Informed Consent by Melissa F Miller Page A

sound, and she could imagine the lightbulb click on over his head as understanding dawned.
    She waited a moment for him to fully consider the situation then said, “So, we’re good. Right?”
    He waffled. “Technically, your program may be compliant.” He hesitated and then said, “But it’s a little too cute.”
    “Too cute?”
    “Please understand, I don’t believe you’ve done anything untoward—”
    “Good. Because I haven’t.”
    “However, surely you can understand that it looks a bit off. You enroll competent seniors into a study to draw their blood, wait until they’re in full-blown dementia, add them to your brain tissue study, and then wait for them to die.”
    “That is assuredly not what I do,” she protested.
    “That’s how it looks, Greta.”
    Her frustration level was rising, threatening to overflow and undo all the gains she’d just made with Virgil. She couldn’t afford to let that happen—he was her lifeline to funding for the drug trials. Completion of the drug trials was her lifeline to the Alpha Fund’s nano-robotics investment. And failure was out of the question. She forced herself to take a long, slow breath before she responded.
    “I’m sorry to hear that it looks that way. I don’t want to upset any patient families or clinicians—that’s the last thing I want. But changing the project design now would be disastrous. All the work to this point would be for nothing. What can I do to ease your mind and keep the study on track?”
    It was Virgil’s turn to take a deep breath. She listened to his loud exhale and prayed he’d tell her to just stay the course.
    He didn’t.
    “It’s not my mind you need to ease, Greta. If I were you, I’d reach out to Dr. Kayser—not through his lawyers, mind you. Contact him directly and walk him through what you’ve just told me. You need to get him on board.”
    The ominous note in his voice wasn’t lost on her. “Or else?”
    “Or else, I’m afraid, I’ll have to freeze your funding until you re-interview all of the patients and obtain new, expanded consent. I’m sorry, Greta.”
    “So am I.” Sorry didn’t begin to cover it. She was terrified.
    “Don’t concede defeat just yet. See if you can’t persuade Dr. Kayser. You can be very convincing, you know.”
    A sliver of hope pushed through her dismay. Convince Dr. Kayser.
    “Thanks. Virgil. I appreciate your candor. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I really do need to get back to my work.”
    “Of course, of course.”
    She ended the call and stared blankly at the whiteboard that hung over her desk, not seeing her scribbled formulae, scrawled reminders, and notes about appointments.
    Convince Kayser—one way or another.

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    D oug reclined against the stack of pillows piled high in front of his headboard, which he’d carefully arranged just so to prop him up to a half-seated position, and sipped his lukewarm broth. After a moment, he noticed that the answering machine light was blinking. A red numeral 2 flashed on the display to let him know his answering machine had recorded two messages while he’d slept. He leaned over and pressed the play button.
    “Mr. Wynn, this is Marie from Coastal Oncology Specialists, calling to remind you that you have an appointment tomorrow, October 20th, at eleven o’clock. If you can’t keep this appointment, please call the office to reschedule.”
    Could it really already be October 19th? He pushed himself up onto his elbows and squinted at the date on his wristwatch. Yes, it really was. Just three more days and he would know if his son would stand by him. Three more days. He sunk back against the pillows.
    “Doug? It’s Stevey. My errand boy seems to have gone missing. I don’t suppose you know where I might find him, eh?” Stevey’s voice was wry and knowing. Doug shook his head. Apparently Stevey would never learn. If he knew—or even suspected—that his messenger was in a shallow grave, why on earth hint at it aloud, let