FanStory.com - DUEL with the DEVIL - Chapter 45by Jim Wile

Recap of Chapter 44: Julia works hard with Brian to help keep him busy while his depression medication takes effect. Gradually he begins to improve, and within the usual two-week period it takes, he feels much better mentally, although his pain is bad.

Julia reveals to him that she never threw away the rest of the Dipraxa as he had asked her to. While he waits for new raw materials to arrive so he can make more and figure out what went wrong with it, she is willing to dole out his safe level of the drug each day to relieve the pain that is so distracting to him.

With renewed vigor, he figures out what went wrong but not how to solve it yet. Julia has another surprise for him—a new kitten—and it is the kitten’s antics one day when it climbed the screen on the porch that triggered the solution to Brian. He calls his old friend, Dr. Rieke, to brainstorm it with him.

Chapter 45

I’m invigorated now and practically feel like my old self again. I call Paul Rieke and invite him here for a visit tomorrow, a Saturday, and he promises to come. It’s close to a three-hour drive from his home to ours, but he’s willing to make the trip to see me.

No longer just a mentor-mentee relationship, I consider Paul to be a close friend now. He is over twice my age, but he’s one of those ageless people whose chronological age just seems irrelevant when you talk to him. I plan to discuss what’s been going on in my life the last few months. Like Julia, he will understand the pain, the addiction, and the depression that have plagued me, since he lived through them with his nephew’s family.

“Brian, Julia, it’s great to see you both,” he says as we greet him at the door around noon. He gives Julia a hug and a peck on the cheek. We hug too.

I hang up his coat, and we head toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink, Paul? There’s someone we’d like you to meet in here too.”

“If you’ve got any beer, I’d be glad to take one off your hands.”

“You got it.” As we enter the kitchen, there is Nadia up on the forbidden island. I pick her up and give her the usual “No cats on counters!” warning, for all the good it does.

“Paul, this is Nadia, who, along with Julia, inspired the possible solution to the Dipraxa problem I’ve told you about. I should call her Naughty-a for the mischief she continually gets into.”

“Well, aren’t you a clever little kitty?” he asked her, reaching out his fingers for her to sniff. “I know your Mama’s clever,” he said, winking at Julia. He knows just how to approach a cat, and after she sniffs for a while, he begins to carefully stroke her cheeks and beneath her chin.

I hand her to him, and he lifts her into his hands, placing one beneath her and petting her with the other. She begins purring.

Julia hands me a Heineken and sets one on the island for Paul for when he tires of holding the cat.

“Paul, I bought a shepherd’s pie I’m planning to serve for lunch,” she says. “I don’t know when you had breakfast, but when do you think you might be hungry for lunch?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. Anytime you want to serve lunch is just fine.”

“Babe, why don’t you and Paul retreat to your lab while I get this pie going? You’ll have about an hour to talk before lunch is ready.”

“Thanks, Sweetie.” I give her a quick kiss, and then Paul and I head upstairs to talk turkey.

I haven’t talked to Paul about any of what’s been happening lately, so I spend the next half-hour reviewing the entire experience from the initial double-dose of Dipraxa, right up to the present discovery of an idea of how to address the problem of euphoria it’s now capable of producing. Paul lets me do most of the talking with an occasional question thrown in, as well as great commiseration for the perceived failure of Dipraxa, my resulting addiction to it, and the severe depression I have just come through. He is such a good listener.

When I bring him up to speed with where I am now and present my theory of how I think I can modify the genes that govern the “spiky shape” of the endorphins the pituitary produces, Paul is ready to jump right into the discussion.

Of course, this spiky appearance, as I described it to Julia, was really just a way for her to picture what I was talking about. The so-called spikes and the smooth appearance of the solution I posited really have nothing to do with the physical appearance of the endorphins. Paul understands this. The spikiness is a good way to describe it to a non-scientist, but it has more to do with their chemical structure and the position of their electrical charges than with their physical appearance.

I have always wondered why some individuals seem to be impervious to the euphoria response of opioids. Paul and I discuss the likelihood that the structure of their opioid receptors prevents the normal bonding with opioids, at least not to the same extent as most people.

And what is it that determines the structure of the endorphins produced by the pituitary when an excess of Dipraxa reaches it, as well as the structure of the opioid receptors themselves? A person’s genes.

Gene manipulation and therapy have been Paul’s specialties all along, and he has many ideas we consider for an approach. He’s in total agreement that this is the way to address the problem.

“I’ve even thought of a name for the Dipraxa variant, Paul.”

“What would that be?”

“Glyptophan.”

“Hmm. Let me see if I can guess why. ‘Glypto’ is Greek for ‘to carve or sculpt,’ while ‘phan’ means merely ‘to appear or show.’ Thus, ‘Glyptophan’ would mean ‘to appear carved or sculpted.’ Seems perfect, even though we know this is just a way to picture what’s going on—carving off the ‘spikes,’ so to speak. How is it you happen to know those Greek prefixes and suffixes?”

“You remember I worked in the pharmaceutical industry for a few years,” I tell him. “I was privy to a lot of naming conventions. How is it you know them?”

“Me? I’m a wise old man who’s learned a thing or two here and there. I think Glyptophan is a great name. Sounds very drug-like, unlike some of the goofy names today. Domperidone—sounds like an expensive champagne. Moxifloxacin—there’s a mouthful for you.”

“That’s funny. I said the same thing to Julia when I came up with Dipraxa; it was better than a lot of peculiar names out there.”

“Brian, I’ll say it again. I think you’re definitely onto the right approach for this. I suppose we can discuss how to achieve this so-called carved or sculpted look after lunch. Have you got any pituitary gland cells and/or Dipraxa-induced endorphin cells that we can look at with your equipment?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t. Maybe you can help me figure out how to isolate these cells in some way other than brain surgery on my pituitary. I’d prefer to avoid that if I can.”

He laughed. “Hopefully we can come up with a way.”

We talk for a few more minutes, then it’s time to head downstairs when Julia texts me that lunch is ready.

(2 more chapters to go)