“Jennifer, everything is going to be all right. I can explain everything.”
“Oh,” she said vaguely.
“Just promise me you won’t have the abortion until I get there.”
“The hearing is this morning,” said Jennifer, “and I won’t do anything today, but if you’re not here by tomorrow…” Her voice trailed off.
“Jennifer, I love you. I have to get to the plane now. We’re just taking off from Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” said Jennifer, completely confused. “And who’s ‘we’?”
“Adam?” asked Margaret Weintrob, her nimble fingers coming to an abrupt halt on her typewriter. “Is that you?”
Arm in arm, like drunken buddies, Adam and Alan staggered past the startled secretary’s desk.
“Adam!” shouted Mrs. Weintrob, starting to rise. “You can’t go in your father’s office. He has…”
But Adam had already opened the door.
The two well-dressed men sitting across from Dr. Schonberg turned in surprise. Momentarily speechless, Dr. Schonberg sat helplessly as Adam asked the two men to wait outside.
“Adam,” said Dr. Schonberg finally, “what on earth is the meaning of this?”
“Did you take any action on the charges we discussed the last time I was here?” asked Adam.
“No, not yet.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Adam. “You said that you needed more evidence. Well, I’ve brought all the proof you’ll ever want. Come over here and meet Dr. Alan Jackson of the University of California. He has just come from one of the famous Arolen cruises. And made a short stop at the research center in Puerto Rico.”
“Is the man drunk?” asked Dr. Schonberg.
“No,” said Adam. “Drugged and a victim of psychosurgery. Come over here. I’ll show you.”
Dr. Schonberg approached Alan cautiously, as if he expected the man to leap suddenly out of his chair.
Adam gently tilted Alan’s head so his father could see the small incisions where the electrodes had been implanted.
“They implanted some kind of remote-control device there,” said Adam, his voice softer and shaded with compassion. “But I got Alan out before they ‘conditioned’ him. As soon as his drug wears off, he’ll be able to tell you at least some of what happened. And I know he will agree to have the electrodes removed and examined.”
Dr. Schonberg looked up at his son after examining the incisions on the sides of Alan’s head. He was silent for a moment and then turned on the intercom and said, “Margaret, I want you to call Bernard Niepold at the Justice Department. Tell him it is urgent that I see him immediately. And call the Bethesda Naval Hospital and tell them to expect a confidential patient under my signature. And I want a twenty-four-hour guard.”
EPILOGUE
Jennifer was exhausted. Despite all of the childbirth classes she’d attended, she’d not been prepared for the real thing. Giving birth was both better and worse than she’d expected. No amount of reading or hearing about other women’s experiences could have readied her for this unique and passionate event.
The pain of labor had been intense yet strangely thrilling, but as the hours had gone by, she had felt progressively drained. She wondered if she would find the strength. Then the pain came more often and for longer periods until finally, from somewhere deep in her being, came a new burst of energy. She felt an irresistible urge, half voluntary, half involuntary, to push and bear down. A crescendo of pressure made her feel she was stretched to her limit, yet still she pushed and held her breath.
Suddenly, there was an almost sensuous release, accompanied by a gush of fluid and the thrilling squeal of a newborn infant exercising its vocal cords for the first time.
Opening her eyes, Jennifer gripped Adam’s hand with what little strength she had remaining. Looking up into his face, she could see that his attention was directed down between her outstretched legs. With a terrible feeling of dread, she watched him. No test had been able to dispel the worry she had about the health and well-being of the child within her. Doctors at University Hospital had repeated the amniocentesis and had reported that the baby was normal, but with all that had happened, Jennifer had had trouble believing it.
She watched Adam to see what glimpse of disaster would register on his face. She wanted to know how their child was from him, not from seeing for herself. As she expected, he didn’t smile and didn’t blink. After what seemed too long a time, he lowered his eyes to meet hers, cradling her head with his hands as he did so. He spoke softly, sensitive to her feelings. First he told her he loved her!
Jennifer’s heart seemed to stop. She held her breath, although the physical pain had ceased, and waited for the inevitable, dreaded news. In her heart she had known all along. She shouldn’t have listened to anyone, she told herself. She’d had a bad feeling ever since the mixup at the Julian lab, never mind that it had been done on purpose.
Adam wetted his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “We have a beautiful, healthy boy, Jennifer. Luckily, he looks like you.”
It took a moment for Adam’s words to sink in. When she finally comprehended, tears of happiness and thanksgiving welled in her eyes. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She swallowed. Then she reached up and pulled Adam down and hugged his head as hard as she could. His laugh gave voice to the joy and relief in her heart. All she could think to do was thank God.
Adam collected himself, smoothed out his surgical scrub suit, and stepped from the delivery area into University Hospital’s obstetrical waiting room. One glance was enough. It was hard to believe, but the message he’d gotten during the last stages of Jennifer’s labor had been correct. Sitting among a group of expectant fathers was his own, Dr. David Schonberg.
Dr. Schonberg met his son as soon as he entered the room.
“Hello, Adam,” he said in his usual cool manner.
“Hello, father,” said Adam.
Dr. Schonberg adjusted his glasses higher on his nose. “What’s it like being back in medical school?”
“Just fine,” said Adam. “I’m so glad to be back. I’ve hardly minded the catch-up work.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Dr. Schonberg. “How’s Jennifer?”
Adam stared at his father. It was the first time the man had ever called Jennifer by name.
“She’s just fine,” answered Adam.
“And what about the baby?”
“The baby’s a healthy, beautiful boy,” said Adam.
To Adam’s utter astonishment he saw something he’d never seen before: tears in his father’s eyes. Before the shock could register, his father’s arms were around him, hugging him. Another first. Adam hugged back. Tears formed in Adam’s eyes as well, and the two men stood there, holding each other for so long that some of the soon-to-be fathers began to stare.
Finally, a somewhat embarrassed Dr. Schonberg pushed Adam back, but lovingly held onto his arms. Each looked at the other’s tears, then both laughed.
“I wasn’t crying,” said Dr. Schonberg.
“Neither was I,” said Adam.
“You know what I think?” said Dr. Schonberg.
“What?” asked Adam.
“I think we’re both lousy liars.”
“I think I’d have to agree.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Since I graduated from medical school in 1966, I have heard the term “crisis in medicine” so often that it conjures up the allegory of the shepherd boy who cried wolf too many times. But until now the crises have all been voiced by particular interest groups and were often contradictory: too few hospital beds, too many hospital beds; not enough physicians, too many physicians. It was enough to make anyone confused and apathetic.
But now I have come to believe that “crisis in medicine” is applicable in a truly general sense. Unfortunately, because so many people have cried wolf in the past, the media have only just begun to take note of this very real crisis. What we are witnessing today is the gradual but quickening pace of the intrusion of business into medicine. It must be understood that the corporate mentality of the balance sheet is diametrically opposed to the traditional aspects of altruism that have formed the foundation of the practice of medicine, and this dichotomy augers disaster for the moral and ethical foundations of the profession. Big Business views the medical field as a high-cash-flow, high-profit, low-risk, and low-capital investment industry that is now particularly ripe for takeover.