She was cheerful, quick and, to Andrew's great joy, whipped up breakfast each morning with lightning speed.”Comes o' practice. Did it for me mum at 'ome," she told him when he complimented her. Winnie also liked children and Lisa adored her. Andrew and Celia hoped that Winnie's departure for Australia would be long delayed. One other event that came to Celia's attention happened near the end of 1960. The German drug Thalidomide-to be known in the U.S. and Canada as Kevadon-was submitted to the FDA for marketing approval. According to drug industry trade magazines, the Merrell Company, which now had North American rights, had large-scale plans for Thalidomide-Kevadon, believing the drug would be a huge seller, as it was continuing to be in Europe. The company was pressing FDA for swift approval. Meanwhile samples of the drug--officially for "investigative use," though in fact, without restriction -were being distributed to over a thousand physicians by enthusiastic Merrell detail men. The news reminded Celia of her conversation with Sam Hawthorne eight months earlier when he had reported resentment within Felding-Roth because, at Celia's suggestion, Thalidomide had been tested only on old people, then rejected. She wondered briefly if the resentment still remained, then dismissed the subject as unimportant. She had other business concerns. Following Bruce's birth Celia returned to work more quickly than she had after Lisa was born and was back at Felding-Roth by mid-December. One reason: it was a busy time in Sales Training. The company was expanding and a hundred more detail men were being taken on-plus, at Celia's urging, some detail women, though only a half dozen. Also contributing to her decision was an infectious sense of national excitement. In November John F. Kennedy had been elected president and it seemed-from the graceful rhetoric at least-as if a new era, stimulating and creative, had begun. "I want to be part of it all," Celia confided to Andrew.”People are talking about 'a new beginning' and 'history in the making' and saying it's a time to be young and in charge of something. Going back to work means being involved.”
"Uh-huh," Andrew had said, almost indifferently, which was unusual. Then, as if realizing it, he added, "It's okay with me.”
But Andrew's mind was not really on Celia's endeavors; he was preoccupied with a problem of his own. The problem concerned Dr. Noah Townsend, Andrew's senior partner and the respected chief of medicine at St. Bede's Hospital. Andrew had discovered something about Noah which, ugly and unpleasant, brought into question the older man's competence to practice medicine. Dr. Townsend was a drug addict.
Noah Townsend, now fifty-eight, had for many years appeared to represent everything a seasoned, experienced physician should be. He was conscientious, treating all who came to him, whether wealthy or poor, with equal concern. His appearance was distinguished; in manner he had always been courtly and dignified. As a result Dr. Townsend had a solid practice with patients who liked him and were loyal-with good reason, since he served them well. His diagnostic skills were regarded as remarkable. Townsend's wife, Hilda, once told Andrew, "I've stood with Noah at a party and he's looked across the room at a complete stranger and told me quietly, 'That man is very ill and doesn't know it,' or another time, 'That woman over there-I don't know her name, but she's going to die in six months.' And he's always been right. Always.”
Townsend's patients felt much the same way. Some who exchanged anecdotes about his accurate diagnoses referred to him as "the witch doctor.”
One even brought back from Africa, as a gift, a witch doctor's mask which Townsend proudly hung on his office wall. Andrew, too, respected the older doctor's abilities. As well, there had grown up between the two a genuine and warm affection, not least on Andrew's part because Townsend had, in all ways, treated his much younger colleague generously. Contributing to Andrew's respect was the fact that Noah Townsend stayed up-to-date medically through systematic reading, some thing many physicians of his age neglected. Yet Andrew had also noticed, over recent months, a certain vagueness at times on Townsend's part, and occasional slurred speech. Then there had been those incidents earlier in the year of Noah's apparently bizarre behavior. The combination of symptoms made Andrew uneasy, though he continued to rationalize that stress and tiredness could be their cause, since both doctors had been working hard, with heavy patient loads. It was during a November afternoon a month earlier-which Andrew now remembered as beginning for himself a time of agonized soul-searching-that unease and vague suspicion had turned to certainty. The way it happened was that Andrew wished to discuss their schedule of days off, days when he and Dr. Townsend covered for each other. After checking to be sure no patient was with his colleague, Andrew knocked lightly on Townsend's office door and went in. It was something each of them was used to doing frequently. Townsend had his back to Andrew and swung around, startled, in his haste failing to conceal what was in the palm of his hand-a sizable pile of tablets and capsules. Even then Andrew might have thought nothing of it, except for the older man's subsequent behavior. Townsend reddened with embarrassment, then with some bravado brought his hand to his mouth, shoved the pills inside and with a glass of water flushed them down. There was no way Townsend could ignore the significance of what Andrew had seen, but he attempted to make light of it.”So you caught me stoking up the furnace!... Well, I admit I do it now and then--been under a lot of pressure lately, as you know... But never let things get away from me... I'm an old-cowhand doctor, m'boy-know too much to ever lose control... A damn sight too much.”
Townsend laughed, a laugh which sounded false.”So don't worry, Andrew-I know where and when to stop.”
The explanation did not convince Andrew. Even less convincing was the slurred speech, a slurring which suggested that the pills Noah Townsend had just ingested were not the first he had had that day. Andrew asked, with a sharpness he immediately regretted, "What were you taking?" Again the false laugh.”Oh, just a few Dexedrine, some Percodan, a touch of Darvon for added flavor... Andrew, what the hell does it matter?" Then, with a touch of belligerence, "Told you I keep it under control. Now, what did you come to see me about?" With his mind in a turmoil, Andrew mentioned the subject of days off-which now seemed absurdly unimportant-speedily settled what was necessary, and left Noah Townsend's office as quickly as he could. He needed to be alone. To think. Andrew was horrified at the stew of drugs-there must have been a dozen or fifteen tablets and capsules-which his older colleague had casually downed. According to Noah's own admission, they were stimulants and depressants---drugs which reacted to each other and which no competent doctor would prescribe in combination. While not an expert on addiction, Andrew knew enough to realize the quantity and casualness were hallmarks of someone who was a long way down the addict's road. And prescription drugs taken indiscriminately, as Noah clearly was taking them, could be as dangerous and destroying as any street drug sold illegally. What to do next? The immediate thing, Andrew decided, was to find out more. Over the next two weeks he used whatever time he could spare to visit medical reference libraries. St. Bede's had a modest one; Andrew knew of another in Newark. Both had cataloged reports about physicians who became drug addicts and, as he studied the material, the first thing to become evident was the common and widespread nature of the problem. The American Medical Association estimated that some five percent of all physicians were "impaired" because of drug abuse, alcoholism, or related causes. If the AMA admitted to that startling figure, Andrew reasoned, the real one must be higher. Others seemed to agree. Most estimates ranged to ten percent, several to fifteen. One conclusion reached by all observers was that doctors got into trouble because of overconfidence. They were convinced that their specialized knowledge would let them use drugs without the habit's becoming dangerous, but almost always they were wrong. Noah Townsend's words, "