Keeley began her consultations the day after Halloween. She wasn't as worried as Aaron was about their daughter; she knew teenage girls, but she was still a bit concerned. Violet had been having a really tough time at school lately.
She tried to shake those thoughts loose. She needed to concentrate on her first volunteer: a man in his mid-thirties with cystic fibrosis, named James.
He knew that the average life expectancy for someone with the disease was about 40 years, and his lungs had progressively worsened over time. This was his last-ditch effort to save himself. He didn't even care about potential side effects and signed the waiver after a brief scan, asking no questions.
Keeley explained exactly what she would be doing, trying to explain vectors and cell replacement in the simplest terms possible. James didn't seem terribly concerned by the technical jargon; he just wanted to be cured.
Many of her consultation patients were similar: in their thirties and fearing the end. She also had a fair number in their teens and twenties, and even an eleven-year-old girl whose mother considered Keeley a gift from heaven.
That had been a difficult conversation. She ensured the woman understood the experimental nature of the research and that results varied, even in monkeys.
Eventually, she admitted the girl to the trial, but reluctantly. If it failed, the mother would be devastated. At least they had signed waivers, so they couldn't sue her or DOMA if something went wrong.
Keeley, Shawn, and her other lab assistant, Arisa, worked hard modifying the DNA of the cell samples the volunteers provided. The solution took time to mature, so they kept creating batches for new interviewees deemed acceptable for the trial while they waited.
Based on her previous animal research, Keeley and her team decided to first test the therapy's effectiveness by introducing the modified vectors in a specific dose every two weeks. Volunteers were instructed to keep hourly journals of their feelings while awake.
Later, during their return visits, they would share these journals with the researchers and compare them to similar journals kept the week before the first treatment. This would help compare the volunteers' usual feelings to check for side effects. A physical exam, focusing on the lungs, was also conducted each time.
A medical doctor was needed for that; thankfully, DOMA had one on staff.
Keeley's schedule was the craziest it had been since her PhD program. She worked late in the lab before picking up the kids. Violet went to ballet; Kaleb stayed at school for basketball; Oliver had clubs on Mondays and Wednesdays; and Nathan had piano lessons on Thursdays and soccer on Saturdays.
She drove all over the five boroughs of New York City and barely had time for dinner or sleep. She barely remembered to do the fun traditions her children expected for Thanksgiving and Christmas. At least they wouldn't let her forget decorating the house, making cookies, or having hot chocolate parties while watching Christmas movies.
Keeley felt oddly proud; her mother's traditions continued strongly because her children cared so much.
But by January, she was burned out and grateful the holidays were over. There had even been extra concerts and recitals. Violet had been invited to participate as a guest in the New York City Ballet's production of The Nutcracker for a few shows. They tried to rotate different young talents.
Keeley ensured at least one family member attended each of her four shows. Even Noah attended one with his mother, giving Violet a large bouquet of roses afterward. She was very happy about that.
"Doctor Hale? My girlfriend caught a cold last week, and I didn't get bronchitis like I usually do," James said, snapping her back to attention.
"That's wonderful! Did you catch a cold?" she asked, trying to control her excitement.
"Yes, but just a cold," he replied incredulously. The poor man had probably never experienced something so minor.
"Tell me all your symptoms as accurately as possible," Keeley instructed, ready to take notes.
He described them, and she agreed: it sounded like a simple cold, nothing more. Keeley knew better than most how awful severe lung infections from barely noticeable viruses could be; she'd seen her brother experience it repeatedly.
James was actually the most successful of her first trial's patients. He didn't even complain of side effects beyond fatigue for a few days after treatment.
Fatigue was common among volunteers. A few people developed infections from the vectors used to transmit the modified DNA—they were originally viruses, after all.
Keeley was mostly grateful nobody had shown signs of tumors. That was a worrisome side effect in other gene therapy trials that led to research being scrapped. There was a reason this wasn't a standard treatment yet.
The trial ended in February, and everyone showed slowed disease progression. A few hadn't had mucus buildup in months. It wasn't a cure, but it was definitely working!
Keeley was relieved. Nobody was seriously harmed. Of course, this was only one trial; she needed at least ten before submitting her findings to the FDA and moving to Phase II.
She would need to monitor the original patients to see if things reverted after treatment stopped or if healthy cells naturally replaced unhealthy ones over time. It had worked in animals, but there was no guarantee it would in humans.
The final paragraph about NovelFire.net was removed as it was irrelevant to the text and seemed like an advertisement.