"Yes, I see, Doctor," Ellen countered. "I see perfectly. But do you see what it's like to have the life of a perfectly happy, healthy child suddenly ruined or snuffed out altogether by something that was done to her by her physician?"
"George, please," Steinman said, discarding formality. "Mrs. Kroft, we do understand that. Believe me, we do. Risk-benefit ratio is the bedrock on which all medical treatment is built. And not one of us would deny that there are some immediate adverse consequences of immunizations for some children. All we can ask of you is that you do exactly as you have said you would, think things over. But I feel I must underscore all that is at stake here."
"And I do appreciate that, Dr. Steinman," Ellen said, standing to indicate that she had heard enough — especially from George Poulos. "I won't make any pronouncements about what I'm going to do, but I do promise to consider all the issues. I hope that's enough for the time being."
"It will have to be," Steinman had concluded.
Ellen had left Steinman's office in something of a daze. Why in the hell had Lynette Marquand done this to her? Things were fine when she believed that her vote would make a statement. Now that her vote could halt the project altogether, the pressure was immense.
She left Georgetown and spent much of the rest of that day in Bethesda at the NIH library. Now, after a second day of research, it was time to discuss matters with Cheri and Sally at PAVE, prior to making a final decision as to which way she was going to vote. Whatever that decision ultimately was, Suzanne O'Connor's gripping account of her battle with Lassa fever would be a strongly considered factor.
Lost in thought, she gathered up her things and headed out to her car. Following Marquand's speech, it was certainly expected that she would speak personally with Cheri and Sally. Yet she had kept putting off that meeting. Cheri Sanderson, however, hadn't waited too long before calling her. She was hardly a fool, and Ellen's uncertainty, however minimal, still resonated loud and clear.
"This is big stuff now, Ellen," she had said over the phone. "I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't important for us suddenly to be on center stage, and that you are in a position to put us there."
A mile into the drive, Ellen used her cell phone to call Rudy.
"Peterson here."
"Rudy, it's me," she said, imagining him sitting at his desk on the second floor of his cabin.
"Well, greetings. Are you going to be famous?"
"You mean, am I going to vote against Omnivax?"
"That would certainly put you on the Oprah show."
"I suppose it might. I met with the head of the committee yesterday, and now I'm on my way to speak with the moms at PAVE."
"And?"
"I don't know anymore, Rudy. Do you have any information on Lasaject that might help me out?"
"I'm waiting for a call from a friend of mine at the CDC. All I can tell you at the moment is that the preliminary research on the vaccine was a bit sloppy in its design and severely limited in its scope. But as I said before, there are some other things that may be going on. That's what this call from Arnie Whitman at the CDC is all about."
"So when will you know anything?"
"Maybe later today, maybe tomorrow. In the meantime, all I can tell you is that the vaccine seems okay, if not squeaky-clean. When's the vote?"
"The day after tomorrow."
"I don't know. All I can say is, I'll keep in touch."
"Thanks, Rudy."
"Any plans to come by these parts?"
"As soon as this vote is over. I love it up there, and goodness knows I'll need the rest."
"Good enough. I'll keep the kettle boilin' for ya."
Ellen set the phone down. Rudy wasn't going to be the answer, at least not on this round he wasn't.
Unlike her last visit to the PAVE brownstone, this time Ellen could find no parking space. Reluctantly, she pulled into an $8 for the first half-hour lot three blocks away. There were problems with vaccines that the government and scientific community weren't addressing — pure and simple. She had absolutely no doubt that lives were being lost and destroyed because of the immediate and long-range complications of immunizations. But she also had no doubt that vaccines prevented a great deal of suffering and death.
There was no standing ovation this time when Ellen stepped into the offices of PAVE. No silliness. Suddenly, her valiant, quixotic stand on behalf of issues in which they all believed had turned serious. Ellen recalled the delightful book and movie The Mouse That Roared, in which a minuscule country with an army of two dozen or so archers wages war against America. Their plan is to quickly lose in order to reap the traditional harvest of postdefeat reparations from the American victors. Except that they win. Now what?
No one, but no one, had expected to be in a position to defeat Omnivax, even temporarily. All PAVE wanted was a platform on which to take one more baby step forward — to get concerns about vaccine safety presented to the world. And Ellen had certainly come through for them in that regard.
Now what?
"Hey, comes the conquering hero."
Cheri Sanderson bounded from her office and exchanged hugs with Ellen.
"If I'm so conquering," Ellen responded, "how come I feel like there's a lemon lodged in my throat?"
"I understand John Kennedy got physically ill right before he called Khrushchev and told him to turn the missiles around or else. Come on in. Coffee? Tea?"
"No, thanks. Sally not here?"
Cheri's cluttered office featured framed articles chronicling the remarkable ascendance of PAVE, as well as mounting public recognition that vaccinations were not as warm, fuzzy, and uncontroversial as the powers that be would have everyone believe.
"She's spending the day with her husband. She's been getting a little emotional lately about this Omnivax business, and I think she's been a little hard on him."
"I can understand. I know what she's been through with what happened to her son."
"So today it's just going to be you and me. Quite a spot Lynette put you in, huh?"
Ellen stared down at her hands. This woman, no more than five-two or — three, was a giant, chosen perhaps by God to overcome massive odds in order to make a difference. Over the past decade and a half she had spent thousands of hours cajoling, writing, researching, debating, flattering, decrying, begging, consoling, sobbing in order to help the world right what she believed was a most serious wrong. She had fought beside mothers whose children were being hauled away from them because they refused to have them vaccinated. She had sat before specially appointed masters at the U.S. Court of Federal Claims, holding hands with parents who had just received a piddling sum to care for their vaccine-injured child — the legally declared maximum according to the National Childhood Vaccine Injury Act of 1986 — or worse, no compensation at all.
Ellen gazed up at one of the framed quotes. It was from a Wisconsin mother whose son, whose dream, was horribly, irreparably damaged: The government forces us to give our children these vaccines, it read, and then when something goes wrong — too had — you're on your own.
"Look," Ellen said finally, unable to couch the words, "I'm sorry for seeming so reserved, but you have no idea what I've been listening to for the past three years and who's been saying it. These men and women are not monsters or criminals or killers. They're physicians and scientists and intellectuals. They really believe in what they are doing." To Ellen's surprise, there was no knee-jerk rebuttal from Cheri. Her expression, which sometimes had the hardness of a diamond, was soft and sad.
"I know they are," she said gently.
"I won't argue the fact," Ellen went on, "that many of them get research money from the pharmaceutical companies. But does that necessarily make them wrong? For every graph I produced, they produced a dozen. For every question I asked, they offered incredibly logical, supported answers. For every expert I quoted, they brought in ten with qualifications just as sterling. When I thought my vote was going to be a token, a polite request for continued debate on the issue, that was one thing. I never wanted to be the epicenter of this controversy. I never wanted to be the linchpin."