he were having a private conversation within. Then he made a sweet smile. And before they knew it his mouth opened.
“He’s saying something.”
Marcy lowered her ear to his mouth. “I think he’s singing.”
And in fluttery breaths she heard: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”
But what sent a bolt of recognition through her was Jack’s voice: He was singing in the high, thin, honeyed pitch of a woman.
The next moment Jack let out a raspy sigh and sank into sleep, leaving the others wondering what the hell had just passed through their patient.
38
THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES took Rene’s hand. “Great job. We’re very proud of you, all of you,” he said. “You’re making medical history.”
“Thank you,” said Rene, still trying to process whose grip she had just been in.
The president made his way down the line of nurses and other staffers of Broadview Nursing Home, being led by Carter Lutz and an entourage of VIPs, including Gavin Moy and other GEM Tech execs, officers from the Alzheimer’s Association and other health care organizations. Also with them were Nick Mavros, Jordan Carr, and several other clinical physicians as well as security guards.
The president entered the dayroom and chatted with residents who sat in their chairs and had their photos taken. Some recognized him from television and were delighted. Other patients—those not receiving Memorine— were not sure who he was. One of the women announced that she saw Dwight Eisenhower once. The president complimented her on her memory.
As the president approached him, Louis Martinetti rose to attention with a crisp salute. He was dressed in his uniform, now two sizes too small for him. Several people chuckled, although Rene felt a pang of embarrassment for Louis. He did not seem to be playacting but stood there in stern pride with his Purple Heart, Combat Infantryman Badge, parachutist badge, and other medals and looked straight ahead as the president stopped before him, saluted back, then walked on by, smiling and nodding.
Carter Lutz called attention to the gathering and thanked the president for visiting them. He praised the president for his track record of advocating for the elderly and supporting legislation aimed at early detection of Alzheimer’s disease. Lutz also thanked him for keeping his campaign pledge and embracing “the Memorine Solution.”
The president thanked Dr. Lutz and everybody associated with the Memorine study. “One doesn’t have to look beyond this room to see miracles in action. I congratulate all of you and the good people at the other clinical sites and the researchers and scientists who have made this possible. Memorine represents a sea change in the treatment of Alzheimer’s disease. I wish you continued success in bringing hope to AD victims and their caregivers everywhere.”
A joyous applause filled the room.
The president was right, of course. The AD unit at Broadview was a changed place. In the months since Rene first entered the ward, the decibel level of the chatter had multiplied. And not just the white noise mumbling and gibberish “word salads,” but talk—purposeful, coherent talk. Patients communicating with staffers, other patients, visitors, themselves. Likewise, the collective kinetic energy level had risen. A year ago, a time-lapse video of the ward would pass for a still life, with an occasional nurse or aide scurrying across the camera or a few patients shuffling by on foot or walker across the dayroom set. Today the ward could easily be mistaken for an active senior citizens center. Patients who months ago would sit and gape at nothing for hours on end were now mingling with others or following aides around asking if they could help.
The president concluded, “I need not remind you that a cure for Alzheimer’s disease would save over fifty billion dollars of American taxpayer money in health care.”
More applause.
Of course, the president’s endorsement was also a public relations bonanza for GEM Tech, whose stock value was soaring as the public anticipated the drug being brought to market soon. And everybody knew that, including Jordan Carr, who was beaming brightly at Rene from the other side of the room.
When the place settled down, Nick addressed the group, thanking the president for his support. “We are seeing extraordinary progress. And the evidence is in this room, as you have seen, Mr. President. But more work needs to be done, and that’s what we’re doing in collaboration with researchers at GEM Tech.”
Some of the nurses and aides nodded in agreement. Jordan Carr, who was standing with the GEM Tech VIPs, shot a glance to Gavin Moy and the other suits, then turned toward Nick, where all lines of attention converged.
In guarded language, Nick praised the progress of the trials, then added a subtle warning: “But I must caution that the road to success is long and winding and fraught with unexpected turns, although I am very confident that as we continue to make our way, one measure at a time, we will succeed.”
More applause.
The president and entourage left the room, and Louis snapped to attention with a salute.
BEHIND NICK’S CAUTIOUS WORDING WERE THINGS that the president did not see: the growing number of recovering patients lapsing into regressive flashbacks. The weird infantilizing of their personalities. The sudden morphing into some past self that talked to people who weren’t there while not recognizing those who were. The sometimes frightening lapses into traumatic flashbacks when the only recourse was to dope patients down until they had no more affect than when lost in the fog of dementia.
That’s what the president did not see. Or the cameras.
39
THEY ALSO DID NOT SEE THE Louis Martinetti beneath the chest of medals.
Every health care worker has patients she likes and patients she dislikes. Some are simply unpleasant to deal with—people ill-tempered, mean, or belligerent. At the other end are individuals in whose comfort and well-being one feels an extra emotional investment. For Rene, Louis Martinetti fell into that special category of favorites.
Yes, Louis reminded her of her own father. Each was a Korean War vet, each had lived an active mental life, and each had been a devoted family man and a great guy. It was those ordinary “great guy” characteristics that over the months were beginning to reemerge and endear Louis to Rene.
An hour after the president had left, Rene sat with Louis in the small parlor with a view of the woods. “So, what did you think of the president’s visit?”
“Pretty good.”
“I think he liked your saluting him like that.”
Louis smiled proudly. He was still wearing his army shirt with the decoration and his old dog tags around his neck. Even in his facial expression he resembled Rene’s father. And in these quiet moments she was brought back to tender intimacies as a girl. Perhaps that was why Louis’s progress was of special concern for her—as if, in Jordan Carr’s metaphor, she were witnessing the defeat of the demon that had left her father a ragged husk of himself.
Louis’s progress was remarkable on all fronts. Nick’s imaging sequence over the last several months showed a reduction of protein deposits and neurofibrillary tangles in the frontal temporal lobe—the seat of language and logic functions—as well as the hippocampus, a region of the brain essential to maintaining memory. Likewise, the gray-matter tissue had increased in density. As his functional abilities for his basic activities of daily living (dressing, personal hygiene, feeding himself) approached baseline normal, Louis had become more self-directed and more socially deft than he had been, now mingling with other residents. He had also become more concerned with his appearance, no longer emerging from his room in mismatched tops and pants. And, of course, Rene always complimented him on how nice he looked, and Louis loved that.
