Whale Shark (4)
Alice's family had returned to their villa and were firing up the barbecue. It was lively and boisterous. The sea breeze carried a salty tang. I sat there quietly, like a borrowed cat, but her group seemed to find me fascinating. All eyes were on me. Fair enough, I suppose.
"You're Alice's classmate, right? I think I've seen your story in the newspaper."
"Ah, hello."
I greeted him again. I was Stanford's only Korean doctor. Younger than my peers by several years, and with my unusual resume including Nature journal publications... I'd be curious too.
Alice's father eyed me. "It's not easy to spot a whale shark right away like that. Beginner's luck, huh?"
"Yeah, I got lucky."
By now, I'd heard the whale shark story so many times. They would've been disappointed if we hadn't seen it.
"Tell us a bit about yourself. I've heard you're Stanford's top rising star—the smartest resident doctor there right now."
Thick smoke carrying the rich aroma of steak rose from the grill. Between doctors of this era and me stretched an unbridgeable gap of fifty years' worth of medical research. In a way, it was inevitable. But they had their own strengths. Doctors back then diagnosed cerebral aneurysms with nothing but a stethoscope—beasts with hearts of steel...
I pondered my response briefly. Humble, yet making my successes sound plausible.
"Could be. If I don't get scholarships, it's hard to afford school."
It was a line that worked on folks like this sometimes. People with that much money rarely worried about it.
Alice's father nodded in agreement. "Stanford... Those ivory tower kids can't beat someone who's betting their life on studying. Not my son, though. Good work."
A moment later, a medium-rare steak landed on my plate. Alice nodded beside me.
"Thank you."
"While we're eating, let's talk money. I heard you invented a drug and sold the patent to a pharma company. What kind?"
"It's a device for patients to self-administer treatment for acute allergies."
"Complicated. How much did you get?"
Similar to what Alice had asked. No reason to lie. Her family wasn't about to hit me up for loans.
The steak was better than expected. I chewed before answering.
"$100,000 upfront plus 1% royalties. They're working out the payment structure with lawyers to handle taxes."
Alice's father mulled it over, like he was negotiating himself. "A bit iffy price... But $100,000 isn't chump change for a patent from a med student."
I agreed. It might seem low for the invention's value, but realistically, it was solid. I'd walked away with the price of a house on a single sheet of paper, after all.
Plus, I had an ace up my sleeve. "I'm banking more on the royalties. I see the EpiPen market hitting hundreds of millions."
That's what happened in original history. I didn't know the exact patent details or profits for the pharma company back then.
"Oh..."
He nodded gravely. Of course, the world wasn't that simple. But that was the big-picture plan. I had plenty more research lined up.
"That's the outlook, anyway. No clue how much it'll actually net."
Alice's father glanced at the table. Beer bottles and a few wine bottles cluttered it haphazardly. That caliber of wine didn't mix with beer. Reminded me of a movie scene with chapagetti and hanwoo beef.
"What'll you drink?"
"Just a bit of beer."
I had to head back to the hospital soon. Not really craving wine anyway.
Alice's father set down two beer glasses and pushed one toward me.
"Cheers!"
I clinked glasses with Alice's family. Then people around started chatting me up. Alice first, with the usual questions. How's Stanford as a foreigner? Is it okay? Studies? Research?
I just nodded. "Yeah, it's fine."
"Doctoring can't be easy."
It wasn't. "But it's the most important job in the world, right? Research, treatment—all to help people."
The conversation flowed. Alice's father squinted, thinking again.
"Heard you published five papers in top journals. I don't know academia, but that's awfully young, isn't it?"
Before I could respond, Alice chuckled beside me. "Einstein said it: If you haven't changed academia by 30, you never will."
Ah, that one. I'd quoted it to Professor Berg before.
Alice's father shot her a look. "You step it up too. Don't just admire."
Alice nodded vaguely, a bit sheepish.
"Anyway, honor meeting you. That Lasker Award you're up for—they call it the American Nobel for doctors, right?"
He set a business card in front of me. Yacht company president, apparently.
"Yeah."
"If you need support, say the word. I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you."
I pocketed the card carefully.
We returned to the hospital after vacation. A good chunk of my first residency year was already gone. I was getting the hang of things. Responsibilities were ramping up, and next year they'd grow more. Soon, I'd have juniors to teach.
Time flew if you thought about it. Patient charts were backed up by days.
No way—tons of new admits.
As I sat agonizing over them, James, the senior resident, strolled into the lounge and greeted me.
"Heard you won some award? Congrats."
Everyone mentioned the Lasker. Why did he seem so free? We worked the same hospital.
Curse of knowledge. I saw every mistake other doctors made, so my workload exploded...
I nodded. "Thanks."
James dragged a chair over, peering at my charts over my shoulder. Standard—cross-check with as many eyes as possible in the paper records era.
"This one's dehydrated. Not sure about thyroid, but electrolytes are off from it. On fluids."
Kidneys iffy. I nodded. What else could I do? Watch for leg swelling closely.
"This diarrhea case... GI prof suspects new antibiotic-associated diarrhea."
"Why?"
How much was antibiotic colitis researched in the 1970s? Probably not much—or James didn't know.
"Just symptoms so far. Started after clindamycin."
Well-known now. Pseudomembranous colitis, or CDI—Clostridium difficile infection. Antibiotics wipe normal gut flora, letting resistant C. diff thrive and cause inflammation.
Treatment: stop the antibiotic or use specific ones like vancomycin. Heals in a week usually.
In the 1970s, the bug wasn't identified yet.
Short version: another chance to accelerate medical discovery.
I looked at James. "Antibiotic-induced colitis, sounds like."
James, slacker type, but he'd read recent papers and nailed it. People grow. Good.
"Yeah?"
"I'll dig into this case. Worth researching."
"You see that in everything?"
I did. James gave me that incredulous look again. So much work ahead.