Resonance
by Barry Fields
part 1
Several minutes into the interview, Nadine Barlowe, MD, was still self-conscious at being filmed. Ned Styles, the 60 Minutes reporter, leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve been practicing medicine for how long now?”
“Ten years since I finished med school. Seven since getting licensed.” She held back from adding that obtaining her license was the proudest day of her life.
“And you discovered this remarkable ability of yours only two months ago? How did that happen?” he asked.
The reporter had told her to sound conversational while remembering she would be relating information to a general audience. A makeup artist and hair stylist had prepared her for the cameras. Nadine hoped that the result, along with her conservatively cut black dress, didn’t make her seem too formal on the one hand or like a nut job on the other.
“My sister had cardiac angiosarcoma, a cancer of blood vessels in the heart. By the time she got a correct diagnosis, it was untreatable. She had about six months to live. She’s only thirty-six years old. A year older than me.”
“And then?”
“I felt so helpless, all I could do was sit with her. She asked me to sing to her. I’d never been much of a singer, but I gave it try. What came out of my mouth wasn’t singing. I had no idea what was happening.”
“You’re talking about the harmonies.”
“Sounds I’d never heard anywhere. Full chords my sister said were haunting, ethereal. Her chest pain eased up a bit, so I did it the next day, and the days after that. A month later, the tumor was gone.”
“And it never came back?” Styles asked.
Nadine suppressed the impulse to look at the cameras. “Like it had never existed. My sister told a couple of her neighbors. Word spread. Patients started coming to my office asking for me to cure them with my ‘magic voice.’ That’s what they called it.”
“I heard about you from my next door neighbor. You’re quite the local phenomenon.” Styles named the town he lived in, just a few miles away. “Take a look at this and tell me if you can do the same for me.”
Nadine, surprised, studied the film he handed her. “This MRI, it’s your rotator cuff?”
Styles nodded.
“The supraspinatus tendon is completely separated from the humerus. Yes, I can help.”
Styles began to speak but winced in pain. “Let’s do another take on that,” the sound man said.
Styles cupped his left hand around his shoulder and started again. “It’s hurts all the time. I can barely use my arm. I consulted Dr. Frank Rossi. He recommended surgery, but recovery takes months. And you claim, with your new set-up, that you can heal it in a matter of minutes?”
“It’s usually that fast.”
“Dr. Rossi warned against seeing you. I have to admit, I’m skeptical.”
Nadine knew Frank Rossi too well. The best known orthopedic surgeon in the area, whom she’d dated briefly. As chairman of the state’s medical ethics board, he’d been instrumental in convincing the legislature to pass the Medical Safety Act, which had put alternative practitioners out of business. He meant to destroy her, too.
“You can make up your own mind,” Nadine said. She stood up. “Ready to see for yourself?”
While the crew moved their equipment into the chamber, Nadine showed it to the newscaster from the outside. The smooth, red stone structure, twenty feet high, twenty wide, and forty long, glistened under a full sun.
Inside, Nadine chatted with the crew as they finished setting up. She and Ned Styles left, then re-entered with cameras rolling. The metal door clanged shut.
“It’s like a big tomb in here,” Styles observed.
Nadine gave the response she and Styles had discussed. “It is a tomb. A wealthy woman I know had chronic fatigue syndrome. She flew us to Egypt to visit the King’s Chamber of the Great Pyramid. Over the years, there have been lots of reports of its acoustic properties promoting healing. She wanted to try it. Shifting harmonies came out of me like before, but that room made them resonate in a whole new way. In ten minutes, her energy returned. No more aches and pains. She was so grateful she built this. It’s an exact copy. Even the same type of granite.”
Nadine pointed to a massage table, the only furniture in the room other than a wooden chair. “Lie down,” she said. “Any way that’s comfortable for you.” To the cameramen she said, “No interruptions once I start. No second takes.”
The reporter lay on his back, arms at his sides. “Nothing’s comfortable. It feels like knives stabbing my shoulder. If you can really fix it without surgery, it’ll be a miracle.”
A slight quivering of the air pulsed between them. Everything but Ned Styles receded from her mind. “Close your eyes. Relax and listen to the sounds.”
Nadine took a deep breath. An F-sharp rang out with a timbre no other voice on earth could produce, eerie yet delicate. Seconds later a full F-minor chord filled the chamber. A succession of multilayered chords followed.
Nadine knew intuitively when to stop. Otherworldly sounds continued to reverberate until they died away. She sat in the chair. The news anchor lay still, breathing softly for a few minutes. Swinging his legs off the table, he stood and lifted his arm to a horizontal position. Then vertical.
“It doesn’t hurt.” He swung his arm like a windmill. The puzzlement on his face changed to a grin. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. I can’t believe it. You really did it!”
As the cameras were being packed up, Styles said, “I don’t know how to thank you. What you did for me was life-changing.”
When the piece aired, it had that 60 Minutes stamp: an engrossing story with good pacing and seamless editing. Nadine heard herself speak with admiration about her father, who still had a practice in family medicine, as his father had had before him. Listening to herself, she recalled that as a child, she insisted on playing doctor with her dolls. Even though she no longer practiced traditional medicine, being a licensed physician formed the core of her identity.
The 60 Minutes segment included an interview with a researcher from the National Center for Voice Studies, where the show had sent Nadine. The investigator explained that she’d never seen anything like the material composition of the lamina propria inside Dr. Barlowe’s vocal cords. It should be impossible, but she had two sets of them. Later in the segment, Styles showed Rossi the before and after MRIs.
“I see,” Rossi said, and refused further comment.
The piece ended with Styles raising questions. What actually took place in his own body that caused the ligament to reattach to the bone? What other unknown aspects of healing might exist? Could people other than Nadine have anomalous physical structures that gave them the power to mend the sick and injured?
Nadine had no more answers than anyone else. What mattered was to continue the work that gave her life meaning.
* * *
The proceedings of the medical review board took place in a sterile administrative hearing room. Portraits of somber physicians, almost all of them men, hung on the walls. A panel of seven doctors sat behind a long, curved table on padded swivel chairs. Smug Frank Rossi occupied the chairman’s center seat. Jaw set, eyes narrowed, Nadine sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair behind a small table. She scrutinized the group, chatting and joking among themselves as if they were at a picnic.
Rossi called the session to order. “We are here to consider disciplinary action against Dr. Nadine Barlowe. The charges are failure to provide diagnoses, treatment of conditions beyond her area of expertise, medical billing fraud, and use of interventions prohibited by state law, which are untested procedures with the potential to cause harm. Dr. Barlowe, do you wish to make an opening statement?”
Nadine stood. She had expected to be nervous, but all she felt was indignation. And fury at Rossi. No other board members had been concerned about her unorthodox treatments until he began forcing the issue.
“Before getting into the charges, board members should know that Dr. Rossi and I dated briefly. I did not wish to pursue an intimate involvement, and he became violent. I broke it off. He warned me at the time—”
Rossi interrupted. “Dr. Barlowe, this is not the time or place to bring up personal grudges that have no basis in fact and no bearing on the issues. This is about your questionable professional practices, not your imaginary private life.”
Nadine didn’t expect the gambit to work, but she continued, “He warned me at the time that he had the power to make my life miserable.”
Rossi looked to his left and right. “I assure this distinguished board that what Dr. Barlowe alleges never took place. My only motives are to uphold the high standards of our profession and prevent the type of abuse you have charged Dr. Barlowe with.”
Another board member addressed Nadine. “Thank you for informing the board of your concerns. But unless you have proof to substantiate your claims—”
“I don’t.”
“Then we will move on to consider your professional conduct. You have a statement to make?”
“My father is a doctor. I followed in his footsteps because, like so many of us, I wanted to help people.” She reviewed her years in family practice and the recent appearance of her healing voice. “I help far more people than I ever did practicing traditional medicine. Yes, I see patients with a wide variety of complex conditions without referring to specialists, but the majority of people I see come to me after specialists have failed to help.
“Sometimes patients don’t provide me with prior medical records, and I have to take their word for the specific diagnosis. The law Dr. Rossi referred to makes no mention of the legality of alternative treatments when administered by licensed medical doctors.
“Unlike medications and surgeries, my method of treatment hasn’t resulted in a single report of side effects. It has no potential to cause harm. As far as medical billing goes, the ICD-11 has no coding for what I do, so I use the stem code and then XY18. You should know that I save patients and insurance companies enormous amounts of money, since I see people for one session only, and there are no expensive procedures or drugs.”
Rossi gave his retort. “Our concern is not about saving money. As you admit, your record-keeping is often below state standards. You jump into using your hocus-pocus interventions with no diagnostic workup. Your stem codes are bogus. It all amounts to a violation of the most basic safeguards against substandard treatment.”
Nadine’s voice, not her mind, responded to what a person needed. What she told the board was something else, something they could understand. “My voice is like a broad spectrum antibiotic. If you’re uncertain about the cause of an infection, you prescribe something like amoxicillin even before a diagnosis. It’s done all the time.”
“The law specifically prohibits the use of non-medical interventions. I disagree that your being a physician makes you above the law. And that ‘antibiotic’ of yours you’re so proud of, you have no idea how or why it works.”
“No one knew how aspirin worked for a hundred years. People used it anyway, because it worked. Since I was on 60 Minutes a couple of months ago, I’ve been swamped. People are coming from all over the country, Europe, and Asia. Do you really want to deny them something that truly helps?”
The morning duel continued, but Nadine knew she was outgunned. In her closing statement, she said, “The bottom line for any of us is: ‘Do we help people?’ I can truthfully answer that the curative effect of my voice is faster, safer, cheaper and more effective than medications and surgeries. I implore this board to consider that when making your determination.”
Rossi had the final word. “This isn’t a question of one doctor, however well-intentioned she is and whatever results she claims to obtain. It’s a question of violation of the law and disregard of research-based medical practice. This board needs to give a clear warning to physicians and non-physicians alike who make illegal claims, who bill for conditions they haven’t diagnosed, and who fail to keep appropriate records. We have to act to protect patients from those who see themselves as Lone Rangers out to save the world with their own brand of quackery. ”
The hearing adjourned, Nadine stood. Rossi directed a victorious smirk in her direction that only she saw.
* * *
On her second drink, Nadine sat at the bar facing a wall of bottles containing over two dozen kinds of Irish whiskeys, along with the standard liquors. Behind her were tables, and along the wall some booths. Irish music played on the pub’s speakers.
She’d Ubered there with a dual purpose. First, to get drunk, which she was on her way to doing. And second, to have a one-night fling. She’d dressed the part: a low-cut blouse, short skirt, and high leather boots.
As the pub filled up, a red-faced man swaggered over to her and spent five minutes boasting about his money, his house, his business, his importance.
“You’re just like someone I know,” she said. He beamed until she added, “He makes me want to throw up.”
She swiveled her bar stool away and he left. The day had been a disaster, but tonight she was staying in charge.
A man took the adjacent stool, made a show of not paying attention to her, and ordered a Guinness. He had strong eyebrows, curly hair, and a two-day stubble; not bad-looking. He finally pretended to notice her. “You like Irish music?” he asked.
“Not particularly. You like to hit on women at bars?”
“Not particularly. It’s a special occasion.” He hesitated. “I just got dumped. I really liked her, too.”
“Did you deserve it?” Nadine stirred her drink with a straw. The ice clinked.
“Her ex-boyfriend cheated on her. She found out and told him to stop. He left her instead, and she met me on the rebound. The boyfriend broke up with his new girlfriend and wanted her back. She took him.”
“No one said the world is fair.”
“So what’s a pretty woman like you doing at a bar all by yourself?”
“Drinking a Dublin Old Fashioned.” She took a swallow. The drink felt good going down.
Copyright © 2026 by Barry Fields
