personal - MARCEL MY BROTHER PLACE Los Angeles area emergency room TIME Various times over the last 18 years SCENE White male around 50 brought in

personal - MARCEL MY BROTHER PLACE Los Angeles area...

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MARCEL, MY BROTHER PLACE: Los Angeles area emergency room. TIME: Various times over the last 18 years. SCENE: White male, around 50, brought in by ambulance, pale, short of breath, in distress. Intern: You’re going to be alright, sir. I’m replacing your ɻ uids, and your blood studies and electrolytes should be back from the lab in just a few minutes. Patient: Son, you wait for my electrolytes to come back and I’ll be dead in 10 minutes. I ran the ICU here for 10 years. I’m pan -hypopit and in (circulatory) shock. I need 300 mg of hydrocortisone right now. In a bolus. RIGHT NOW. After that, I’ll tell you what to run into my IV, and what lab tests to run. Got it? Intern: Yes sir. This scene played itself at least half a dozen times. The patient was my brother Marcel. He’d later call to regale me with the whole play -by-play, punctuated with innumerable, incredulous can-you-believe-its. We laughed. I loved hearing that mixture of pride and de ɹ ance in his voice as he told me how he had yet again thought and talked his way past death. Amazingly, he always got it right. True, he was a brilliant doctor, a UCLA professor of medicine and a pulmonologist of unusual skill. But these diagnostic feats were performed lying ɻ at on his back, near delirious and on the edge of circulatory collapse. Marcel instantly knew why. It was his cancer returning

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