It’s working wonders when we combine
it with intrathecal methotrexate and radiation.
Eighty-one percent of patients are achieving three-year,
relapse-free survival. That’s a national statisticthe
figures on my patient.s are even better
over ninety percent. I’m following a growing number
of kids who are five, seven years and looking
great. Think of that, Alex. A disease that killed
42 Jonathan Kel/erman
virtually every child it got hold of a decade ago is
potentially curable.”
The fight behind his eyes picked up extra wattage.
“Fantastic,” I said.
“Perfect word–fantastic. The key is multimodal
chemotherapy. More and better drugs in the right
combinations.”
The food came. He put two rolls on his plate, cut
them into tiny chunks, and systematically popped
each piece in his mouth, finishing all of it before
I’d downed half my bagel. The waitress poured
coffee, which was inspected, creamed, stirred, and
quickly swallowed. He dabbed his lips and picked
imaginary crumbs out of his mustache.
“Notice that I used the word curable. No timid
talk of extended remission. We’ve beaten Wilm’s
Tumor, we’ve beaten Hodgkin’s disease. Non-Hodg-kin’s
lymphoma is next. Mark my words, it will be
cured in the near future.”
A third roll was dissected and dispatched. He
waved the waitress over for more coffee.
When she’d gone he said, “This isn’t really coffee,
my friend. It is a hot drink. My mother knew
how to make coffee. Back in Cuba we had the pick
of the coffee crop. One of the servants, an old black
man named Jos6, would grind the beans by hand
with great finesse-the grind is essentialmand we
would have coffee!” He drank some more and pushed
his cup away, taking a glass of water as a replacement
and emptying it. “Come to my home and I’ll
make you real coffee.”
It occurred to me that though I’d worked with
the man for three years and had known him twice
that long, I’d never seen his living quarters.
“I .may take you up on’ that one day. ‘Where do
you live?”
“Not far from here. Condo on Los Fetiz, One
bedroom-Lsrnalt but sufficielat for my needs. When.
one lives alone it is best to keep things simple,
don’t you agree?”
“I suppose so.”
“You do live alone, don’t you?”
“I used to I’m living with a wonderful woman.”
“Good, good.” The dark eyes seemed to cloud.
“Women. They have enriched my life. And torn it
apart. My lst wife, Paula, has the big house in
Flintridge. Another’s in Miami, and two others,
God knows where. Jorg6—my second oldest, Nina’s
boy–tells me his mother is in Paris, but she never
stayed in one place very long.”
His face drooped and he drummed on the table
with his spoon. Then he thought of something that
made him suddenly brighten.
“Jorgg’s going to medical school next year at
Hopkins.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Brilliant boy, always was. Summers
he would visitrme and work in the lab. I’m proud to
have inspired him. The others are not so on the
ball, who knows what they will do, but their moth-
ers were not like Nina–she was a concert cellist.”
“I didn’t know that.”
He picked up another roll and hefted it.
“Drinking your water?” he asked.
“It’s all yours.”
He drank it.
“Tell me about the Swopes. What kind of noncompliance
problems are you having?”
“The worst kind, Alex. They’re refusing treat-
ment. They want to take the boy home and subject
him to God knows what.”
“Do you think they’re holistic types?”
He shrugged. “It’s possible. They’re rural people,
come from La Vista, some little town near the Mexican
border.”
“I know the area. Agricultural.”
“Yes, I believe so. But more important, close to
Laetrile country. The father is some kind of farmer
or grower. Crass man, always trying to impress. I
gather he’d had some scientific training at one time
or another–likes to throw around biological terms.
Big heavyset fellow, in his early fifties.”
“Old to have a five year old.”
“Yes. The mother’s in her late forties–makes
you wonder if the boy was an accident. Maybe it’s
guilt that’s making them crazy. You know–blaming
themselves for the cancer and all that.”
“That wouldn’t be unusual,” I said. Few nightmares