{"id":9776,"date":"2011-11-01T18:49:26","date_gmt":"2011-11-01T23:49:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/\/?p=9776"},"modified":"2011-11-01T18:49:26","modified_gmt":"2011-11-01T23:49:26","slug":"lethal-remedy-by-richard-l-mabry-md","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/?p=9776","title":{"rendered":"Lethal Remedy by Richard L. Mabry, MD"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour<\/a><\/strong><\/span> book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Today’s Wild Card author is: <\/strong><\/div>\n
Richard L. Mabry, MD<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

and the book:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Lethal Remedy<\/a><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Abingdon Press (October 2011)<\/p>\n

***Special thanks to Julie Dowd (Abingdon Press) for sending me a review copy.***<\/p>\n

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<\/span> <\/span><\/strong><\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>Richard L. Mabry, MD, is a retired physician and medical school professor who achieved worldwide recognition as a clinician, writer, and teacher before turning his talents to non-medical writing after his retirement. He is the author of The Prescription for Trouble Series, one non-fiction book, and his inspirational piesces have appeared in numerous periodicals. He and his wife, Kay, live in North Texas.<\/p>\n

Visit the author’s website<\/a>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a>An epidemic of a highly resistant bacteria, Staphylococcus luciferus, has ignited, and Dr. Sara Miles’ patient is on the threshold of death. Only an experimental antibiotic developed and administered by Sara’s ex-husband, Dr. Jack Ingersoll can save the girl’s life.<\/p>\n

Dr. John Ramsey is seeking to put his life together after the death of his wife by joining the medical school faculty. But his decision could prove to be costly, even fatal.
\nPotentially lethal late effects from the experimental drug send Sara and her colleague, Dr. Rip Pearson, on a hunt for hidden critical data that will let them reverse the changes before it\u2019s too late. What is the missing puzzle piece? And who is hiding it?<\/p>\n

<\/object><\/p>\n

Product Details:<\/p>\n

List Price: $13.99
\nPaperback: 288 pages
\nPublisher: Abingdon Press (October 2011)
\nLanguage: English
\nISBN-10: 1426735448
\nISBN-13: 978-1426735448<\/p>\n

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:<\/span> <\/strong>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\n

No one knew the man\u2019s name. White male, probably in his late seventies, found unresponsive in an alley about two o\u2019clock in the morning and brought to the emergency room. Just another homeless derelict, another John Doe.<\/p>\n

\u201cPneumonia, late stages,\u201d the intern said. He yawned. \u201cHappens all the time. Drank himself into a stupor, vomited, aspirated. Probably been lying in that alley for more than a day. Doesn\u2019t look like he\u2019ll make it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLabs cooking? Got a sputum culture going?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, but it\u2019ll take a day or two to get the results of the culture. The smear looks like Staph. Guess I\u2019ll give him\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait. I\u2019ve got access to an experimental drug that might help. Let me start him on that.\u201d<\/p>\n

The intern shrugged. It was two in the morning. He\u2019d been on duty for more than twenty-four hours straight\u2014why\u2019d Johnson\u2019s wife have to go into labor today?\u2014and he was bushed. The bum probably didn\u2019t have a snowball\u2019s chance of surviving anyway. Why not? \u201cYou\u2019ll be responsible?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll take it from here. Even do the paperwork.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDeal,\u201d the intern said, and ambled off to see the next patient.<\/p>\n

Three hours later, John Doe lay on a gurney in a corner of the ER. An IV ran into one arm, a blood pressure cuff encircled the other. Spittle dripped from his open mouth and dotted his unshaven chin. His eyes were open and staring.<\/p>\n

\u201cAcute anaphylaxis, death within minutes. Interesting.\u201d He scratched his chin. \u201cGuess I need to make some adjustments in the compound.\u201d He picked up the almost-blank chart. \u201cI\u2019ll say I gave him ampicillin and sulbactam. That should cover it.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

The woman\u2019s look pierced Dr. Sara Miles\u2019 heart. \u201cDo you know what\u2019s wrong with Chelsea?\u201d<\/p>\n

Chelsea Ferguson lay still and pale as a mannequin in the hospital bed. An IV carried precious fluids and medications into a vein in her arm. A plastic tube delivered a constant supply of oxygen to her nostrils. Above the girl\u2019s head, monitors beeped and flashed. And over it all wafted the faint antiseptic smell of the ICU.<\/p>\n

Chelsea\u2019s mother sat quietly at the bedside, but her hands were never still: arranging and rearranging her daughter\u2019s cover, twisting the hem of her plain brown skirt, shredding a tissue. Sara decided that the gray strands in Mrs. Ferguson\u2019s long brunette hair were a recent addition, along with the lines etched in her face.<\/p>\n

Sara put her hand on the teenager\u2019s head and smoothed the matted brown curls. The girl\u2019s hot flesh underscored the urgency of the situation. Since Chelsea\u2019s admission to University Hospital three days ago, her fever hadn\u2019t responded to any of the treatments Sara ordered. If anything, the girl was worse.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s slip out into the hall,\u201d Sara said. She tiptoed from the bedside and waited outside the room while Mrs. Ferguson kissed her sleeping daughter and shuffled through the door.<\/p>\n

Sara pointed. \u201cLet\u2019s go into the family room for a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill she be\u2014?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe nurses will check on her, and they\u2019ll call me if anything changes.\u201d Sara led the way into the room and eased the door closed. This family room resembled so many others Sara had been in over the years: small, dim, and quiet. Six wooden chairs with lightly upholstered seats and backs were arranged along three of the walls. Illumination came from a lamp in the corner. A Bible, several devotional magazines, and a box of tissues stood within reach on a coffee table.<\/p>\n

This was a room where families received bad news: the biopsy was positive, the treatment hadn\u2019t worked, the doctors weren\u2019t able to save their loved one. The cloying scent of flowers in a vase on an end table reminded Sara of a funeral home, and she shivered as memories came unbidden. She shoved her emotions aside and gestured Mrs. Ferguson to a seat. \u201cWould you like something? Water? Coffee? A soft drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

The woman shook her head. \u201cNo. Just tell me what\u2019s going on with my daughter. Do you know what\u2019s wrong with her? Can you save her?\u201d Her sob turned into a soft hiccup. \u201cIs she going to die?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sara swallowed hard. \u201cChelsea has what we call sepsis. You might have heard it referred to as blood poisoning. It happens when bacteria get into the body and enter the bloodstream. In Chelsea\u2019s case, this probably began when she had her wisdom teeth extracted.\u201d<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t believe the dentist didn\u2019t put her on a prophylactic antibiotic before the procedure. Sara brushed those thoughts aside. That wasn\u2019t important now. The important thing was saving the girl\u2019s life. Sara marshaled her thoughts. \u201cWe took samples of Chelsea\u2019s blood at the time of her admission, and while we waited for the results of the blood cultures I started treatment with a potent mixture of antibiotics. As you can see, that hasn\u2019t helped.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sara wished the woman wouldn\u2019t be so reasonable, so placid. She wished Mrs. Ferguson would scream and cry. If the roles were reversed, she\u2019d do just that. \u201cWhile we wait for the results of blood cultures, we make a guess at the best antibiotics to use. Most of the time, our initial guess is right. This time, it was wrong\u2014badly wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut now you know what\u2019s causing the infection?\u201d It was a question, not a statement.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, we know.\u201d And it\u2019s not good news.<\/p>\n

Hope tinged Mrs. Ferguson\u2019s voice. \u201cYou can fix this, can\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I wish I could. \u201cThe bacteria causing Chelsea\u2019s sepsis is one that . . .\u201d Sara paused and started again. \u201cHave you heard of Mersa?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMersa? No. What\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s actually MRSA, but doctors usually pronounce it that way. That\u2019s sort of a medical shorthand for methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, a bacteria that\u2019s resistant to most of our common antibiotics.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Ferguson frowned. \u201cYou said most. Do you have something that will work?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, we do. Matter of fact, when Chelsea was admitted I started her on two strong antibiotics, a combination that\u2019s generally effective against MRSA. But she hasn\u2019t responded, because this isn\u2019t MRSA. It\u2019s worse than MRSA.\u201d She started to add \u201cMuch worse,\u201d but the words died in her throat.<\/p>\n

Sara paused and waited for Mrs. Ferguson to ask the next question. Instead, the woman crumpled the tissue she held and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, eyes in which hope seemed to die as Sara watched.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is what we call a \u2018super-bug,\u2019\u201d Sara continued. \u201cIt used to be rare, but we\u2019re seeing more and more infections with it. Right now, none of the commercially available antibiotics are effective. These bacteria are resistant to everything we can throw at them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Ferguson\u2019s voice was so quiet Sara almost missed the words. \u201cWhat do you call it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a long name, and it\u2019s not important that you know it.\u201d Matter of fact, we don\u2019t use the proper name most of the time. We just call it \u201cThe Killer.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that\u2019s it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, there\u2019s a doctor at our medical center doing trials on an experimental drug that might work for Chelsea.\u201d No need to mention that Jack is . . . No, let it go.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you get some of this? Give it to Chelsea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t, but the man who can is an infectious disease specialist on the faculty here at the medical center. Actually, he helped develop it. Notice I said \u2018experimental,\u2019 which means there may be side effects. But if you want me\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo it!\u201d For the first time in days, Sara saw a spark of life in Mrs. Ferguson\u2019s eyes, heard hope in her voice. \u201cCall him! Now! Please!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou realize that this drug isn\u2019t fully tested yet. It may not work. Or the drug may cause problems.\u201d There, she\u2019d said it twice in different words. She\u2019d done her duty.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care. My little girl is dying. I\u2019ll sign the releases. Anything you need. If this is our only chance, please, let\u2019s take it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lord, I hope I haven\u2019t made a mistake. \u201cI\u2019ll make the call.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going back to be with my baby,\u201d Mrs. Ferguson said. She stood and squared her shoulders. \u201cWhile you call, I\u2019ll pray.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Wolfe, you can come in now.\u201d The secretary opened the doors to Dr. Patel\u2019s office as though she were St. Peter ushering a supplicant through the Pearly Gates.<\/p>\n

Bob Wolfe bit back the retort he wanted to utter. It\u2019s Doctor Wolfe. Doctor of Pharmacology. I worked six years to earn that Pharm D, not to mention two years of research fellowship. How about some respect? But this wasn\u2019t the time to fight that battle.<\/p>\n

He straightened his tie, checked that there were no stains on his fresh white lab coat, and walked into the office of the head of Jandra Pharmaceuticals as though he had been summoned to receive a medal. Never let them see you sweat.<\/p>\n

Dr. David Patel rose from behind his desk and beamed, gesturing toward the visitor\u2019s chair opposite. \u201cBob, come in. Sit down. I appreciate your coming.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not much choice, was there? Wolfe studied his boss across the expanse of uncluttered mahogany that separated them. Pharmaceutical companies seemed to be made up of two groups: the geeks and the glad-handers. Patel typified the former group. PhD from Cal Tech, brilliant research mind, but the social skills of a tortoise. Patel had been snatched from the relative obscurity of a research lab at Berkeley by the Board of Directors of Jandra Pharmaceuticals, given the title of President and CEO, and charged with breathing life into the struggling company. How Patel planned to do that remained a mystery to Wolfe and his co-workers.<\/p>\n

Patel leaned forward and punched a button on a console that looked like it could launch a space probe. \u201cCindy, please ask Mr. Lindberg to join us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Steve Lindberg ran the sales team from an office across the hall. Lindberg could memorize salient scientific material and regurgitate it with the best of them, but Wolfe would bet the man\u2019s understanding of most of Jandra\u2019s products and those of its major competitors was a mile wide and an inch deep. On the other hand, Lindberg had his own area of expertise: remembering names, paying for food and drinks, arranging golf games at exclusive clubs. No doubt about it, Lindberg was a classic glad-hander, which was why he had ascended to his current position, heading the marketing team at Jandra.<\/p>\n

Wolfe hid a smile. Interesting. The President of the company and the Director of Marketing. This could be big. The door behind Wolfe opened. He deliberately kept his eyes front. Be cool. Let this play out.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, Bob. It\u2019s good to see you.\u201d Wolfe turned just in time to avoid the full force of a hand landing on his shoulder. Even the glancing blow made him wince. Lindberg dragged a chair to the side of Patel\u2019s desk, positioning himself halfway between the two men. Clever. Not taking sides, but clearly separating himself from the underling.<\/p>\n

Wolfe studied the two men and, not for the first time, marveled at the contrast in their appearance. Patel was swarthy, slim, and sleek, with jet-black hair and coal-black eyes. His blue shirt had a white collar on which was centered the unfashionably large knot of an unfashionably wide gold-and-black tie. Wolfe wondered whether the man was five years behind or one ahead of fashion trends. He spoke with a trace of a British accent, and Wolfe seemed to recall that Patel had received part of his education at Oxford. Maybe he wore an \u201cold school\u201d tie, without regard to current fashion. If so, it would be typical of Patel.<\/p>\n

Lindberg was middle-aged but already running to fat\u2014or, more accurately, flab. His florid complexion gave testimony to too many helpings of rare roast beef accompanied by glasses of single malt Scotch, undoubtedly shared with top-drawer doctors and paid for on the Janus expense account. Lindberg\u2019s eyes were the color of burnished steel, and showed a glimmer of naked ambition that the smile pasted on his face couldn\u2019t disguise. His thinning blond hair was combed carefully to cover early male pattern baldness. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled halfway to his elbows. His tie was at half-mast and slightly askew.<\/p>\n

Patel, the geek. Lindberg, the glad-hander. Different in so many ways. But both men shared one characteristic. Wolfe knew from experience that each man would sell his mother if it might benefit the company, or more specifically, their position in it. The two of them together could mean something very good or very bad for Bob Wolfe. He eased forward in his chair and kicked his senses into high gear.<\/p>\n

Patel leaned back and tented his fingers. \u201cBob, I\u2019m sure you\u2019re wondering what this is about. Well, I wanted to congratulate you on the success of EpAm848. I\u2019ve been looking over the preliminary information, especially the reports from Dr. Ingersoll at Southwestern Medical Center. Very impressive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019s sort of Ingersoll\u2019s baby. He stumbled onto it when he was doing some research here during his infectious disease fellowship at UC Berkeley. I think he wants it to succeed as much as we do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt that.\u201d Patel leaned forward with both hands on the desk. \u201cJandra is on the verge of bankruptcy. I want that drug on the market ASAP!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut we\u2019re not ready. We need more data,\u201d Wolfe said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere\u2019s the good news,\u201d Patel said. \u201cThe FDA is worried about The Killer bacteria outbreak. I\u2019ve pulled a few strings, called in a bunch of favors, and I can assure you we can get this application fast-tracked.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow?\u201d Wolfe said. \u201cWe\u2019re still doing Phase II trials. What about Phase III? Assuming everything goes well, it\u2019s going to be another year, maybe two, before we can do a rollout of EpAm848.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot to worry,\u201d Patel said. \u201cOur inside man at the FDA assures me he can help us massage the data. We can get by with the Phase II trials we\u2019ve already completed. And he\u2019ll arrange things so we can use those plus some of our European studies to fulfill the Phase III requirements.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lindberg winked at Wolfe. \u201cWe may have to be creative in the way we handle our data. You and I need to get our heads together and see how many corners we can cut before the application is ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wolfe shook his head. \u201cYou say this drug will save us from bankruptcy. I don\u2019t see that. I mean, yes, it looks like we may be in for a full-blown epidemic of Staph luciferus, but we won\u2019t sell enough\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

Lindberg silenced him with an upraised hand. \u201cExposure, Bob. Exposure. If we get this drug on the market, if we\u2019re the first with a cure, our name recognition will skyrocket. Doctors and patients will pay attention to our other drugs: blood pressure, cholesterol, diabetes. Our market share will go through the roof in all of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wolfe could see the salesman in Lindberg take over as he leaned closer, as though to drive home his point by proximity. \u201cWe\u2019re preparing a direct-to-consumer push on all those drugs, ready to launch at the same time we release Jandramycin.\u201d<\/p>\n

The name didn\u2019t click with Wolfe for a moment. \u201cI . . . Well, I\u2019ll certainly do what I can.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo more than that,\u201d Lindberg said. \u201cJandra Pharmaceuticals is hurting. We\u2019re staking everything on Jandramycin.\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the second time Wolfe had heard the term. \u201cWhat\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cStop referring to the drug by its generic name,\u201d Patel added. \u201cFrom now on, the compound is Jandramycin. When people hear the name Jandra Pharmaceuticals, we want them to think of us as the people who developed the antibiotic that saved the world from the worst epidemic since the black plague.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lindberg eased from his chair and gave Wolfe another slap on the shoulder. \u201cThis is your project now. It\u2019s on your shoulders. The company\u2019s got a lot riding on this.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so do I. \u201cBut what if a problem turns up?\u201d<\/p>\n

Patel rose and drew himself up to his full five feet eight inches. His obsidian eyes seemed to burn right through Wolfe. \u201cWe\u2019re depending on you to make sure that doesn\u2019t happen. Are we clear on that?\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Sara leaned over the sink and splashed water on her face. The paper towels in the women\u2019s rest room of the clinic were rough, but maybe that would put some color in the face that stared back at her from the mirror. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed from another sleepless night. Raven hair was pulled into a ponytail because she could never find time or energy for a haircut or a perm. Get it together, Sara. She took a deep breath and headed for the doctor\u2019s dictation room, where she slumped into a chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething wrong, Dr. Miles?\u201d<\/p>\n

Sara turned to see Gloria, the clinic\u2019s head nurse. \u201cNo, just taking a few deep breaths before I have to make a call I\u2019m dreading.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gloria slid into the chair next to Sara. The controlled chaos of the internal medicine clinic hummed around them. The buzz of conversations and ringing of phones served as effectively as white noise to mask her next words. \u201cIs it one of your hospital patients? Got some bad news to deliver?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSort of. It\u2019s Chelsea Ferguson.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe teenage girl? Is she worse?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. The cultures grew Staph luciferus.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gloria whistled silently. \u201cThe Killer. That\u2019s bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe only thing that seems to be working in these cases is that new drug of Jack Ingersoll\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I get it. That\u2019s the call you don\u2019t want to make.\u201d Gloria touched Sara lightly on the shoulder. \u201cWhen will you stop letting what Ingersoll did ruin the rest of your life? I can introduce you to a couple of nice men who go to our church. They\u2019ve both gone through tough divorces\u2014neither was their fault\u2014and they want to move on. It would be good for you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Sara shook her head. \u201cThanks, but I\u2019m not ready to date. I\u2019m not sure if I can ever trust a man again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gloria opened her mouth, but Sara silenced her with an upraised hand. No sense putting this off. She pulled the phone toward her and stabbed in a number.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

Dr. John Ramsey found a spot in the Visitor\u2019s Parking Lot. He exited his car and looked across the driveway at the main campus of Southwestern Medical Center. When he\u2019d graduated, there were two buildings on the campus. Now those two had been swallowed up, incorporated into a complex that totaled about forty buildings on three separate campuses. Right now he only needed to find one: the tall white building directly across the driveway at the end of a flagstone plaza. The imposing glass fa\u00e7ade of the medical library reflected sunlight into his eyes as he wove past benches where students sat chatting on cell phones or burrowing into book bags. He paused at the glass front doors of the complex, took a deep breath, and pushed forward.<\/p>\n

There was a directory inside for anyone trying to negotiate the warren of inter-connected buildings, but John didn\u2019t need it. He found the elevator he wanted, entered, and punched five. In a moment, he was in the office of the Chairman of Internal Medicine.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Schaeffer will be with you in a moment.\u201d The receptionist motioned him toward a seat opposite the magnificent rosewood desk that was the centerpiece of the spacious office, then glided out, closing the door softly behind her.<\/p>\n

John eased into the visitor\u2019s chair and looked around him. He\u2019d spent forty years on the volunteer clinical faculty of Southwestern Medical Center\u2019s Department of Internal Medicine. For forty years he\u2019d instructed and mentored medical students and residents, for forty years he\u2019d covered the teaching clinic once a month, and today was the first time he\u2019d been in the department chairman\u2019s office. He swallowed the resentment he felt bubbling up. No, John. You never wanted to be here. You were happy in your own world.<\/p>\n

John couldn\u2019t help comparing this room with the cubbyhole he\u2019d called his private office. Now he didn\u2019t even have that. The practice was closed, the equipment and furnishings sold to a young doctor just getting started. John\u2019s files and patient records were in a locked storage facility, rent paid for a year.<\/p>\n

He wondered how many of his patients had contacted his nurse to have their records transferred. No matter, she\u2019d handle it. He\u2019d paid her six months\u2019 salary to take care of such things. What would happen after that? He didn\u2019t have the energy to care. Things were different now.<\/p>\n

For almost half a century he\u2019d awakened to the aroma of coffee and a kiss from the most wonderful woman in the world. Now getting out of bed in the morning was an effort, shaving and getting dressed were more than he could manage some days. Since Beth died . . . He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs that clogged his brain. The knowledge that he\u2019d never again know the happiness of having a woman he loved by his side made him wish he\u2019d died with her. What was the use of going on?<\/p>\n

But something happened this morning. He\u2019d awakened with a small spark of determination to do something, anything, to move on. He tried to fight it, to roll over and seek the sleep that eluded him. Instead, he heard the echo of Beth\u2019s words: \u201cYou\u2019re too good a physician to retire. People need you.\u201d He remembered that conversation as though it were yesterday. She\u2019d urged, he\u2019d insisted. Let\u2019s retire. I want to get out of the rat race and enjoy time with you. Retirement meant the travel they\u2019d put off, the time to do things together. Only, now there was no more together.<\/p>\n

This morning, he\u2019d rolled out of bed determined that today would be different. It would be the start of his rebirth. As he shrugged into a robe, as he\u2019d done each day since her death he looked at the picture on their dresser of him and Beth. She\u2019d been radiant that spring day so many years ago, and he wondered yet again how he\u2019d managed to snag her.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d shaved\u2014for the first time in days\u2014with special care, and his image in the mirror made him wonder. When did that slim young man in the picture develop a paunch and acquire an AARP card? When had the thick brown hair been replaced by gray strands that required careful combing to hide a retreating hairline? The eyes were still bright, although they hid behind wire-rimmed trifocals. \u201cYou\u2019re too old for this, John,\u201d he muttered. And as though she were in the room, he heard Beth\u2019s words once more. \u201cYou\u2019re too good a physician to retire. People need you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fortified with coffee, the sole component of his breakfast nowadays, he\u2019d forced himself to make the call. He asked his question and was gratified and a bit frightened by the positive response. John dressed carefully, choosing his best suit, spending a great deal of time selecting a tie. He\u2019d noticed a gradual shift in doctors\u2019 attire over the past few years. Now many wore jeans and golf shirts under their white coats. But for John Ramsey, putting on a tie before going to the office was tantamount to donning a uniform, one he\u2019d worn proudly for years. And he\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cJohn, I was surprised when I got your call. To what do I owe the pleasure?\u201d Dr. Donald Schaeffer breezed into the office, the starched tails of his white coat billowing behind him. He offered his hand, then settled in behind his desk.<\/p>\n

\u201cDonald, I appreciate your taking the time to see me. I was wondering\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBefore we start, I want you to know how sorry we all are for your loss. Is there anything I can do?\u201d<\/p>\n

Perfect lead-in. See if you can get the words out. \u201cAs you know, I closed my office four months ago. Beth and I were going to enjoy retirement. Then . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

Schaeffer nodded and tented his fingers under his chin. At least he had the grace not to offer more platitudes. Ramsey had had enough of those.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was wondering if you could use me in the department.\u201d There. Not the words he\u2019d rehearsed, but at least he\u2019d tossed the ball into Schaeffer\u2019s court.<\/p>\n

\u201cJohn, are you talking about coming onto the faculty?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe something half-time. I could staff resident clinics, teach medical students.\u201d<\/p>\n

Schaeffer was shaking his head before John finished. \u201cThat\u2019s what the volunteer clinical faculty does. It\u2019s what you did for . . . how many years? Thirty? Thirty-five?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cForty, actually. Well, I\u2019m still a clinical professor in the department, so I guess I have privileges at Parkland Hospital. Can you use me there?\u201d<\/p>\n

Schaeffer pulled a yellow legal pad toward him and wrote a couple of words before he pushed it aside. \u201cI\u2019m not sure what I can do for you, if anything. It\u2019s not that easy. You have no idea of the administrative hoops I have to jump through to run this department. Even if I could offer you a job today\u2014and I can\u2019t\u2014 I\u2019d have to juggle the budget to support it, post the position for open applications, get half a dozen approvals before finalizing the appointment.\u201d He spread his hands in a gesture of futility.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, is that a \u2018no\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u201dThat\u2019s an \u2018I\u2019ll see what I can do.\u2019 Afraid that\u2019s the best I have to offer.\u201d Schaeffer looked at his watch, shoved his chair back and eased to his feet. \u201cComing to Grand Rounds?\u201d<\/p>\n

Why not? John\u2019s house was an empty museum of bitter memories. His office belonged to someone else. Why not sit in the company of colleagues? \u201cSure. I\u2019ll walk over with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

As the two men moved through the halls of the medical center, John prayed silently that Schaeffer would find a job for him. With all his prayers for Beth during her final illness, prayers that had gone unanswered, he figured that surely God owed him this one.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\"\"<\/a>
\nMY REVIEW:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Lethal Remedy<\/a> is a fascinating look at several sides of the development of a new drug and the potential ramifications involved. When a new and deadly form of staph infection threatens the world, a research team at Southwestern Medical Center has developed a treatment that seems to cure one hundred percent of the cases. And if the hype is to be believed, there are absolutely no side effects or other complications.<\/p>\n

Dr. Sara Miles has successfully treated a young patient with the new wonder drug; however weeks later that patient has developed a serious and life-threatening condition. Careful investigation by Sara and Dr. Rip Pearson reveals that several other patients treated with the drug have also developed serious illnesses. Their quest to discover solutions to the problem soon run into major roadblocks and the involvement of several other staff members.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile a struggling pharmaceutical company is depending on the new drug to save their business and will resort to anything to see that the drug is approved quickly and that any rumors about complications are quelled. Added to that, there seems to be at least one individual playing both sides in order to profit himself.<\/p>\n

I found Lethal Remedy<\/a> to be interesting and it held my attention. The descriptions of the behind-the-scenes maneuvering by the pharmaceutical company were so realistic that I found myself wondering how often the same scenarios take place in real life. Although I enjoyed this book, I did not find Lethal Remedy<\/a> to be quite as suspenseful as some of Mabry’s earlier novels. Nevertheless, I did enjoy the story and will look forward to Dr. Mabry’s next offering. I recommend Lethal Remedy<\/a> to those who enjoy medical fiction and\/or suspense.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8,60,59,33],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-9776","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-books","category-contemporary-fiction","category-medical","category-suspense"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9776","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=9776"}],"version-history":[{"count":21,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9776\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":9797,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/9776\/revisions\/9797"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=9776"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=9776"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.daysongreflections.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=9776"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}