Carol was looking forward to her temporary retirement. She had been so sick and exhausted since her return to work that all she planned to do the first week was lay around the house. She had insisted that Josh take the twenty-eight thousand dollars out of the trading account and put it into a savings account. “It won’t grow there," Josh argued. “It won’t shrink there either," she countered. She had felt as though that money was truly her ticket out of the work force, at least for a while, and didn’t want anything to happen to it. In the end, Josh conceded. Her sanity had been hanging by a thread these days, and if the savings account was going to give her some measure of happiness, it was worth the price.
Friday’s at Newberg Mental Health were always casual. It was the one day each week they were allowed to wear jeans. Carol had declined. Her clothes no longer fit, and blue jeans were the most unforgiving of the clothing chain. She had gone shopping to find baggier and more suitable clothing. As a size eight, she had been small compared to the average size American female. Clothes had been designed for her and she had never had any problem finding suitable attire. As a size twelve, she was now average by comparison. Current fashion, however, was a mockery to the average woman.
She had wandered through major department stores and wondered what had happened to everyone’s sanity. The person who had decided they would all wear clothing so tight that you could count ribs must be off somewhere having a big laugh. If some self-appointed fashion guru from London had determined that women should start wearing their underwear on their heads, it would now be chic to have panties as a hat. There had been rack after rack of the worst clothes from the sixties, and a miscellaneous decade that was simply referred to as, “What were they thinking?” Carol remembered the sixties very well and argued that at least women had been allowed to have butts and thighs back then.
She wondered where all the average size woman went shopping. It certainly couldn’t have been any place she had gone. Nothing fit. Clothes were either way too small or way too big. The petite and “full figure” ladies were set. The average were being punished and sent to clothing purgatory for being average.
Carol finally resorted to her local Goodwill Store. She could find clothes in her size that had been made before the fashion designer criminals had come along to torture American women. One day, she resolved, her body would return to its pre-withdrawal condition. Until then, she would be wearing her larger “rental” clothing. She was currently walking through the hallway in her three-dollar baggy dress. This wasn’t the person she could ever remember being, but a least her blood circulation wasn’t being cut off by a waistband.
The receptionist saw her in the hallway and signaled to her that she had a call. Carol went to the closest phone. Walking all the way back to her office would have required movement. Carol picked up the receiver and pressed the appropriate line.
“Carol, it’s Sandra," the caller announced.
“Hey, Sandra. What’s new?"
“We’re hitting a brick wall with this story. We have so much great information and no proof. These people have covered their tracks well."
“Makes sense."
“Yeah, it does," Sandra agreed, “but we need to find a crack in the structure somewhere. Do you know of any other volunteers besides you and Brian?"
Carol thought for a moment. She couldn’t provide any information about Clair because she had come in as a patient.
“Wasn’t Brian’s interaction with the doctor any help at all?"
“Not really," Sandra said reluctantly. “The drug screen would have provided solid evidence to substantiate his story, but as we discussed, it can’t be used."
“I’m so sorry about that."
“Forget it. I’d have done the same thing in your situation."
“Tell you what I can do," Carol said. “I can’t give the name of this person, but I can contact them myself and ask them to call you."
“Was this person a Donovan patient?" Sandra asked.
Carol confirmed that they were. Sandra gave Carol a cell phone number and instructed her not to use any of the direct lines to the newspaper. Carol was tempted to ask her more about that but decided to refrain. Sandra thanked her and was gone.
Carol went to the chart room and found Clair’s file. Carrying it to her office, she wondered what sort of condition she would find the woman in. Last time they spoke, Clair was pretty intoxicated and didn’t seem very motivated to deal with her problem. She dialed the number and waited. A man answered the phone and Carol asked to speak to Clair. “Who’s calling?" the voice demanded. Carol was not supposed to provide any information. Even though this person had answered Clair’s phone, the rules of confidentiality were very clear. If a person had sought out mental health services, it wasn’t necessarily known by their immediate family. She did not have permission to tell this person anything. Carol was only allowed to give her name and leave a generic message, nothing more.
“She won’t be able to return your call," the unidentified voice informed her.
Carol didn’t answer him. She didn’t know what to say. After a very awkward pause, the man introduced himself as Clair’s brother and informed her that Clair had committed suicide.
“Oh no," Carol whispered. “I’m so sorry."
“So are we," the brother agreed.
Carol had a pretty good idea what the motive had been, but she had to find out for sure. She identified herself and gave the man a short version of their common history.
“I guess you would have had no way of knowing," the man conceded.
“Clair had only come in to see me one time," Carol began, “but do you mind sharing with me what happened?"
“I guess not," the man agreed.
Carol listened while Clair’s brother described the terrible tragedy. Clair had overdosed several times on the doctor’s “vitamins.” After the vitamins “lost their effect,” she elected to go back on the medication, but began abusing the substance. Something she had not done prior to the drug company’s study. Clair had been brought in to Piedmont hospital on two separate occasions for overdoses. The last overdose had landed her in intensive care, where they had made arrangements to send her to Ridgeview for a long-term recovery program once she was discharged. The morning that Clair was scheduled to leave Piedmont, she was found in the bathroom with her wrists cut. She had probably been in there just prior to the end of the night shift, and it was hours into the day shift before anyone had gone in to check on her.
“She couldn’t have picked a better time of the day," her brother commented. “The period of time between the nurses shifts can get pretty disorganized when the hospital is full.” He told Carol that he knew this because he was a nurse and had worked at Piedmont himself in the past. “Anyway," he continued, “she had bled out and had been dead for at least an hour before she had been found."
Carol felt her heart sink and grabbed a tissue off her desk. She had seen this coming and had been helpless to do anything. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am," Carol said, dabbing her eyes.
“I appreciate that," the brother sighed, “but the one who should be the most sorry wasn‘t even held responsible.”
“Didn’t the hospital want to know where she had gotten such a large supply of the pills?"
“Have you ever been inside a busy hospital before?" the brother interjected. Carol admitted that she had not. “They see this every day," he explained. “If hospitals started taking patients by the hand and tracking down their dealers, they’d have no time to treat them.”
“But her dealer was a doctor," Carol said incredulously.
“I know, but the hospital didn’t have the time or man power to chase him down.”
Carol knew exactly what Clair’s brother was talking about. She dealt with the same overcrowded and apathetic system every day. “There’s nothing I can do for Clair," Carol said sadly, “but if the family needs anything at all please call me and I will get them connected with the right person.” Carol gave out both phone numbers and was ready to hang up when she remembered the original reason for her call.
“Listen," she began, “I know this is a lot to ask, but there may actually be someone who can provide Clair with some justice." Carol explained what was going on at the newspaper and why she would be unable to share any information about Clair’s tragedy.
“You bet I’ll call them," the brother concluded. “This is a respectable profession, and guys like Donovan turn it into a meat market. If they can do anything about that guy, they can have one of my kidneys.”
Carol gave the man Sandra’s cell number and thanked him for being so caring.
The world was turning into a hellhole all around her and she was powerless to do anything. Her strongest attempts to make the world a better place had been her demise at her job. At the end of her crusade she hadn’t even been able to save herself. She would not miss this. It was too early to leave work, but she had no appointments. What were they going to do, fire her?
Sandra Jenson was enjoying her first evening off in over two weeks. The story she had been working on with Jason had consumed all of their time. She was a little disappointed when they hit a dead end, but her aching feet and back were rejoicing. She had just propped her feet up on the couch when her cell phone rang. “Oh no," she groaned. She had to answer it. Only a select few had that number and they all required her immediate attention.
Sandra punched a button and answered the call.
“This is Steve Warner," the man began. “My sister, Clair, was a patient of Carol Freeman’s."
Sandra sat straight up and picked up the remote control to mute the TV.
“Yes," she responded, “I know Carol. Did you say your sister was a patient?"
“I did," Steve confirmed. “My sister committed suicide a few weeks ago."
“Oh God," Sandra said quietly. “Did her suicide have anything to do with the drug study?"
“Indirectly, I guess you could say that. My sister had been on Valipene for five years until she volunteered to stop taking it for that research project they were doing.”
Sandra grabbed her notebook and starting scribbling as the man told his story.
“I told her numerous times that the stuff was addictive, but she just brushed me off, saying that her doctor wouldn’t keep prescribing it if it wasn’t good for her.”
“I’m guessing she found out otherwise when she tried to stop," Sandra interjected.
“She was devastated," he continued. “She got so sick and scared. I think that was when she went to the mental health center. She thought she was losing her mind until she saw a counselor there.”
“Carol?"
“Yes. We didn’t know who she had seen at the time, but we knew that whoever it was had firsthand knowledge of the medication and the drug study."
“So, Carol was the one who helped her come to terms with her addiction?" Sandra prodded.
“I wouldn’t say she came to terms with it, but she realized what was happening to her. We tried to get her to go back and see the same counselor, but she refused.”
“So, what did she do?" Sandra asked.
“The pharmaceutical company contacted her and told her see that Donovan guy. He told her he was putting her on ‘vitamins’ and she started feeling much better. My sister trusted everyone," the man laughed humorlessly. “She believed this guy. Even after the counselor had contacted her and told her she had been put back on the medication, she refused to really believe it."
“So, she kept taking the so called vitamins?"
“She began abusing the so called vitamins," Steve stated. “She started going back for refills long before she was due, and no matter how many times she returned, that asshole gave her more."
Sandra continued writing while Steve gave Sandra the same information he had just given to Carol. “Did the hospital drug screen your sister any of the times she had been admitted?" Sandra asked.
“Well, I didn’t see any test results," Steve began, “but I’m sure they did. That’s pretty much standard procedure when someone comes in for a drug overdose.”
“We got him," Sandra announced, elated. “If Doctor Donovan notated that your sister was on vitamins in her chart, and the hospital shows that she tested positive for the drug, then we have something to work with."
“But Donovan could say that she was an addict and had found her drug of choice somewhere else." Sandra thought about his words for a moment, and her spirits dropped.
“I hadn’t thought of that," she conceded. “But at least we have two people now with identical stories. It’s a start. Would you be willing to testify to the information you just gave me?"
“If I thought it would help, I would assist in a hysterectomy on this Donovan guy”.
“I’ll take that as a yes," Sandra laughed. “Give me your address and phone number."
Sandra ended the call and immediately dialed Jason’s cell number.
“We’re back on the story," she announced happily.
Sam and Jeff sat listening to a recording of Sheila’s voice saying she had no knowledge of any problems with the research study and that everything appeared to be in the last stages and ready for FDA approval. They heard the reporter provide her with an alternate phone number, if she thought of anything else.
“Go forward and see if she called him back," Jeff instructed.
Sam hit the forward button and went to the next call.
“She’s ordering pizza," Sam announced.
They continued to move through each call, until they arrived at the end of its contents. “That brings us to the present," Sam said.
“Maybe our interior decorating sent her the appropriate message," Jeff ventured.
“Let’s hope so," Sam agreed. “Jerry was with her the entire weekend. In fact I don’t think he’s been home since he spent that first night with her."
“I’m happy for them," Jeff said sarcastically. “Maybe they will be too pre-occupied to worry about what we’re doing."
With only three weeks left in the study, the management team at Dominex Pharmaceuticals was taking no chances. They had a physical trail on Sheila and Jerry. Office and home phones were being monitored, and all the volunteers that had dropped out of the study were being called and “compensated” to avoid any contacts with outside entities.
“We might just pull this off," Sam said, feeling very relieved for the moment.
Jason Sample was going out on a limb with the drug company story. He had two sources with collaborative information, but no real hard evidence. He and Sandra had been eyewitnesses to the doctor’s midnight office visit, but again, what they saw proved nothing. He had Carol Freeman’s account of her experiences with the study. Everything was hearsay. Despite all that, he felt in his heart that his facts were solid and that a real human tragedy was continuing to unfold under everyone’s noses without their awareness. He had to print what he knew to be the truth.
The editor insisted that they run Jason and Sandra’s story by the legal department, and Jason was working on his pencil toss trick, awaiting their decision. “Are you just going to sit there and juggle?" Sandra interjected.
“This is not juggling," Jason said indignantly. “This is an exquisitely executed triple twirl with a dip."
“Very impressive."
“Gotta stay busy," Jason added.
“Yes, that seems to be a very important task you are undertaking," Sandra agreed.
“I might need another profession to fall back on," he said, “’cause if they don’t approve this story, I’m getting it printed somewhere."
Sandra nodded her understanding. They had met with Steve Warner in person, and had met once again with Brian to confirm their willingness to provide affidavits if need be. Both agreed to go to any lengths if the situation turned hostile. Carol Freeman had been a little reluctant to come forward about the drug screen she had done, due to the unethical manner that had been used to obtain it. In the end, she decided that the exposure of the drug company’s abuse was far more important than a slap on the wrist. She doubted that the action would result in the loss of her license, but she decided to take that chance.
Sheila adamantly refused to come forward. They had important cards they were not ready to show. Sheila explained to them that her “ace in the hole” had to be reserved for the eleventh hour. Also, once they came forward, they would no longer be able to provide any insight from inside the organization. Sandra was still deep in thought, watching Jason’s pencil continually flipping through the air when the editor walked in and announced that legal had made their decision.
“Since your sources are willing to come forward, they decided to let you run with it," the editor announced. Sandra and Jason stood up and hugged each other. “But, I personally think this is nuts," he added. “We have witnesses, but no hard evidence to support your allegations. This is a large corporation. I don‘t think they are going to die quietly when this comes out.”
“Thank you for reminding me," Jason interjected. “I had forgotten that little tidbit."
“It’s going to be your name on the story, funny guy," the editor said. “I hope I’m wrong, but I think we’re in for the fight of our lives."
Jason checked his watch. “Did we make tomorrows deadline?"
“It’s in," the editor confirmed. He left the room, muttering something about buying a large pit bull. The article would appear in the Sunday paper and would capture the best audience of the entire week.
“They won’t know what hit ‘em," Sandra said, grabbing Jason’s pencil and attempting the triple twirl. The pencil flew across the room and crashed into a computer.
“You will have to practice that maneuver."
“It’ll be my top priority," she assured him.
Michelle Roman was an early riser and Sundays were no exception. Her greatest joy was quietly sitting with her coffee and the morning paper. The Atlanta weather had been quickly turning to spring, so she carried both outside to her private back deck. Michelle opened the Sunday paper and spread it out on the patio table. The story on the front page grabbed her immediate attention.
SILENT EPIDEMIC
By Jason Sample and Sandra Jenkins
Dominex Pharmaceuticals, a company whose name has been making headlines lately, is back in the spot light again. You may remember the recent tragedy when a local Cobb County resident fired several gunshots over the heads of random employees and then turned a final fatal shot on himself. The man was Terry Sanders and this is his story.
Terry Sanders sought help nine months ago for depression after his marriage ended. He was prescribed Valipene, a popular sedative that is currently being taken by millions of people. Sanders continued taking his medication as prescribed until he heard about a research study being done by the Dominex Pharmaceutical Company.
The company is in its last testing stage of the drug Suprame, a generic form of the popularly prescribed Valipene. Market date for the affordable substitute is being delayed by the FDA until final research can be submitted proving that consumers will be able to safely terminate the drug after various lengths of use.
Sanders, like a large number of the study volunteers found that they were unable to discontinue the medication without experiencing debilitating withdrawal symptoms. Many of the volunteers immediately returned to the medication when the illness rendered them unable to take care of their daily responsibilities. Others, like Sanders, were appalled by the new knowledge that they had become profoundly addicted to the drug, and attempted to recover through abstinence.
The company responded to the volunteers by providing them with medical treatment, or at least the illusion of treatment. The volunteers were seen by Dr. George Donovan, where they were given “prescription vitamins." The unknown miracle cure was handed out to patients in small brown envelopes. The patients reported immediate improvement and returned to their previously healthy state.
These vitamins would have been the cure of the century, except they weren’t vitamins. The small brown envelopes reportedly contained medication with the same compound found in Valipene. The apparent plan to contain the volunteers was halted abruptly when some of the study patients reportedly discovered that they had resumed taking the drug. Volunteers became ill once again when the “vitamins” were eliminated.
Upon returning to Donovan’s office, they were told that, for some, the vitamins became ineffective over time and were given the option of going back on the sedative medication or returning to their previous withdrawal condition.
It was during this time that Sanders’s rage made its way to the Dominex building and he tragically ended his life. Reporters have since then interviewed other Dominex volunteers who collaborate Sanders’s brief statement before he died.
The medication, Valipene, has been on the market for over forty years, and there are over twenty different medications with the same compound. There are currently millions of people taking some form of these sedative drugs. They are prescribed for everything from depression and anxiety to PMS, and they are apparently quite addictive, as evidenced by the research study.
The current Sanders tragedy provides only one example of the destruction caused by these sedatives. The greater tragedy is that millions of others are likely addicted to these medications but have no knowledge of their condition because they have never tried to stop taking them. If Dominex Pharmaceuticals is able to market their sedative without specific warnings, there will be one more drug added to the family that is currently responsible for the most wide-spread and deadly silent epidemic.
Michelle Roman was practically celebrating as she re-read the article. Charles will have a cow when he sees this. She had quietly stood by for the past several years and watched him dig himself into this hole. His wild spending and rampant affairs were finally going to come back and bite him. Michelle was going to enjoy watching those sharp teeth tear into his flesh. When the media and FDA were through with him, he wouldn’t be worth a dime.
Her own frugal lifestyle and careful planning had set the stage for a comfortable life and a hassle-free divorce. Now that things were turning sour for Dominex, Charles would be more receptive to granting her what she wanted. In the past, the subject had always been dismissed. There was too much on the line for the successful CEO and he had no intention of splitting his future fortune. Well, as far as she could tell, that future fortune was the toilet.
Michelle carried the paper back inside and lay it out by the coffee maker so that it would be the first thing Charles would see when he woke up on this glorious Sunday.
Sally rolled over and stared at Donovan, who was snoring loudly beside her. She thought about trying to get him to roll on his side, but decided to get up instead when she looked at the clock. She had been asleep for over ten hours.
After her customary pit stop to the bathroom, she headed for the kitchen. She had stopped drinking leaded coffee, but she still needed her placebo. She was about to pour water into the coffee maker, when she glanced outside the kitchen window. “What in the hell…?" she exclaimed. Outside on the lawn, several TV cameras were setting up with reporters standing by.
Sally darted back to the bedroom and grabbed Donovan by the arm. “George," she said in alarm, “you have to get up."
Donovan rolled over and groaned, “What’s wrong?"
“The media is camped out on our front lawn."
Donovan sat straight up and looked at her.
“What?"
“You heard me," she yelled, pulling him by the arm towards the closest window. Donovan looked out the window.
“Shit! What are they doing out there?" Donovan asked rhetorically.
Sally was busy flipping channels on the TV, trying to find some news-breaking story to explain the sudden interest in their front lawn.
“Nothing," she announced, after going through each local Atlanta station several times. “Maybe there’s an explanation in the Sunday paper," she ventured, “but I’m not going out there to get it."
“Something tells me we won’t have to wait too much longer to find out what’s going," he interjected. “They aren’t setting up all that equipment for nature shots."
No sooner did the words leave his mouth than the sound of a door bell resonated through the house. They just looked at each other, dumbfounded. “Maybe we could just ignore them," he said.
“Oh, yeah," Sally retorted. “That’ll look real good. Both cars are parked in the driveway. They know we’re here."
“Just keep calm,” Donovan said, pulling on his pants and missing the right leg several times.
Sally just shook her head at him.
“Okay, Mr. Calm. This is your little press conference. I’m staying in here."
Donovan went to the door and opened it. Several microphones were shoved in his face as three reporters began talking to him simultaneously. Donovan blinked into the bright sunlight and put up one hand up to shield the glare. Stepping out onto the front stoop, he forced the reporters to move back from his door. One reporter finally took center stage.
“Doctor George Donovan?" the reporter questioned. Donovan confirmed his identity. “Are you aware of the allegations made against you by the Atlanta Journal Constitution?" Donovan just continued to blink into the camera, as if he were a deer stunned by headlights.
The story was being broadcast live and Sally sat in the bedroom watching Channel Five. “Say something," she said to the TV screen. Donovan finally found his voice and told the reporter that he had no idea what she was talking about, but that he would like for everyone to leave. They were all trespassing. Sally put her hand over her eyes and groaned. Donovan had never been good under pressure. She never had to worry about another woman because the man was transparent. A second reporter picked up where the first left off.
“Dr. Donovan, you have been identified as the doctor involved in the Dominex Pharmaceutical study, is that correct?"
“You know it is," Donovan answered defensively.
“Do you have any response to the charge that you helped sabotage the study to hide the real problems with the medication, Valipene?”
“You want a response?" Donovan yelled at the camera.
“Oh God," Sally groaned. “Somebody, please shoot him." She looked at the face staring at her from the TV. He was turning red.
“My response is that is a bold-faced lie, and someone better be looking for a good attorney.”
“So, you deny the allegation that you gave the study volunteers sedatives, telling them it was a prescription vitamin?" a third reporter inquired.
Donovan took one step back and announced that he had nothing more to say without his own attorney and slammed the door in the cameraman’s face. Sally watched as the reporter for Channel Five news continued the live update from their front step.
The reporter gave a recap of the story that had appeared in the Sunday paper. Sally continued to shake her head as the information unfolded, outlining every illegal move they and Dominex had made since the beginning of the study. “How did they find all this out?" she whispered, and turned to find Donovan standing behind her. “Did you catch the whole story?" she asked. He just nodded his head in confirmation. “We’re in deep shit," Sally announced. Donovan did not respond. He was too busy envisioning his remaining years in prison.
David Manning happily toasted the air and downed the rest of his orange juice. He turned off the TV after watching Channel Five’s live report from in front of the doctor’s residence. The newspaper lay in front of him on the kitchen table. He would sit on this new information until the final test results were submitted. He would do nothing about the partially submitted data. In fact, he would send off a letter stating that the results submitted looked good so far. Lull them into a false sense of security. Then, whammo! After the final submission, he would hit them hard and demand the full names of every one of the volunteers.
“Random checks, my ass," he sneered. He would personally contact every name on that list. “You’re going down, boys.” David couldn’t remember seeing a brighter sunnier