In tragedy, practicing medicine both an honor and a privilege
For the past four years, this is James Beck’s routine: After a morning spent guzzling $5 vodka, he stumbles into a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot, lying on the cement with his dusty oversized coat splayed open to reveal a cachectic chest. A concerned patron (cigarette and coffee in hand) will call 911 and, in accordance with protocol, an ambulance will deliver him to our emergency room.
Upon his arrival, we unpredictably …
