Strong Medicine (34 page)

"That's right," Peat-Smith acknowledged. "My project-the study of, mental

aging and Alzheimer's disease-is out of money.

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The university doesn't have any, at least not for allocation to me, so

I've bad to took elsewhere."

Sam assured him, "That's not unusual. Our company does give grants for

academic research if we think it's worthwhile, so let's talk about it."

"All right." For the first time Dr. Peat-Smith showed a trace of

nervousness, probably, Celia thought, because a grant was important to

him. He asked, "To start with Alzheimer's-how much do you know about it?"

"Very little," Sam said. "So assume we know nothing."

The young scientist nodded. "It isn't one of the fashionable diseases-at

least, not yet. Also there's no knowledge, only theories, about what

causes it."

"Doesn't it affect old people mostly?" Celia asked.

"Those over fifty-yes; more particularly the age group over sixty-five.

But Alzheimer's can affect someone younger. There have been cases in

people aged twenty-seven."

Peat-Smith sipped his wine, then continued. "The disease begins

gradually, with lapses of memory. People forget simple things, like how

to tie their shoelaces, or what a light switch is for, or where they

usually sit at mealtime. Then, as it gets worse, more and more memory

goes. Often the person can't identify anyone, even their husband or wife.

They may forget how to eat and have to be fed; when thirsty, they may not

know enough to ask for water. They're often incontinent, in bad cases

violent and destructive. Eventually they die of the disease, but that

takes ten to fifteen years-years which are hardest on anyone living with

an Alzheimer's victim."

Peat-Smith paused, then told them, "What goes on in the brain can be seen

after autopsy. Alzheimer's hits nerve cells in the cortex -where senses

and memory are housed. It twists and severs nerve fibers and filaments.

It litters the brain with tiny bits of a substance called plaque."

"I've read something about your research," Sam said, "but I'd like you

to tell us yourself what direction you're taking."

"A genetic direction. And because there are no animal models for

Alzheirner's--so far as we know, no animal gets the diseasemy studies

with animals are on the chemistry of the mental aging process. As you're

aware, I'm a nucleic acid chemist."

"My chemistry is a little rusty," Celia said, "but as I understand

nucleic acids, they're the 'building blocks' of DNA which make up our

genes."

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"Correct, and not so rusty." Peat-Smith smiled. "And it's likely that big

future medical advances will come when we understand the chemistry of DNA

better, showing us how genes work and why they sometimes go wrong. That's

what I'm researching now, using young and old rats, trying to find

differences, varying with age, between the animals' mRNA-messenger

ribonucleic acid-which is a template made from their DNA."

Sam interjected, "But Alzheimer's disease and the normal aging process

are two separate things, right?"

"It appears so, but there may be overlapping areas." As PeatSmith paused,

Celia could sense him organizing his thoughts, as a teacher would, into

simpler, less scientific words than he was accustomed to using.

"An Alzheimer's victim may have had, at birth, an aberration in his DNA,

which contains his coded genetic information. However, someone else, born

with more normal DNA, can change that DNA by damaging its environment,

the human body. Through smoking, for example, or a harmful diet. For a

while, our built-in DNA repair mechanism will take care of that, but as

we get older the genetic repair system may slow down or fail entirely.

Part of what I'm searching for is a reason for that slowing . . ."

At the end of the explanation, Celia said, "You're a natural teacher. You

enjoy teaching, don't you?"

Peat-Smith appeared surprised. "Doing some teaching is expected at a

university. But, yes, I enjoy it."

Another facet of this man's interesting personality, Celia thought.

She said, "I'm beginning to understand the questions. How far are you

from answers?"

"Perhaps light-years away. On the other hand we might be close."

Peat-Smith flashed his genuine smile. "That's a risk that grant givers

take."

A maAre d' brought menus and they paused to decide about lunch.

When they had chosen, Peat-Smith said, "I hope you'll visit my

laboratory. I can explain better there what I'm trying to do."

"We were counting on that," Sam said. "Right after lunch."

While they were eating, Celia asked, "W hat is your status at Cambridge,

Dr. Peat-Smith?"

"I have an appointment as a lecturer; that's more or less equivalent to

assistant professor in America. What it means is that I get

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lab space in the Biochemistry Building, a technician to help me, and freedom

to do research of my choice." He stopped, then added, "Freedom, that is, if

I can get financial backing."

"About the grant we're speaking of," Sam said. "I believe the amount

suggested was sixty thousand dollars."

"Yes. It would be over three years, and is the least I can get by on -to

buy equipment and animals, employ three full-time technicians, and conduct

experiments. There's nothing in there for me personally." Peat-Smith

grimaced. "All the same, it's a lot of money, isn't it?"

Sam nodded gravely. "Yes, it is."

But it wasn't. As both Sam and Celia knew, sixty thousand dollars was a

trifling sum compared with the annual expenditures on research by

Felding-Roth Pharmaceuticals or any major drug firm. The question, as

always, was: Did Dr. Peat-Smith's project have sufficient commercial

promise to make an investment worthwhile?

"I get the impression," Celia told Peat-Smith, "that you're quite dedicated

on the subject of Alzheimer's. Was there some special reason that got you

started?"

The young scientist hesitated. Then, meeting Celia's eyes directly, he

said, "My mother is sixty-one, Mrs. Jordan. I'm her only child; not

surprisingly, we've always been close. She's had Alzheimer's disease for

four years and become progressively worse. My father, as best he can, takes

care of her, and I go to see her almost every day. Unfortunately, she has

no idea who I am."

Cambridge University's Biochemistry Building was a three-storied red-brick

neo-Renaissance structure, plain and unimpressive. It was on Tennis Court

Road, a modest lane where no tennis court existed. Martin Peat-Smith, who

had come to lunch on a bicycle-a standard form of transportation in

Cambridge, it appeared-pedaled energetically ahead while Sam and Celia

followed in the Jaguar.

At the building's front door, where they rejoined him, PeatSmith cautioned,

"I think I should warn you, so you're not surprised, that our facilities

here are not the best. We're always crowded, short of space"-again the

swift smile-"and usually short of money. Sometimes it shocks people from

outside to see where and how we work."

Despite the warning, a few minutes later Celia was shocked.

When Peat-Smith left them alone briefly, she whispered to Sam,

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"This place is awful-like a dungeon! How can anyone do good work here?"

On entering, they had descended a stairway to a basement. The hallways

were gloomy. A series of small rooms leading off them appeared messy,

disordered, and cluttered with old equipment. Now they were in a

laboratory, not much bigger than the kitchen of a small house, which

Peat-Smith had announced was one of two that he worked in, though he

shared both with another lecturer who was pursuing a separate project.

While they were talking, the other man and his assistant had come and

gone several times, making a private conversation difficult.

The lab was furnished with worn wooden benches, set close together to

make the most of available space. Above the benches were old-fashioned

gas and electrical outlets, the latter festooned untidily, and probably

unsafely, with adapters and many plugs. On the walls were roughly made

shelves, all filled to capacity with books, papers and apparently

discarded equipment, amid it, Celia noticed, some outmoded retorts of a

type she remembered from her own chemistry work nineteen years earlier.

A portion of bench was a makeshift desk. In front was a hard Windsor

chair. Several dirty drinking mugs could be seen.

On one bench were several wire cages, inside them, twenty or so rats-two

to a cage, and in varying states of activity.

The floor of the laboratory had not been cleaned in some time. Nor had

the windows, which were narrow, high up on a wall, and providing a view

of the wheels and undersides of cars parked outside. The effect was

depressing.

"No matter how it all looks," Sam told Celia, "never forget that a lot

of scientific history has been made here. Nobel Prize winners have worked

in these rooms and walked these balls."

"That's right," Martin Peat-Smith said cheerfully; he had returned in

time to hear the last remark. "Fred Sanger was one of them; he discovered

the amino acid structure of the insulin molecule in a lab right above

us." He saw Celia looking at the old equipment. "In academic labs we

never throw anything away, Mrs. Jordan, because we never know when we'll

need it again. Out of necessity, we improvise and build much of our own

equipment."

"That's true of American academia too," Sam said.

"Just the same," Peat-Smith acknowledged, "all this must be quite a

contrast to the kind of labs you're both used to."

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Remembering the spacious, immaculate, and richly equipped laboratories

at Felding-Roth in New Jersey, Celia answered, "Frankly, yes."

Peat-Smith had brought back two stools. He offered the Windsor chair to

Celia, one of the stools to Sam, and perched on the second himself.

"It's only fair to tell you," he said, "that what I'm attempting here

involves not just problems of science, but enormously difficult

techniques. What has to be found is a means of transferring information

from a brain cell nucleus to the machinery of the cell that makes

proteins and peptides . . ."

Warming to his exposition, he drifted into scientific jargon. take a

gross mixture of mRNA from young and old rats and put it into a cell-free

system . . . RNA templates are allowed to produce proteins . . . a long

strand of mRNA may code for many proteins . . . afterwards, proteins are

separated by electrophoresis . . . a possible technique could use a

reverse transcriptase enzyme . . . then if the RNA and DNA's don't

combine, it will mean the old rat has lost that genetic capability, so

we'll begin learning which peptides are changing . . . eventually, I'll

be seeking a single peptide

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T he talk continued for more than an hour, interspersed by shrewd,

detailed questioning from Sam that impressed Celia. Although Sam had no

scientific training, during his years with Felding-Roth he had absorbed