It's the winter of 1993. A cold, snowy day. Windy. A blizzard. The phone rings. I'm not on call for my patients today — except for one. Daisy has been in my care since the early 1970s, and given the risk that she may suffer a serious downturn, I've instructed her nursing home to call me whenever necessary. This is that call. Daisy, my dear lady, the old artist, is dying. Throughout her ...

Read more...

1 Pages

Most Popular

Join 150,000+ subscribers

Get the best of KevinMD in your inbox

Sign me up! It's free. 
close-link
✓ Join 150,000+ subscribers 
✓ Get KevinMD's 5 most popular stories
Subscribe. It's free.