This story appeared in the October 1994 issue of 'Radius', an online publication.

THE TREATMENT

---

George Watson couldn't live on Social Security. The small sum allotted to him each month by the government was barely enough to pay the rent on his apartment. He had nothing left over to buy food or clothing, and entertainment expenses were out of the question.

George had been borrowing a few dollars each month from his grandson, but he felt guilty about it. He needed a legitimate, additional source of income to restore his sense of self esteem. But at eighty-five-years-old, George wasn't the sort of person that employers were looking to hire. That's why he jumped at the chance to answer the ad he saw in the 'help wanted' section of his newspaper.

WANTED, HEALTHY MEN AND WOMEN, AGED SEVENTY-FIVE TO NINETY, FOR PHARMACEUTICAL TESTING. EARN UP TO $1000/MONTH. CALL PHARMA- RESEARCH TODAY! 555-6787.

The ad had appeared in Monday evening's paper. So, bright and early on Tuesday morning, George called Pharma-Research. The receptionist who answered his call asked a series of questions, apparently designed to screen out unacceptable applicants.

"Are you a smoker?"

"No."

"Are you single, married, divorced or widowed?"

"Widowed."

"Do you have a history of heart or lung disease?"

"No."

"Are you allergic to any foods or medications?"

"No."

The questions continued for several minutes. Ultimately, the receptionist decided that George was an acceptable candidate, so she made him an appointment for Thursday at noon.

George put on his best three-piece suit for the appointment. It was the one Mary had bought him for his sixty-eighth birthday, right before she died. He hoped it would bring him luck. "Well, Mary," he said to his wife's picture on the wall, "I'm as ready as I'll ever be. How do I look?" In his mind, he heard Mary's voice telling him not to worry. Telling him that he looked fine and that he should hurry up or he'd be late for his appointment. So, he ambled out to the bus stop and caught the 10:55 bus to Grant Street. From there, it was just a short fifteen minute walk to 1150 Colony Street, the testing center for Pharma-Research.

He was greeted by a man in a white lab coat who ushered him back to a stark white, sterile examining room.

"Take your clothes off please," said the man, who identified himself as 'Dr. Jameson.' "And lay on this table."

George did as instructed, and was promptly probed, prodded and poked for fifteen or twenty minutes.

"Mr. Watson, you appear to be in very good health," said the doctor after the examination had been completed. "In fact, your health is close to perfect. You're an excellent candidate for our research."

"I'm glad to hear it," said George. "If I were sickly, if I had a cold or the flu, you'd send me home without the money."
"Quite right," said the doctor. "You do realize, of course, that our treatment requires a fifteen-day in-patient period. You'll have to stay in our center for two weeks. We'll provide you meals and so forth, along with the treatment. At the end of the two-week period, we'll release you and give you a check for $500."

"$500?? The ad said $1000."

"We'll pay the additional $500 after two more weeks of out- patient testing. Then, you'll have the option of continuing on as an advanced test subject for another six months, and that testing would also be conducted on an out-patient basis."

"Are these tests dangerous?" George asked, with some trepidation.

"They shouldn't be. But, of course, the testing of any new drug is, by nature, unpredictable. In the event of injury, your estate would be paid an additional stipend. And we carry a $1,000,000 insurance policy for each of our patients, payable in case of death. Assuming, of course, that the death can be proven to be related to our tests."

George's ears picked up at the mention of the million-dollar insurance policy. That would be some legacy to leave to his son and grandson. It would more than make up for the funds he'd borrowed from them over the past decade.

"Fine. When do we start?" he asked.

"Immediately, if that's agreeable with you."

"Immediately? But I don't have any clean clothes. I don't have my toothbrush."

"Everything you need will be provided, Mr. Watson," said the doctor.

And everything was provided. They gave George a hospital gown, three hearty meals a day, a private room with a color television, and an assortment of somewhat painful intra-muscular injections.

"Ouch, that hurts," said George, after one particularly nasty shot of serum.

"I'm sure it does," said the nurse. "But the treatments are doing you a world of good. You've got more energy, a longer attention span and a better appetite than when you arrived."

"Dr. Jameson said I was in perfect health."

"Perfect for a man of eighty-five. But now, your physical reactions are more like a man of seventy."

"I'm a regular 'spring chicken.'" George replied. And, truth be told, he did feel wonderful. Walking down the corridors of the research center in his hospital gown, he wondered at the absence of the usual cramps in his legs. Plus, the halls were quite drafty, with chilly March air wafting in from unseen doors to the outside, but he didn't feel cold. That was extremely unusual because he always felt cold, even in the summertime.

"You look chipper today, Mr. Watson," said Janine, a young orderly who often brought George his meals.

"I feel great!" George replied. "I thought these tests might just kill me. Instead, I feel ready to run a marathon."

"Well, I wouldn't push myself quite that far if I were you," said the girl with a wink and a smile. George gave his biggest, brightest smile in return, and continued his trek through the halls.

When he returned to his room fifteen minutes later, he found that the girl, Janine, was still on his mind. She reminded him a little bit of Mary. That is, she reminded him of a young Mary, as she'd been when they'd first met, over sixty years ago. *George, you're an old fool*, he thought to himself. *Mary had dark brown hair; Janine is a blonde. Mary was a petite woman; Janine must be close to six feet tall. And Mary had small, shapely breasts; Janine's breasts are shapely, but they're certainly not small. The two women are nothing alike.* But it wasn't Janine's physical appearance which reminded George of Mary, it was her personality. Like Mary, Janine was an optimistic, happy soul. Like Mary, Janine always had a smile on her lips and a kind word for a friend. "If only I were thirty years younger." George mused. "Then, I'd just be another thirty years too old for Janine." He wished it were possible for him to take Janine on a date, show her a good time, maybe kiss those smiling lips. George decided that the drugs must be increasing his testosterone levels. He hadn't had those kinds of thoughts for a woman in over a decade.

A week later, George realized that the drugs were increasing more than his testosterone levels. The stubble on his beard had gone from pure white, to black. And the roots of the hair on his head had gone black. He began to look like a man who had dyed his hair grey, a man who was in need of a new dye job to cover those tell-tale roots. He questioned Dr. Jameson when his two weeks had elapsed and he was ready to begin the out-patient phase of his treatment.

"Just what is in those shots?" he asked Jameson, while shoving the check for $500 in his pocket.

"The fountain of youth." Jameson replied.

"What? You're putting me on."

"Mr. Watson, we've been giving you an experimental youth drug. The end result of the treatments is still unknown. We don't know just how well it's going to work. And we don't know how long the effects will last, either. If this bothers you, you're certainly welcome to drop out of the test group. We have several other candidates ready to replace you."

"No. If it's Ok with you, I'll continue with the treatments." George quickly replied.

"Fine. In that case, we'll expect you back here on Friday for your next series of injections," said the doctor.

George showed for his next injection that Friday and the following Wednesday. And after another two weeks, he signed on for another month of testing. After that period had elapsed, he opted to continue the tests for another two months. Because the youth treatment was working. His hair had grown out dark and thick. The skin on his face was becoming supple and smooth; age- old wrinkles were disappearing. He had to move to another apartment to ward off questions from inquisitive neighbors, and he thanked the lord that his son and grandson lived in Ohio. Because, after four months, George looked like a man of thirty. "I'm quite pleased with the results of our testing, Mr. Watson," said Dr. Jameson on a sunny summer afternoon. "The formula has been more effective on you than it's been on 90 percent of our other test subjects. I think we're making real progress here."

George silently thought that he was more pleased than Dr. Jameson. He had regained his youth, for god's sake. And at that point, George decided he was going to take advantage of the situation. So he reintroduced himself to the blonde Janine. He told her that his name was 'George Young' and he asked her out on a date.

A second date was arranged shortly after the first, followed by a third, fourth and fifth.

"You're so worldly, George," Janine told him one evening, after a particularly delightful dinner and trip to the theater. "You're so much more mature than other men your age." Truer words had never been spoken. George hated to keep secrets from Janine, but he wasn't about to tell her the truth. He wanted to keep the relationship going for as long as possible.

Meanwhile, his age had stabilized, so he still looked to be about twenty-five or thirty. *Well, this is good*, George thought. *Janine certainly wouldn't want to date a fifteen-year-old.*

Dr. Jameson explained it to George in layman's terms. "The drug reverses the effects of aging," Jameson said, "but it isn't designed to take you back, prior to puberty. That would require effecting an entirely different set of hormones. So, that's why the effects are leveling off. Now, we have to see how long we can maintain your appearance of youth. Assuming, of course, that you want to continue with the testing."

"Yes, please. Let's continue," said George.

So, the injections continued, and his dates with Janine intensified. George found that they had much in common. Similar views on politics, similar moral values, similar tastes in art, music, fiction and drama.

"It's been years since I've known anyone who liked the work of Prokofiev as much as I do, George," she said, after a particularly passionate session of love-making, accompanied by the sounds of a particularly passionate symphony. George stroked her long blonde hair and considered his good fortune.

"I guess we're just . . . simpatico." George replied. "We're kindred spirits."

"Oh, George, couldn't you have said something a little less trite?" she teased.

"Sorry," he replied, gazing at her naked figure lying next to him in bed. "Your beauty has left me tongue-tied, unable to express myself more eloquently."

"I see," she said. "But would you still care for me if I were old and gray?"

"Would you care for me? I mean, if I were old and gray." "Of course, I would," she replied. He had his doubts. Yes, Janine had been friendly to him when she knew him as 'George Watson.' But there had been serious unspoken limits to that friendship.

Fortunately, his alliance with the good people at Pharma- Research was flourishing. Dr. Jameson and his associates were now running tests on George every day. He ran on treadmills, took a series of eye and hearing tests, donated syringe after syringe full of blood. That was all in addition to his weekly injections. And his salary had been increased from $1000 to $1500 per month.

One afternoon sometime later, George's grandson called, wondering why George hadn't been asking for money. "Is everything OK, Grandpa?" asked the young man.

"Everything's fine, David. Believe me."

"Your voice sounds different. Are you ill?"

"I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than fine. I'm working. I got a job at this medical testing facility. That's why I haven't needed extra money from you."

"You're working? At your age??"

"Yep."

"Grandpa!! Quit that job. You're too old to work. Let me send you a few hundred dollars. I'm willing to support you." "It's not necessary."

"Would you like me to come out for a visit? I haven't seen you in months."

"No!"

"But, Grandpa . . . "

"David, leave me alone. Let me have my independence."

"What do you do at this wonderful job?"

"Uh . . . just light cleaning and general maintenance." "How many hours a week?"

"Just a few."

"And they're paying you enough to live on?"

"Yep."

"Grandpa. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Nope."

"Grandpa!"

"Goodbye, David."

Sooner or later, George knew he was going to have to tell his family the truth. But there was a non-disclosure clause in his contract with the testing facility. He couldn't risk angering the goose that laid his golden egg.

The relationship with Janine was beginning to get very serious; he realized that he was thinking of Mary less and less and less. It was hard to think of Mary with beautiful Janine spending multiple nights at his apartment. And it was hard to think straight at all considering the number of lies he was having to fabricate. Janine, by now an almost constant companion, had begun asking more and more questions about his personal life, and about the way he made his living.

"What do you do at Pharma-Research, George?" she asked one day.

"I assist the doctors with the test subjects, same as you." "That job's beneath you, George. With your knowledge and experience, you could get a better job almost anywhere."

"I like what I'm doing, Janine. Don't you like it--working at Pharma-Research?"

"Yes."

"So, why shouldn't I like it?" he asked. She had no adequate response. Later, she questioned him about David.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"He's my cousin."

"You certainly talk to him on the phone a lot."

"We're friends."

"And who's that 'Jack' person?" she said, referring to George's son.

"He's David's father."

"So, he's your uncle, then?"

"Yeah. We're friends too."

"Why haven't you ever told them about me?"

"I---I don't want them to tell my parents that we're just about living together. They wouldn't approve."

"Your parents? I've never heard you speak about your parents, before."

"We're not that close."

"Yes, but . . . "

"Janine, I don't care to discuss this any longer. Instead of talking about my family, let's talk about yours," he said. "Oh no you don't. You're not going to turn this into a discussion about my family."

"And why not?" he asked.

"Because, I--I don't talk about my family. I ran away from home at seventeen. And I haven't seen any of them, since," she said, somewhat reluctantly. This bit of news came as a surprise to George.

"You mean you've been living alone, on the street, since you were seventeen?"

"Yeah. I-uh-I worked as a waitress, a fast food clerk, anything to make a living."

"Anything?" he asked, wondering if she had any other surprises in store for him.

"Well, almost anything," she replied. "Until I met the Pharma- research people. They gave me a--a new beginning. A career. So, now you know my story, let's get back to yours. Tell me about your parents!"

"Janine, let's make a deal. I won't ask you any more about your past, if you don't ask any more about mine," he said. "At least tell me something. Tell me what your Dad's like. Does he look like you?"

"Not really. I'm better looking," he said with a smile. "Come on, George," she said, sulking. "Show me a picture, at least." George pulled out a snapshot of his son at age forty-nine and passed it to Janine.

"This is my Dad," he said. "Satisfied?"

"Yeah. He's a great looking guy. So young, too."

"Well, he married early. Now, no more questions, OK?"

"Alright," she said reluctantly. "It's a deal. No more questions."

Janine was true to her word. She didn't ask any more questions. And, for about a month and a half, George continued his new life on 'cloud nine.' Then, without warning, his world exploded in his face.

"Mr. Watson, sit down," said Dr. Jameson on a chilly afternoon in early spring when George had arrived for his weekly injection. "We having something to discuss. Something rather serious."

"What is it?" asked George. "Am I ill? Is the drug having some sort of side effect?"

"No, it's nothing like that," said the doctor.

George breathed a premature sigh of relief. "Then, what do you want to talk about?"

"Mr. Watson---George, you've been getting regular injections of our formula for almost a year, now."

"Yes, I know. So what's your point?"

"Well, the time has come to stop the treatments."

"Stop the treatments? No! You can't do that!"

"We have to move our testing onto the next phase, Mr. Watson. We have to determine if the effects are permanent, or if the process will reverse itself without continued treatments."

"But, Dr. Jameson. You don't understand. I have a whole new life now. Your treatment has given me a second chance. I can't go back to the way I was. I don't want to be old again. Please."

"Mr. Watson, there's a good chance the effects are permanent. You may age naturally from twenty-five to eighty-five, just like you did the first time."

"No. It's not fair. Suppose the effects aren't permanent?"

"That's a chance we all will have to take."

"You want to take a chance with my life!! With my youth!"

"You've already had your youth, Mr. Watson. This second youth was given to you by Pharma-Research. You have no real claims to it."

"But . . . "

"Listen. We'll continue to monitor you. Your physical responses are crucial to us. When and if the effects begin to reverse themselves, we can sit down and discuss further treatments. You will, of course, continue to be paid, assuming you continue coming in for tests. We'll even increase your monthly allowance to $2000."

"I don't care about the money."

"Mr. Watson, go home. Call us in a few days. We'll arrange your next appointment at that time." So, George went home, in a blue funk. Already he was feeling tired and irritable. Already, he could sense his hair turning grey and the wrinkles forming on his face and neck.

"George, what's wrong?" Janine asked him later that evening. "You're acting strange."

"I'm not acting strange."

"Yes, you are. Tell me what's bothering you."

"Janine, leave me alone," he snapped. "Just leave me alone. Stop your incessant nagging." That statement hurt Janine's feelings, so she didn't talk to him for the rest of the night.

Next morning, George didn't feel any better. In fact, he felt worse. Janine tried to make up with him; she even suggested a love-making session.

"I don't want to, Janine. I'm not up to it, today."

"Why not?"

"I'm impotent."

"You're not impotent."

"OK then, I have a headache." Janine took the hint. She grabbed a few dresses and took off for her own apartment. And that made George feel absolutely terrible. But he didn't call her. He didn't beg her to come back.

*What's the point?* he thought. *I'm too old for her. Just too damn old.*

Two days later, George called Pharma-Research and asked to speak to Dr. Jameson.

"Mr. Watson. How are you?"

"Just dandy."

"Listen, we're going to have a group therapy session for all of our patients who're entering this final phase of testing. Every one of them feels the same way you do. So, we've asked one of our staff psychiatrists to say a few words, offer encouragement, and generally help all of you to go on with your lives."

"Gee, thanks doc."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Mr. Watson. Neither does self pity. So, come to the session at 8 P.M. on Thursday night. It'll make you feel better. Trust me."

George now wished he'd never begun the treatments in the first place. It had all been so unfair, to Janine, to his son and grandson, and to his memories of Mary.

Janine called that evening. "George, why are you mad at me?" she asked.

"I'm not mad."

"You're punishing me for something."

"I'm not punishing you."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because, I don't want you here."

"Oh George." He could hear her weeping on the other end of the line. But he wasn't going to give in. He couldn't see her. Her smiling face would be the final nail in his heart. How could he ever make her understand, without telling her the truth? On Thursday evening, he arrived at the headquarters of Pharma- Research. Suddenly, the testing facility looked like a tomb, a tomb with his name on it.

The room where they were holding the therapy session was filled with about twenty 'young people' by the time George got there at five of 8:00. Most of them were sobbing into handkerchiefs or muttering angrily to themselves. "How is this going to make me feel better?" he wondered, silently. "These people all look like they've lost their best friends."

"Thank you all for coming," said Dr. Jameson from the podium. "Now just relax and make yourselves comfortable. Some of our test subjects have yet to arrive, so please be patient. And remember, your world hasn't ended. Plus, none of you look any older than you did a week ago. Consider that."

George wandered to the window to compose himself while he waited. And through the window, he saw a car drive up. Then, he saw Janine get out of the car. A moment later, she was walking through the door of the therapy room.

"Janine!" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked in response.

"I--Well--I---Janine, I'm not a testing assistant."

"You're not?" Her eyes widened with wonder.

"No. I'm a test subject, Janine. They've been giving me some kind of youth drug. I'm really eighty-six-years-old. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, George," she said, a smile suddenly appearing on her delicate face. "You see, I'm really seventy-eight. I'm a test subject, too!"


end