laceration. Robbie Brace lay on his side, perfectly still. Most patients would have closed their eyes, but he kept his wide open and staring at the opposite wall. Though his size was intimidating, his eyes seemed to neutralize any threat. They were a soft brown, the lashes thick as a child's.
She took another stitch and drew the suture through his skin. "The old guy cut pretty deep," she said. "You're lucky he missed your eye."
"I think he was trying for my throat."
"And he's on round-the-clock sedation?" She shook her head. "You'd better double the dose and keep him locked up."
"He usually is. We keep the Alzheimer's patients in a separate ward, where we can control their movements. I guess Mr. Hackett slipped out.
And you know, sometimes those old guys can't handle the libido. The self-control's gone, but the body's still willing."
Toby snipped off the needle and tied the last stitch. The wound was closed now, and she began wiping the site with alcohol. "What protocol is he on?" she asked.
"Hen?"
"The nurse said Mr. Hackett was on some kind of protocol."
"Oh. It's something Wallenberg's testing. Hormone injections in elderly men."
"For what purpose?"
"The fountain of youth, what else? We've got a wealthy clientele, and most of them want to live forever. They're all eager to volunteer for the latest treatment fad." He sat up on the side of the table and gave his head a shake, as though to dispel a sudden rush of dizziness. Toby thought with sudden panic, The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
And the harder they are to pick up off the floor.
"Lie back down," she said. "You got up too fast."
"I'm fine. I've gotta get back to work."
"No, you sit there, okay? Or you'll fall and I'll just have to stitch up the other side of your face."
"Another scar," he grunted. "More character."
"You're already a character, Dr. Brace."
He smiled, but his gaze looked a little unfocused. Warily she watched him for a moment, ready to catch him if he passed out, but he managed to stay upright.
"So tell me more about the protocol," she said. "Which hormones is Wallenberg injecting?"
"It's a cocktail. Growth hormone. Testosterone. DHEA. A few others.
There's plenty of research to back it all up."
"I know growth hormone increases muscle mass in the elderly. But I haven't seen many studies using it in combination."
"It makes sense though, doesn't it? As you get older, your pituitary starts to fade out. Doesn't produce all those juicy young hormones. The theory is, that's the reason we age. Our hormones conk out."
"So Wallenberg replaces them."
"It seems to be having some effect. Look at Mr. Hackett. Plenty of get up and go."
"Too much. Why're you giving hormones to an Alzheimer's patient? He can't give consent."
"He probably gave consent years ago, while he was still competent."
"The study's been going on that long?"
"Wallenberg's research dates back to 92. Check out the Index Medicus.
You'll see his name pop up on a dozen published papers. Everyone working in geriatrics knows Wallenberg's name." Gingerly he lowered himself from the table. After a moment, he nodded. "Steady as a rock.
So when do these stitches come out?"
"Five days."
"And when do I get the bill?"
She smiled. "No bill. Just do me a favor."
"Uh, oh."
"Look up Harry Slotkin's medical record. Call me if there's anything I should know. If there's anything I might have missed."
"You think you might have missed something?"
"I don't know. But I hate screwing up, I really do. Harry may be lucid enough to find his way back to Brant Hill. Maybe even to his wife's room. Keep an eye out for him."
"I'll tell the nurses."
"He shouldn't be hard to miss." She reached for her purse. "He's not wearing a stitch of clothes."
Toby pulled into her driveway, parked next to Bryan's Honda, and turned off the engine. She didn't climb out of her car but simply sat there for a moment, listening to the tick-tick of the engine cooling off, enjoying these quiet moments,
She took another stitch and drew the suture through his skin. "The old guy cut pretty deep," she said. "You're lucky he missed your eye."
"I think he was trying for my throat."
"And he's on round-the-clock sedation?" She shook her head. "You'd better double the dose and keep him locked up."
"He usually is. We keep the Alzheimer's patients in a separate ward, where we can control their movements. I guess Mr. Hackett slipped out.
And you know, sometimes those old guys can't handle the libido. The self-control's gone, but the body's still willing."
Toby snipped off the needle and tied the last stitch. The wound was closed now, and she began wiping the site with alcohol. "What protocol is he on?" she asked.
"Hen?"
"The nurse said Mr. Hackett was on some kind of protocol."
"Oh. It's something Wallenberg's testing. Hormone injections in elderly men."
"For what purpose?"
"The fountain of youth, what else? We've got a wealthy clientele, and most of them want to live forever. They're all eager to volunteer for the latest treatment fad." He sat up on the side of the table and gave his head a shake, as though to dispel a sudden rush of dizziness. Toby thought with sudden panic, The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
And the harder they are to pick up off the floor.
"Lie back down," she said. "You got up too fast."
"I'm fine. I've gotta get back to work."
"No, you sit there, okay? Or you'll fall and I'll just have to stitch up the other side of your face."
"Another scar," he grunted. "More character."
"You're already a character, Dr. Brace."
He smiled, but his gaze looked a little unfocused. Warily she watched him for a moment, ready to catch him if he passed out, but he managed to stay upright.
"So tell me more about the protocol," she said. "Which hormones is Wallenberg injecting?"
"It's a cocktail. Growth hormone. Testosterone. DHEA. A few others.
There's plenty of research to back it all up."
"I know growth hormone increases muscle mass in the elderly. But I haven't seen many studies using it in combination."
"It makes sense though, doesn't it? As you get older, your pituitary starts to fade out. Doesn't produce all those juicy young hormones. The theory is, that's the reason we age. Our hormones conk out."
"So Wallenberg replaces them."
"It seems to be having some effect. Look at Mr. Hackett. Plenty of get up and go."
"Too much. Why're you giving hormones to an Alzheimer's patient? He can't give consent."
"He probably gave consent years ago, while he was still competent."
"The study's been going on that long?"
"Wallenberg's research dates back to 92. Check out the Index Medicus.
You'll see his name pop up on a dozen published papers. Everyone working in geriatrics knows Wallenberg's name." Gingerly he lowered himself from the table. After a moment, he nodded. "Steady as a rock.
So when do these stitches come out?"
"Five days."
"And when do I get the bill?"
She smiled. "No bill. Just do me a favor."
"Uh, oh."
"Look up Harry Slotkin's medical record. Call me if there's anything I should know. If there's anything I might have missed."
"You think you might have missed something?"
"I don't know. But I hate screwing up, I really do. Harry may be lucid enough to find his way back to Brant Hill. Maybe even to his wife's room. Keep an eye out for him."
"I'll tell the nurses."
"He shouldn't be hard to miss." She reached for her purse. "He's not wearing a stitch of clothes."
Toby pulled into her driveway, parked next to Bryan's Honda, and turned off the engine. She didn't climb out of her car but simply sat there for a moment, listening to the tick-tick of the engine cooling off, enjoying these quiet moments,
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