Dr. No

I think I’ve read enough, possibly too many, books about the practice of medicine, something I realized two pages into the first of two new medically related acquisitions. Even the retrieval of a battery and a wood screw from the bowels of a Rikers inmate doesn’t do it for me anymore. Where’s a good ptomaine poisoning when you need one? (Technically ptomaine poisoning doesn’t exist, but botulism is lame.)

The problem is that I started, many years ago, with Oliver Sacks, when clearly I should have ended with him. You cannot beat people regaining their sight and then having to close their eyes to go up and down steps, or people having to rotate their plates in order not to die of starvation, or people seeing the Grateful Dead in the ’80s and nearly having a nervous breakdown because the grapefruit-size tumor in their head has rendered them unable to remember anything past 1966 and something is terribly wrong with Jerry Garcia. Go back to prison with your battery; it wasn’t even a D. (It was an AA. Pathetic.)


One response to “Dr. No

  1. wish you were visiting home with us last weekend – you could have joined tp in rapt attention and glee listening to our dr. cousin give impromptu lectures about marfan syndrome (which he suspects he has) and pulmonary manifestations of systemic lupus erythematosus (which our friend appears to have). that boy refuses to dumb anything down.

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