[Ed. Note: Dr. KSS writes about medicine and biotech for the Irregulars. He has agreed to our trading restrictions, and his words and opinions are his own. Enjoy!]
Conclusion of a Series on Pain
[This column is dedicated to recovery from a recent cancer diagnosis of a stuff-of-legend friend whose life I cherish. She recently became an Irregular, and would be embarrassed to be named here. She lives in Manhattan, is being cared for at Medical Center of World Renown, and is not only scientifically literate but loves, lives and breathes literature, especially poetry. Having reviewed her case, I’m pretty sure she’ll be cancer-free in 6 months and in 5 and 10 years too. During the next 6 months, however, she may at times feel bodyslammed by the treatments that she faces. She is one killer biotech investor…which is also the style in which she lives a large life, a life whose story evokes Lev Nussimbaum. Oh, don’t get me wrong. This is definitely not an obituary as death’s not on the docket….but if she even hiccups I’ll be on the first bloody plane to JFK.
“And finally there was the sleepless night
when I decided to explore and fight
the foul, the inadmissible abyss,
devoting all my twisted life to this.”
― Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire]
On the small hill-country horse farm where I grew up, I’d occasionally bum from the veterinarian I worked for a few cc’s of Rompun. When the horses needed clipping, particularly of the hair in their ears, two cc’s of Rompun injected into the muscle of each horse’s neck could turn an extended rodeo of a horse mad with terror into a five-minute session during which they stared off into space with a dead-mackerel eye: awake, but pleasantly chilled and hardly minding anything. I took to doing this because of an unlikely escapade in which one horse went psycho in crossties, ripped one tie out of its barn mounting, turned and karate-kicked me in midthigh; this caper hyperextended a knee; it genuflected me…in the wrong direction. The knee in question filled its joint capsule tensely with blood, and had me in a leg splint for a whole semester in high school. (Somehow the splint and necessary hobbling still never got Julie Z., the brunette of jaw-dropping ethereal gorgeousness who sat near me in AP biology, even to ...
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