I lift my phone and call the Contract Research Company in charge of the clinical trial. No harm in trying again.
“Pinnacle Research,” the receptionist answers. “How may I help you?”
“Hello, Cassidy,” I say.
We’ve spoken about patients many times. She’s always been good at diverting me to the relevant trial manager. Pinnacle isn’t the biggest CRO, but they’re effective. I’ve never hit a stumbling block with them before. The rejection was a shock.
“Morning, Dr. Jones. Who are you looking to speak to?”
“The manager, Dr. Gordon, on the Lunavax trial.” She pauses, unlike her usual always-happy-to-help manner.
“Dr. Gordon isn’t taking calls,” she says softly. “Lunavax is now closed.”
“Closed as in to my patient or closed to all?” The question comes out sharper than intended. There’s a squeak of metal on the other end of the line as if she’s pushed her chair backward.
“Now, Dr. Jones, if you’ve received a rejection with regard to a clinical trial from Pinnacle…” I recognize the switch from friendly to scripted. I’ve joined the line to be handled and dismissed. “Your patient perhaps did not meet our criteria as well as others. Funding is limited, as you know. Treatment cannot be guaranteed.”
“I understand that, but—”
She cuts me off. “I’m sorry, Doctor, please put any further information requests in writing. Goodbye.”
There’s a click of her replacing her own handset, then my own goes dead. Deep down, I know I’ve exhausted all avenues. All the normal ones anyway. But I’ve stood in that man’s shoes andprayed for someone to help me. If I can do something to give him more time with his wife, I will.
Antonia’s business card sits propped on my computer screen. It’s simple—white and blue with the Opengate company logo at the center. I pick it up, turning it over in my fingers. From what I know of Opengate, they can open doors. They have connections in almost every pharmaceutical company and CRO. Sometimes, the right person has to ask. A contact needs to force a door open.
Reaching out to her is a risk. If she’s offended, it could end her potential partnership with my retreat. But if she can help, I can buy a family more time. Before I can change my mind, I punch in her number and hit call.
This isn’t about the retreat. Not today.
She answers fast. “Antonia Cole, speaking.”
“Antonia, it’s Ben Jones here.”
Silence for a beat. I wait.
“Ben, we already have an appointment scheduled. Do we not?”
“This isn’t about the retreat,” I say. “I wouldn’t call unless it mattered.”
“I assumed as much. I’m listening.”
I relax. She’s cool as expected, but professional. And she’s willing to listen.
“I have a patient. Terminal diagnosis. Rejected from the new clinical trial with Pinnacle for Lunavax. I’ve exhausted all my usual channels. The CRO has closed the trial.”
“What are you asking for?” she asks, direct and to the point.
I imagine her leaning back in her chair, phone at her ear, one leg crossed over the other. In control, as I envision she always is if our meeting was anything to go by.
“Influence,” I reply. “If Opengate has any leverage with Pinnacle, I need someone to reexamine the file.”
“And in your professional opinion, this patient has time on her side.”
Silence again. She waits for me to speak. Simple questions that if I get wrong could slam the door closed on the Collins family’s hope.
“If she’s accepted onto the trial, yes. The benefit could be substantial. Years potentially.” She still doesn’t respond. ”I’m not asking for guaranteed approval. Just a review.”
“Why this patient?” she asks.