Once they’d recruited therapists and had demonstrated that the neuroheadset provided sufficient resolution and was reasonably comfortable to wear, Emma and her team moved onto the next phase of the project, which was proving that the therapy could work without her doing it. Two stages were involved: firstly, putting subjects and therapists in the functional MRI scanner and seeing whether areas of activation matched; and secondly, demonstrating with the neurobiofeedback that the therapist could cause some change without any direct link to the subject’s brain. Not surprisingly, most of the therapists fell by the wayside and indeed weren’t too pleased to have done so and threatened unfair dismissal. However, their contract had made it clear that they’d all signed up to a probationary period for their skills to be assessed, so they didn’t have a case.
Miraculously, subjects proved to be readily available as a result of the connection the unit had with an American benefactor. Ethical approval also wasn’t a problem as the project seemed to be covered by rather over-inclusive approval granted for other studies being carried out in the unit.
In general, there were very few casualties from the trials, although a few subjects required admission for further investigations. This was put down to the build-up of the sort of feedback loop that Emma had experienced earlier in her clinical work. One therapist found it all too much to cope with and was admitted to a psychiatric ward with ‘nervous exhaustion’.
It didn’t take long for the team to feel that they finally had a robust technique that could be rolled out clinically as a pilot in a London hospital. Emma’s colleague Dr Janna Roit was also invited to join the Foundation as a fourth trustee. A date was set for a press conference with invitations sent out to all the major technology and medical correspondents of the national and international press and media.
It was an exciting time for all and the Daniel Armstrong Foundation was ready to commence its pioneering work.
August 2005
DANIEL ARMSTRONG FOUNDATION – PRESS CONFERENCE
“Thank you, everyone, for coming to this inaugural press conference for the Daniel Armstrong Foundation. As you will know from reports in the press and media, my husband, the late Daniel Armstrong, requested in his will that this Foundation should be established, and he named me as the sole trustee with responsibility for deciding the precise purpose and operation of the Foundation. Although I was of course honoured to be asked to take on this responsibility, I felt it only right and proper for this responsibility to be shared in a more democratic fashion.”
“I would therefore like to introduce the three other members of the board of trustees for the Daniel Armstrong Foundation: Dr Janna Roit, Dr Jim Lawrence and Dr Michael Moore. As you will see from your press pack, each is a specialist in their own field: Dr Roit in palliative care, Dr Lawrence in cognitive neuroscience and Dr Moore in functional imaging.”
“Michael, perhaps you would like to continue:”
“Thank you, Emma. Up until now, the management of patients with chronic or terminal illnesses like cancer has often been on an ad hoc basis, with chance playing a significant part in how pain and suffering is managed. Following on from some research carried out by Dr Lawrence and myself, in conjunction with Dr Jones, we now believe that we are ready for a fundamental paradigm shift in palliative care and pain management, involving functional imaging, neurobiofeedback and a cognitive neuroscience understanding of the countertransference process. The Daniel Armstrong Foundation will take this forward with research and practical implementation, and I am delighted to announce that this will commence with a pilot project in the Witherington Hospital, London, next month.”
The audience applauded.
“Thank you, Jim. Are there any questions?” asked Emma.
“Tim Evans, Health Correspondent, ‘The Guardian’: Excuse me for my scepticism, but this does sound a bit like science fiction. Can you clarify how this technique actually works?”
“Jim, would you like to respond?” asked Emma.
“Certainly. Essentially there are two parts to this: human and technological. The human part is a therapist, a bit like a conventional cognitive-behavioural therapist as used in treating depression, but one who has a highly tuned ability to pick up a patient’s emotional state. The really innovative part is the technology we use – a combination of a functional MRI scanner and a biofeedback device that the patient wears – that enables us to modulate or modify the emotion before the therapist projects it back to the patient. It’s this vastly enhanced countertransference process that we believe will reshape the care of patients with chronic or terminal illnesses. And in case any potential competitors are watching these proceedings, I should add that a patent application is in the works.”
The audience laughed.
“Thank you, Michael,” said Emma. “I think we have another question from the second row.”
“Yes, thank you. Frederic Boussain, ‘Paris Match’: Is there any risk of harm to the patient if the technique is wrongly applied?”
“An excellent question,” said Emma. “As far as we know from extensive trials, the risk is extremely low, but it does depend on the quality of the therapist, just as would be the case with even conventional cognitive-behavioural therapy. And of course, our technology has sophisticated safeguards to prevent any harm to the patient.”
“Any other questions?” asked Emma.
“Yes. Dominic Quatermain, ‘The Financial Times’: Is there any truth in the rumour circulating on various social networking sites that the military might have an interest in funding this technology – for mind control, for instance?”
The audience laughed.
“I think I can answer that question, Emma, if you don’t mind,” said Jim. “The notion of mind control is pure science fiction; our technology scans but it cannot take control of the patient; the autonomy of the patient is always maintained.”
“And I would like to add that the Foundation would never knowingly be bedfellows with any military or similar establishment.” Emma added. “The advantage of the Daniel Armstrong Foundation is that our own resources give us the freedom to use our technique as and when we choose – for instance, in our pilot project that will be provided at no charge whatsoever to the NHS.”
The audience briefly applauded.
“I think we have time for one further question.” said Emma.
“Yes, Wyn Jones, Medical Correspondent, ‘BBC News’: Dr Jones – no relation of course – do you have a name for your technique?”
“Yes, Wyn,” said Emma, “we’re calling it ‘Ocular-guided Augmented Empathy’ or ‘OAE’ for short.
August 2005, one week later
The phone rang and Emma picked it up.
“Hi, Emma, it’s Michael. Look, sorry to bother you at home, but something has come up here and we really need you to come over pronto.”
“What’s the problem then? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Sorry, no, it’s all a bit, er, delicate.” said Michael.
“Okay,” said Emma wearily, “I’m on my way. I should be there in 10 if the traffic’s reasonable.”
Emma left the house wondering what on earth the problem was that couldn’t wait until the morning.
A sizeable part of the problem became apparent as soon as she arrived at the Cognitive Neuroscience Unit, as two burly security guards seemed to be standing in for Doric columns on either side of the main doors. Emma showed them her security card and was surprised by their rapid transformation into servility, which included both of them opening the doors for her.
Michael met Emma in the main hall and ushered her into a small seminar room just off the main drag of the ground floor.
“You’re not going to believe this, Emma, but we’ve been taken over,” he said.
“Not by aliens, I hope,” said Emma, half-jokingly.
“I wish it was. No, it’s the benefactor who finances us who’s come in with the heavy brigade. Apparently, we’re now seconded to the US Department of Defense, or something along those lines.”
“Christ, I don’t believe it! So, who exactly is this nameless benefactor whom we’ve never even met that’s sold us out?”
“Let me check.” He glanced at some papers in his pocket. “It’s something or someone called ‘Armstrong Industries’.”
The penny finally dropped; names open doors.
August 2005, another week later
Emma finished her coffee and turned off the kitchen hi-fi that had been playing Puccini’s ‘La Boheme’. She sighed. She was easily tired these days. She inspected the glass-fronted cabinet hanging on the wall. She undid the latches and swung open the glass door. Inside, there were row upon row of exquisitely beautiful butterflies with their names beneath them. She’d memorised these years ago and could recite them in her sleep: Long-tailed Blue, Purple Hairstreak, Clouded Yellow, Brimstone; the names tripped off her tongue as easily as they had when she was a child. She gently traced a finger across the wings of her first love, the Large White, and then moved her finger down to her last love, the Red Admiral. She carefully closed the glass door and fastened the latches.
Emma went to the window overlooking the church where she and Daniel were married barely six months ago. Just behind the church, she could see the graveyard shielded by majestic beech trees, glistening greenly in the sunshine, and right at the edge, she could make out Daniel’s still virginally clean headstone.
“You bastard,” she mouthed silently to the headstone.
She turned and walked back to the table, grabbing her shoulder-bag, and started going downstairs. At least she still had three very important things left in her life: the house that Daniel had left her; her ability, which she had every intention of pursuing further whatever obstacles were put in her way; and the bundle of joy busily growing inside her.
She patted her bump contentedly and didn’t think there was anything obnoxious at all about doing that - whatever some people might say. But she was already late for the antenatal clinic and she really quite enjoyed seeing the midwives bustling around in brown uniforms and sensible shoes. Any memories she had of a similarly attired woman in her mother’s bedroom had long since disappeared.
On her way out of the front door, the builder due to do some work in the house greeted her: “Morning, Dr Jones, how’s the bump?”
“Growing, Bob, growing, and I’m in a bit of a rush to get to the antenatal clinic.”
“Before you dash off, could you remind me which room you want me to start on?”
“Of course, Bob. It’s the one on the left; my late husband’s office.”
“Okay, Dr Jones. I’ll see you later.”
Emma thought it was about time that Daniel’s room was put back into use, and turning his therapy room into the nursery seemed only appropriate given what she’d learnt about his activities.
She just had enough time for the start of the OAE pilot before the baby was due; Department of Defense or no Department of Defense, she wasn’t going to allow that to be scuppered although it was always possible that her bump might have a say in the matter.
Exactly how she was going to deal with the unholy alliance that the Foundation had been unwittingly dragged into with the US of A was for another day. And there were so many other questions that remained unanswered.
Wheels within wheels, what had she got herself into?
Bob couldn’t have agreed more and pulled a balaclava over his head.
August 2005, an hour later
Finding a parking space near the antenatal clinic had been the usual nightmare and her advanced stage of pregnancy hadn’t garnered any sympathy from a male driver who’d insisted on backing into a parking space just as she was about to manoeuvre her car into it. She caught herself just before she unleashed a furious glare; heart attacks or burst aneurysms whilst at the wheel of a car are very inconvenient for all concerned. Eventually, she found a parking space and this time the female parking attendant was sympathetic.
The clinic was packed as usual and the summer heat seemed to be making tempers more fraught than usual. Emma made the tricky journey on the washed and slippery lino to the reception desk, dodging the pregnant abdomens along the way.
“Hello, Dr Jones,” said the cheerful receptionist, “How’s the bump?”
“You know, Sandra, you’re the second person to ask me that today,” said Emma, “but since you ask, we’re both doing well, although I’m up to here with preparations for the pilot.”
“Yes, I saw a bit of the press conference on the news. You were really impressive, if you don’t mind me saying; although I’m not sure I understood all the science.”
“Thanks, Sandra. I’m just hoping that this one here – she patted her stomach – plays ball and doesn’t try to steal the limelight.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Oh, and my legs, too,” said Sandra.
They both laughed.
“Hello, Dr Jones. Would you like to come in now?” called Miss Wang, the obstetrician.
Emma waddled her way into the small consulting room, aware that other patients were looking at her and wondering whether this was because she’d been addressed as ‘Dr’ or recognised from the TV.
Emma was surprised to see three medical students squeezed into the room, perched on plastic chairs with copies of Impey and Child’s ‘Obstetrics & Gynaecology’ open on their laps.
“How are you doing, Emma?” asked Miss Wang as Emma sat down.
“Fine really, Fiona, just getting easily tired and up to my ears with work,” said Emma. “I see we’ve got some visitors today.” She looked in the direction of the students and smiled.