I felt sad when I went to make rounds in the hospital.
One of my patients, a colleague, had been readmitted in poor condition for recurrence of a primary lung sarcoma.
I spent a few minutes examining Dennis and chatting. He then, with a quizzical look, said, “Jim, I’m going to have to sue you. I know I’m dying. My wife Alice and the kids are still pretty young.” He saw my look of surprise and added, “You know, I don’t have much life insurance or other very significant funds for them to live on. It’s nothing personal. I know you’ve given me good care, but my wife is upset and tends to blame you for the outcome. I guess the hospital and others will be named.”
There wasn’t much more for me to say at the time except, “Dennis I can find another attending for you if you’d like.” He replied, “No, I want to stay with you.”
Dennis was a well liked family doctor. About five years earlier a “coin lesion” was discovered on a chest X-Ray. This 2cm spot in the right upper lobe had a smooth rounded border and didn’t contain calcium. A CT scan showed no enlarged lymph nodes and no other spots elsewhere. A needle biopsy of the spot was not diagnostic. We knew the spot was new because an X-Ray five years earlier was normal. He hadn’t traveled to an area where Valley Fever or other fungal infections were common.




Recently, our city hosted the fifth annual national marathon to fight breast cancer. This is not part of the Komen “race for the cure” but rather a grassroots effort that mushroomed from its inception five years ago into the impressive event it is today. Thousands of people participate as runners, volunteers, and cheerleaders clad in the signature color. I must admit, seeing some grown men run twenty six miles wearing pink tu-tus is both awe inspiring and a testament to dedication over self-image.

