“If I am truly being honest, every minute of every day I thought I was going to die.”
This is pure and simple "lying." Some prefer the more polite term, "dissembling." Others call it spin. And now "alternative
Even those of us who are not Sci Fi fans and who are not disposed to science fantasy can marvel (still!) at the depictions of the microscopic worlds that inhabit our bodies and are beyond the imaginations of most of us.
In his short lifetime, Paul Kalanithi earned a BA and an MA in English literature from Stanford; an MPhil in history and philosophy of science and medicine from Cambridge; and an MD from Yale School of Medicine. At Stanford, he was finishing up his residency in neurosurgery and neuroscience, when he learned he was dying. He was 36.
A collection of old photographs reveals the faces of some of America's earliest brain surgery patients, affording a glimpse
When I was 13, I was kicked in the solar plexus during karate class. The sensei came over to me and explained to me that I had "gotten the wind knocked out of me." And he was right. Quite literally, in fact. I couldn't breathe. Hearing that your son has a brain tumor knocks the wind out of you in a completely different way.
That sounds simple enough, if perhaps a bit ghoulish. But not everyone is convinced that head transplantation is medically
Successful outcomes depend on an almost fantastic synthesis of psychomotor control, excellent visual discrimination, years of training, and meticulous planning. How can surgeons reach this peak more efficiently, perhaps more quickly?
I gathered that fact from a fascinating story in the August Esquire by Luke Dittrich, in which Dittrich comes as close as one could, without access to Alexander's private thoughts, to showing that the book was a cynical effort to provide a new career for a neurosurgeon whose career was being consumed by malpractice suits.
I just told a doctor I met not two hours ago that I wanted to jump his bones.