soon, bye.â
The second is a message from my counsellor from the Friary reminding me of the reunion of alumni.
âThat should be a hoot,â I murmur.
The third is a voice I do not recognize. Itâs that of a well-spoken woman who introduces herself as the regional representative manager of Taneffe, an international pharmaceutical company.
âWe understand the impact of the one-use syringe will be enormous in vaccination programs and in controlling infectious diseases,â the message says, âand my company would be very interested in discussing the potential for facilitating its development and marketing.â
I am wondering how this woman got hold of my home phone number, when the tape continues. âI met your sister at a gathering last week and she told us all about your work. I hope you donât mind my calling you at home, but your sister gave me the number and we felt it might be good to keep the discussions informal at this juncture. You can call me anytime on 032 62523. My name is Dr Foster, Dr Mary Foster. Take care and bye for now.â
And then the tape clicks dead.
âDr Mary Foster,â I repeat, replaying the message and noting the name and number in my pocket diary. I like the sound of her voice. Itâs the type of voice I would like to sleep with.
This could be manna from heaven. My work in developing the one-use syringe is well known in the academic world. I have presented conference papers on several continents. For much of my career Iâve been racing against others to develop the ultimate, indestructible, single-use syringe. Many have tried and failed. Sometimes the lock has been unreliable, the spring in the syringe too strong. Or else what scientists believed could not be taken apart has been dismantled and reassembled. Warren, my guinea pig, a long-time heroin injector and consummate expert, took great pleasure in handing me back my last prototype in several bits. Yet the aim has been the same: to produce a needle and syringe that can only be used once. What an impact! A clean syringe for every immunisation jab in Africa and Asia. Polio, tetanus, diphtheria, whooping cough. And no chance of it being reused, eliminating the danger of passing all manner of infections from one patient to another. Stemming the flow of new infection, of any infection, will mean savings in treatment costs running into billions of dollars. I just need sponsorship to get the invention off the drawing board and into production. And, a little voice in the back of my mind fantasises about the Nobel Prize and its big cash bonus to get that bank manager off my back. But even in my growing excitement, I canât help thinking that few people outside the lab in the medical school know how advanced things have got. Why is my sister Caitlin telling strangers and handing out my home phone number to them?
I think about calling Dr Mary Foster. But first, HALT â âHungry Angry Lonely Tired.â I check the freshly stocked fridge for a microwaveable delight. The instructions on the packet tell me I have time for a cigarette, so I sink back on the sofa, light a Camel, and watch the woman in the window across the road dust the Venetian blinds.
After a sticky rice and mystery meat dinner, I fish around for more distractions. Keep busy, theyâd said at the Friary. I switch on the television and surf from one banal channel to the next. Then I turn on the radio and do the washing up. And the drying up. And put the dishes away in the cupboard. Even the cutlery. As I polish the last glass, my mind returns to the phone message. Is it too late to phone the mysterious Dr Foster? The way she responds might tell me something more about her.
She answers on the fourth ring. She is expecting me, she says, in a voice I like the more I hear it.
âTaneffe is a newly formed multi-national pharmaceutical company, part of the Doreale corporation. Of course, you know Doreale?â
âYes,
The second is a message from my counsellor from the Friary reminding me of the reunion of alumni.
âThat should be a hoot,â I murmur.
The third is a voice I do not recognize. Itâs that of a well-spoken woman who introduces herself as the regional representative manager of Taneffe, an international pharmaceutical company.
âWe understand the impact of the one-use syringe will be enormous in vaccination programs and in controlling infectious diseases,â the message says, âand my company would be very interested in discussing the potential for facilitating its development and marketing.â
I am wondering how this woman got hold of my home phone number, when the tape continues. âI met your sister at a gathering last week and she told us all about your work. I hope you donât mind my calling you at home, but your sister gave me the number and we felt it might be good to keep the discussions informal at this juncture. You can call me anytime on 032 62523. My name is Dr Foster, Dr Mary Foster. Take care and bye for now.â
And then the tape clicks dead.
âDr Mary Foster,â I repeat, replaying the message and noting the name and number in my pocket diary. I like the sound of her voice. Itâs the type of voice I would like to sleep with.
This could be manna from heaven. My work in developing the one-use syringe is well known in the academic world. I have presented conference papers on several continents. For much of my career Iâve been racing against others to develop the ultimate, indestructible, single-use syringe. Many have tried and failed. Sometimes the lock has been unreliable, the spring in the syringe too strong. Or else what scientists believed could not be taken apart has been dismantled and reassembled. Warren, my guinea pig, a long-time heroin injector and consummate expert, took great pleasure in handing me back my last prototype in several bits. Yet the aim has been the same: to produce a needle and syringe that can only be used once. What an impact! A clean syringe for every immunisation jab in Africa and Asia. Polio, tetanus, diphtheria, whooping cough. And no chance of it being reused, eliminating the danger of passing all manner of infections from one patient to another. Stemming the flow of new infection, of any infection, will mean savings in treatment costs running into billions of dollars. I just need sponsorship to get the invention off the drawing board and into production. And, a little voice in the back of my mind fantasises about the Nobel Prize and its big cash bonus to get that bank manager off my back. But even in my growing excitement, I canât help thinking that few people outside the lab in the medical school know how advanced things have got. Why is my sister Caitlin telling strangers and handing out my home phone number to them?
I think about calling Dr Mary Foster. But first, HALT â âHungry Angry Lonely Tired.â I check the freshly stocked fridge for a microwaveable delight. The instructions on the packet tell me I have time for a cigarette, so I sink back on the sofa, light a Camel, and watch the woman in the window across the road dust the Venetian blinds.
After a sticky rice and mystery meat dinner, I fish around for more distractions. Keep busy, theyâd said at the Friary. I switch on the television and surf from one banal channel to the next. Then I turn on the radio and do the washing up. And the drying up. And put the dishes away in the cupboard. Even the cutlery. As I polish the last glass, my mind returns to the phone message. Is it too late to phone the mysterious Dr Foster? The way she responds might tell me something more about her.
She answers on the fourth ring. She is expecting me, she says, in a voice I like the more I hear it.
âTaneffe is a newly formed multi-national pharmaceutical company, part of the Doreale corporation. Of course, you know Doreale?â
âYes,
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