Kenneth V. Iserson

I once introduced myself as a retired academic emergency physician, bioethicist, and wilderness medicine specialist. These days, I prefer part-human, part-hardware.

It began in Antarctica. My gait deteriorated; my cognition slowed. My wife noticed both — gently, though with her unfortunate track record of being right.

Back home, a carousel of neurologists took their turns. Their theories ranged from imaginatively inaccurate to implausibly terminal. I suspected idiopathic normal pressure hydrocephalus. Most dismissed the idea. One brave neurologist agreed. Her colleagues dismissed her, too.

A neurosurgeon entered. Calm, competent, reassuring. “Let’s place a ventriculoperitoneal shunt,” he said. “Straightforward procedure.”