"Tree huggers," Poulos said with undisguised scorn. "This is only one of a dozen issues they write about and write about. I assure you, the vast majority of Americans are totally behind this project. They're just not the ones who write letters."
Ellen had never felt too comfortable around Poulos, but now she was beginning to feel a legitimate dislike.
"I still think we're moving way too fast on this thing," she replied. "There are unanswered questions."
"Specifically?"
Ellen cautioned herself not to be drawn into a discussion of Lasaject until Rudy had completed his research. She had purposely refrained from discussing with Sally and Cheri the work he was doing. Bringing it up now with a company man like Poulos would be reckless and dumb.
Lasaject, a vaccine against the horrible hemorrhagic disease Lassa fever, was one of the last components to be voted for inclusion in Omnivax. Endemic to the West African country of Sierra Leone, Lassa fever had been appearing in the U.S. with increasing frequency over the past few years.
"Specifically," she replied, "the question of why the current administration is putting pressure on us to approve this vaccine when there are so many unanswered questions and so many consumers who would like to see it scaled down or shelved altogether."
There! I said it and I'm glad.
Ellen was continuing to research the disease even as Rudy was analyzing the clinical data accumulated for the vaccine. Lassa fever, caused by a virus similar to the deadly Ebola virus, showed up in Chicago and Milwaukee a decade ago, rapidly causing more than two dozen deaths. With the possibility of a major epidemic looming, Columbia Pharmaceuticals, a Maryland-based company, quickly developed and successfully tested a vaccine. But then, as suddenly as they began, the Lassa cases petered out. The potential for an epidemic vanished, and impending mandatory vaccination with Lasaject was tabled indefinitely by the FDA. For its hard work, Columbia was left holding a very expensive bag. Their subsequent attempts to market the vaccine in Sierra Leone were thwarted by political unrest and an economy that was one of the weakest in Africa. The World Health Organization simply refused to send its people into an area so volatile. So, for seven years the attenuated virus comprising the vaccine languished in the incubators of its creator.
Poulos eyed her disdainfully.
"You started out so well on this commission," he said.
"I'm sorry to have become a disappointment to you."
At that moment, the chairman of the committee, Rich Steinman, a professor at Georgetown, gaveled the committee meeting to order.
"Well," Poulos said, turning his attention away from her and toward the professor, "there are millions and millions of people out there who are going to sleep a whole lot better knowing Omnivax has rendered them and their children safe from a multitude of infectious diseases."
"Well, George," Ellen replied, "it won't be because I voted for it."
Professor Richard Steinman, looking as puffed as a pigeon, beamed out at the assembled crowd and, indeed, at the world. The partition between the two large conference rooms had been opened, and the conference table moved aside, allowing seating for 150 or so. Behind Steinman on a low stage sat various political and scientific dignitaries, as well as half a dozen of the more prominent members of the select federal commission on Omnivax, including George Poulos. Ellen was seated toward one side of the first row, sandwiched between the head of the Committee on Infectious Diseases of the American Academy of Pediatrics and the woman directing the Centers for Disease Control's Committee on Immunization Practices. Several rows behind her, politicking until the last possible moment, sat Cheri Sanderson.
As Ellen anticipated, the meeting of the select commission that preceded this session had been little more than a pep rally — scientists and physicians verbally patting one another on the back and celebrating that their work was almost done. Richard Steinman set the date for the closed ballot vote on the group's recommendation, and then went around the table for remarks. There was virtually nothing substantive brought up.
Ellen had no urge to add to the merriment by suggesting that there was still time for the entire gang to reconsider their votes. She gave passing thought to a simple "Thank you for bearing with my incessant questions and for teaching me so much over the past almost three years," but she knew her superego was too well developed to allow it. Instead, when her turn came, with a final internal warning to be brief, she took a sip of water, praying that no one noticed her hands were shaking, and rose to face the group.
"Everyone who has spoken thus far has expressed what a positive experience it has been serving on this panel," she said. "In fact, in many ways, it has been a positive experience for me, too. Please know that I have tried my best not to be too disruptive or contrary as we sifted through mountains of scientific and clinical data and reports. But I am the consumer representative on this panel, and despite knowing that our vote on Omnivax is a formality, I would feel remiss if I did not make one final plea on behalf of that group.
"It is far more difficult to stop a vaccination freight train once it has built a head of steam than it would be to keep it in the station until the clinical evidence supporting its safety and efficacy is overwhelming. Omnivax has only been followed in test subjects for six months or so, and many of its components have not been studied over an extended period, either.
"I know I have expressed my concerns in this area before, but I still remain uneasy about articles I have read — anecdotal, I grant you — hinting at an association between an increase in the number of vaccinations we give our children and an increase in immune-mediated diseases such as diabetes, asthma, and multiple sclerosis, to say nothing of the skyrocketing increase in conditions like ADD and autism. I can see a number of you itching to leap to your feet and refute my statement with your data. Well, if I have learned nothing else over the years we have worked together, I have learned how malleable statistics can be. The same data can be served up in any number of ways, sort of like chicken."
There had been reasonably warm laughter from some around the table, but Ellen could tell by many expressions that she had already prattled on too long.
"So," she had concluded, no longer at all nervous, "while this will be our last meeting before we vote, I do intend to keep a close eye on Omnivax over the weeks, months, and years ahead. And perhaps sometime soon I can have all of you over to my place for dinner — chicken dinner, of course."
Gradually, Ellen's attention drifted back from replaying her remarks in the final commission meeting to the business at hand. Steinman, flushed with the significance of the moment, finished introducing the most important of the luminaries. Then he paused, surveying the audience.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," he trumpeted finally, "it gives me great pleasure to introduce the woman who has spearheaded this project with her caring and vision, the author of the landmark books Prevention Is the Strongest Medicine and Citizen Pioneers, the First Lady of the United States, Mrs. Lynette Lowry Marquand."
The standing ovation lasted more than a minute. Marquand, dressed in a simple but stunning beige suit, motioned for all to be seated. Then, for fully fifteen silent seconds she stood there, surveying the audience and gazing into the cameras, emphasizing the significance of the occasion. She waited until the drama of silence was at its peak before she spoke.