The Breakthrough

“Did you hear about the big breakthrough on the news last night?” the patient said in an expectant voice, startling me as I edged past his bed on my morning rounds.

I knew the man as Roy Carver, but I had never spoken to him before. He was the roommate of one of my patients, but usually, when I was rounding, Carver would be concealed by a curtain drawn around his bed, either asleep, drugged, or reclusive.

I turned toward Carver, who was propped on pillows. He seemed ready to cross the boundary that separates sickness from terminal illness. I placed him in his 40s, but his body was shrunken. His skin looked stained and waxy. I knew, just by sight, that he had cancer consuming him.

“Tell me what you heard,” I said.

“Something big. Dan Rather said it was a cure for cancer and it was found right here at the medical center.” He paused to breathe. “I thought all the doctors and nurses would be singing and dancing in the halls.”

I was mystified. “Who did the research?”

“How should I know? You work here,” Carver snapped, his eyes grim.

I had heard nothing that merited network news and replied lamely, “Mr. Carver, I wish I knew more about the story so I could tell you what the discovery meant. Sometimes advances reported in the news are preliminary, and, while we hope they're a breakthrough, it's usually too early to tell.”

Carver glared at me. “You're lying. What are you trying to hide?”

I flinched. “Look, Mr. Carver, I'll find out about the story and let you know as soon as I can.”

Carver was breathing rapidly. His pulse raced and throbbed in his neck.

“Let me help you,” I said as I moved toward him.

Carver …