Cure Read Free

acting like a jerk. But experience had informed her. She’d offered him hope, but he’d had so many hopes dashed he’d become gun shy. He’d learned: If you don’t get your hopes up, they can’t be shot down.
    “You were a match so you—”
    “What makes me so special? We’ve all got the Big C.”
    “Seven-twenty-three isn’t for everyone, Sean. You know that. It’s got to be individually matched.”
    “The therapy uses stem cells, right? Can’t they become anything, fix anyone?”
    She’d wondered the same thing, many times. Why did some patients not qualify? VecGen, the company producing VG723, was secretive about the selection process—probably with good proprietary reasons. But she couldn’t argue with their great results.
    Males, females, blacks, whites, rich, poor, Tethys had no criteria for admission beyond the fact that the patient be eighteen or older and that all other therapies had failed. No pattern she could see to those who didn’t qualify, but it appeared as if younger patients got the nod most often. She hadn’t done a statistical analysis, but it seemed more people in their twenties wound up with VG723 than all other age groups combined.
    Beyond the standard screening tests, VG also required current photos of each patient. A photographer shot full body views and face shots from every angle.
    The heartbreak came when patients she thought would succeed didn’t qualify. Like that young pre-law from Harvard. She was smart as a whip, with rich parents who begged for the VG723. God, her father was a state representative. You’d think he’d have some pull. But no match. Sweet girl. Albino. Sheila had had to watch her grow even paler as the cancer took her away. So damn frustrating, but it was out of her hands. Sheila had no say, no control. VG723 had to be tailored to the patient and the malignancy. If they couldn’t make a match, it wouldn’t work.
    Informing the rejects usually fell to her. How she dreaded those days.
    “Sean.” Paul leaned over and touched the young man’s foot. “Listen, when my son Coogan had leukemia, when he was in a bed like this one, he saw some of his roommates die. Good friends who didn’t all come through. No, it’s not fair. It sucks. But a lot
are
saved. That’s what counts. Yes, I feel terrible for the others, but at the end of the day… well…” His voice caught. “I was able to take my son home and I thank God every day for that. You’ve got to be thankful too.”
    Sheila touched Paul’s arm. He’d said what she felt.
    “It’s true, Sean. Seven-twenty-three can’t save everyone, but it can save so many who’d die without it. I want you to be happy.”
    Sean wiped his eyes. “I
am
happy. I’m freakin’ stoked. But I feel wicked guilty, okay? Katie died last week. I wanted her to get the treatment. She could have been saved.”
    Sheila shook her head. “Not by seven-twenty-three, Sean. They couldn’t make a match. Forget the guilt, okay? You didn’t take seven-twenty-three from Katie or anyone else. It simply wouldn’t have helped her. But it will help you. Smile, now, okay? You’re going to live.”
    Sean sobered. “Well, there’s no guarantee.”
    Sheila and Paul exchanged glances.
    “You’re right,” she said. “No promises, but seven-twenty-three has a great track record. No reason we can’t add you to our successes.”
    A smile crept onto Sean’s face. “I’ve got a chance,” he whispered. Then louder. “I’ve got a freakin chance! Do my parents know yet?”
    “No, you’re the first.”
    “I’ve gotta call them.” He was beaming now as he turned to Paul. “Well, Prof, looks like
Classics 101
is canceled for tonight. Got about a hundred calls to make.”
    Sheila placed the phone on his bed and patted his hand.
    “Congratulations, Sean. Come on, Paul. ”
    As soon as they reached the hallway, Paul threw an arm across her shoulders.
    “You folks are amazing. What you do here at Tethys—”
    Sheila softened at