Stuck
Ken Gordon
I have never told this story to anyone.
It all started one night about ten years ago, three months into my internship. I was on call, having just admitted a man with a possible meningitis.
He now lay curled up in fetal position on the bed in front of me, looking thin and ill. Preparing to administer a lumbar puncture (a diagnostic test that involves removing fluid from the spinal canal), I gently pushed his head further down towards his legs.
He told me that he knew he was dying. AIDS had been ravaging his body for years. He wondered aloud whether this was a punishment for his previous lifestyle–especially the drugs. Everyone he’d cared for had either died or left him.
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