Scott's pace was becoming frenetic. He abandoned physcial therapy in order to spend more time with his research. Cecilia begrudgingly dropped him off at the lab every morning and picked him up every night. Often he would bring his notebooks home to work further after Cecilia went to sleep. His lab assistants and students had been reassigned so he worked alone. As his pace quickened his organiztional skills started to fail. His once neat and clean notes were now scattered about the lab and apartment. At some point his thoughts were coming so quickly he abandoned keeping formal accounts of his activities. He used any piece of paper he could find around the house for quick calculations.
And Scott was energized. Never had he felt so capable. Never had his ideas been so vibrant. He was getting closer and closer to the answer. The unique solution that would bypass the damage to the oxygen starved, seemingly dead cells and bring them back to life. He visualized the compound entering the infarcted area of the rabbits brain. He saw the alterations occuring at a cellular level. But the compound was a loose cannon. An unguided missile. Its effects spread to other parts of the body. Sensitive parts. Parts that eventually led to the rabbits death.
It was as clear as day. He needed to modify the compound. Allow it to hone in on the incapacitated tissue in the brain but ignore the rest of the body. A coating to keep it centered and not allow it to cross back over the blood brain barrier. He again went over the chemical formula. How could it be modified. What component changed such that it would get stuck in just the right place.
The answer came to Scott in a dream. He had fallen asleep in his chair while studying the numbers. The chemical he had been using to treat the rabbits was flawed. Although it erased the damage from the stroke it eventually led to toxic metabolites that killed the rabbit prematurely. But now...now in the subconscious depths of sleep he stumbled upon the answer. It was a simple adjustment. A basic organic reaction.
He fell back asleep with his mind made up. Tomarrow after Cecilia dropped him off he would alter the compound. And then....then....
He would try it on himself.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
Stroke of Genius (3)
If Scott's brain had been an abacus before it now worked more like a supercomputer. Ideas would bounce from neuron to neuron. Becoming form and substance, changing, taking on new meaning. Inverting to show a previously incomprehensible view. His mind took off like a rocket. Craving complexity and embracing the abstract. He became keenly aware of the intricate.
And his body...his body languished under the austere framework of physical therapy. While his brain could move mountains his muscles were powerless. It took supreme concentration to wiggle the fingers on his right hand. He spent hour after agonizing hour in bed, in the wheel chair, sitting on the couch. And Cecilia patiently attended to him. She was a godsend.
After the hospitalization she came obediently after work each day to prepare him dinner. He never asked. But he dare not refuse. She kept him up to date with the comings and goings of the hospital. She checked on the lab and brought his mail. She even wheeled him over to the office a few times.
She was beautiful and sweet. Smart and caring. So many things Scott had never taken the time to notice. And he loved her for it. Loved her like he had never loved before. The stroke had rendered him so physically weak....but had opened up other forms of strength. The strength to see that which made another person so wonderful. It had been years since he let someone into his life.
It started rather innocently. She would stop by to help, run some errands. But then the visits became longer. And eventually she began to stay over. All with Scott's tacit consent. He wouldn't have had it any other way.
And late at night while Cecilia was sleaping Scott would pour over his data from the lab. He no longer could sleep. When the lights were out and the apartment was quiet his mind would start to race again. Keeping him up. Driving him back to the numbers scrawled meticulously in his notebook. Turning them over and over agian in his mind until they became characters dancing through his brain. Pausing briefly over the damaged tissue and studying that which was out of place.
Scott had become like the rabbits in his experiments. He had studied them and reversed the defects from their strokes. But they were dying to quickly. Now he turned an inner eye on his own damaged tissues.
How would he fix it?
And his body...his body languished under the austere framework of physical therapy. While his brain could move mountains his muscles were powerless. It took supreme concentration to wiggle the fingers on his right hand. He spent hour after agonizing hour in bed, in the wheel chair, sitting on the couch. And Cecilia patiently attended to him. She was a godsend.
After the hospitalization she came obediently after work each day to prepare him dinner. He never asked. But he dare not refuse. She kept him up to date with the comings and goings of the hospital. She checked on the lab and brought his mail. She even wheeled him over to the office a few times.
She was beautiful and sweet. Smart and caring. So many things Scott had never taken the time to notice. And he loved her for it. Loved her like he had never loved before. The stroke had rendered him so physically weak....but had opened up other forms of strength. The strength to see that which made another person so wonderful. It had been years since he let someone into his life.
It started rather innocently. She would stop by to help, run some errands. But then the visits became longer. And eventually she began to stay over. All with Scott's tacit consent. He wouldn't have had it any other way.
And late at night while Cecilia was sleaping Scott would pour over his data from the lab. He no longer could sleep. When the lights were out and the apartment was quiet his mind would start to race again. Keeping him up. Driving him back to the numbers scrawled meticulously in his notebook. Turning them over and over agian in his mind until they became characters dancing through his brain. Pausing briefly over the damaged tissue and studying that which was out of place.
Scott had become like the rabbits in his experiments. He had studied them and reversed the defects from their strokes. But they were dying to quickly. Now he turned an inner eye on his own damaged tissues.
How would he fix it?
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Destiny
Classic post
Published a few years ago on my old blog
It was a sunny spring day as the bus turned the corner. It was a yellow school bus filled with young children jumping up and down in their seats. It was an average day in an average school year. Nothing about that day stood out. Let’s take a closer look.
The boy sitting in the front of the bus holding tightly to his lunch box is named William. His clothes are tattered and jeans have patches on them. The lunch box is empty but no one around him knows that. His is quiet and withdrawn. He doesn’t play with the other children. He is much too thin. He will one day grow up to be a successful businessman and buy his mother a house. His children will not have to live like he has. But, of course, he doesn’t know that yet.
The girls sitting across the aisle from William are Suzette and Lisa. They like to sit in the front so they can rush off the bus when they get to school. They must each be about nine. Suzette is widely known as the school gossip. If something is going on she knows about it. She will grow up to be an advice columnist for a major newspaper. She always did like to tell other people what to do. Lisa’s rode is a little bit different. She will fall into a drug habit and get pregnant way to young. As her child is born she will clean herself up. She will never go to college or see herself as a success in her own eyes. But she will bring up a beautiful young daughter who will take advantage of all the things she never got to do.
Behind the two girls chatting are Terence and his best friend (who he currently is wrestling to the ground) Paul. Terence will grow up the class bully. He eventually will be arrested for armed robbery and during prison will find god. After serving his time he will work at helping released inmates find jobs. He will change many lives. Paul will be known as the boy who never took any chances or risks. Almost afraid of his own shadow. Until the day, at the age of thirty five, that he rushes into a burning building and saves three children before he collapses and dies.
Sarah screams across the aisle at Terence and tells him to stop bullying Paul. She knows in her heart that one day she will find Mr. Right and settle down and have five children. Seems a bit premature for an eight year old but…that is exactly what she does.
So many faces you could see if you were riding on that bus. Each with a unique story and future. But the point here is not them, but to take a closer look at the man sitting in front driving the bus. He is a beautiful and courageous man….. and he is dead.
Well, he is not exactly dead yet but he will be in a matter of days. Neither he nor I, his physician at the time, know this is going to happen. Neither does his wife, the lady sitting in front of me, who looks for the first time in two years to have found some peace over the death of her beloved husband. I ask her what has changed. This is what she says…..
2
The call from the cardiologist surprised me. She was in the ICU and was visiting our mutual patient who just had a routine bypass surgery that afternoon. The surgery had gone very well without complications. I could hear the concern in her voice as she asked me what to do. She had been talking to him when all the sudden he started seizing. I told her to give him five milligrams of diazepam immediately. Start a dilantin drip and get a stat head CT. She called neurology immediately. Both of us knew this couldn’t be good. "By the way is his wife there?"
He had come to my office at the suggestion of his wife. She had been seeing me for about a year. Like so many males in their fifties, he started the visit by telling me he didn’t like going to doctors. He had always been healthy and didn’t feel the need. But this chest pain he started to feel recently while on the school bus was bothering him. It had been about a month and he thought it was time to do something.
His testing showed coronary artery disease and he was sent to a cardiologist. She recommended a cardiac catheterization that showed extensive blockages in multiple coronary arteries. He was scheduled for a bypass surgery the next week.
The call from the radiologist confirmed our fears. There was a large tumor in the anterior part of his brain that had bled from the blood thinner that is necessary during bypass surgery. This tumor had been asymptomatic to this point. It was a benign tumor and likely if it could be removed the patient had a good prognosis. None of us had known it was there. He had none of the telltale signs. No headache, no visual problems, no signs on physical exam. It was just bad luck.
The neurosurgeons were antsy about taking him to surgery right away. It was Saturday morning and the blood thinner used in the bypass surgery was still in his system. Also this would be a complex surgery and they felt it would be better to wait till Monday when full staffing would be available. So he sat in the ICU and waited.
On Sunday night he started to feel a little nauseous. He sat up to call the nurse and said quietly….."Something is wrong". He then collapsed back on the bed and died. Likely the bleeding in his brain had restarted causing the brain to swell. The increased pressure then caused the brain to herniate which is incompatible with life. CPR was performed for about thirty minutes to no avail. His wife and daughter were called at home…..they had left the hospital a few hours before.
The next two years were a blur. There had been multiple visits with his wife. We had met together with the cardiac surgeon to go over what had happened. There had been tears and more tears. I felt horrible for her. I watched with time as the depression set in. We discussed medications which she decided against. We discussed therapy which she attended. The birth of her daughter’s baby, he first grandchild, was bitter sweet.
When she walked into my office two years later I knew immediately that something had changed. I could see it in the way she walked, her facial expressions, the way she talked. She had stepped away from the sadness and started to live again. We exchanged small talk for a few minutes and then I gently asked her what had changed. Her explanation was straight forward. And this is what she said…
Since her husband’s death, she and her daughter had been focusing on loss, focusing on tragedy. They were morning life that was taken away too early. After the birth of her daughter’s child they started to look at things differently. Her husband, she explained, was a bus driver for a local school district. Everyday he drove young kids to school. He loved it and he loved the kids. She figured that he had two ticking time bombs. One in his brain and one in his heart. Each of them could have instantly caused death while he was driving the bus. Each of them could not only have taken his life but the lives of all those precious children. She told me that now instead of morning his death, they celebrate all the beautiful lives that were saved the day he died quietly in the hospital. She said that now when they feel sad, her daughter and her sit down and make up stories of what would become of those young lives…you see….
The boy sitting in the front of the bus holding tightly to his lunch box is named William. His clothes are tattered and his jeans have patches on them. The lunch box is empty but no one around him knows that……….
Published a few years ago on my old blog
It was a sunny spring day as the bus turned the corner. It was a yellow school bus filled with young children jumping up and down in their seats. It was an average day in an average school year. Nothing about that day stood out. Let’s take a closer look.
The boy sitting in the front of the bus holding tightly to his lunch box is named William. His clothes are tattered and jeans have patches on them. The lunch box is empty but no one around him knows that. His is quiet and withdrawn. He doesn’t play with the other children. He is much too thin. He will one day grow up to be a successful businessman and buy his mother a house. His children will not have to live like he has. But, of course, he doesn’t know that yet.
The girls sitting across the aisle from William are Suzette and Lisa. They like to sit in the front so they can rush off the bus when they get to school. They must each be about nine. Suzette is widely known as the school gossip. If something is going on she knows about it. She will grow up to be an advice columnist for a major newspaper. She always did like to tell other people what to do. Lisa’s rode is a little bit different. She will fall into a drug habit and get pregnant way to young. As her child is born she will clean herself up. She will never go to college or see herself as a success in her own eyes. But she will bring up a beautiful young daughter who will take advantage of all the things she never got to do.
Behind the two girls chatting are Terence and his best friend (who he currently is wrestling to the ground) Paul. Terence will grow up the class bully. He eventually will be arrested for armed robbery and during prison will find god. After serving his time he will work at helping released inmates find jobs. He will change many lives. Paul will be known as the boy who never took any chances or risks. Almost afraid of his own shadow. Until the day, at the age of thirty five, that he rushes into a burning building and saves three children before he collapses and dies.
Sarah screams across the aisle at Terence and tells him to stop bullying Paul. She knows in her heart that one day she will find Mr. Right and settle down and have five children. Seems a bit premature for an eight year old but…that is exactly what she does.
So many faces you could see if you were riding on that bus. Each with a unique story and future. But the point here is not them, but to take a closer look at the man sitting in front driving the bus. He is a beautiful and courageous man….. and he is dead.
Well, he is not exactly dead yet but he will be in a matter of days. Neither he nor I, his physician at the time, know this is going to happen. Neither does his wife, the lady sitting in front of me, who looks for the first time in two years to have found some peace over the death of her beloved husband. I ask her what has changed. This is what she says…..
2
The call from the cardiologist surprised me. She was in the ICU and was visiting our mutual patient who just had a routine bypass surgery that afternoon. The surgery had gone very well without complications. I could hear the concern in her voice as she asked me what to do. She had been talking to him when all the sudden he started seizing. I told her to give him five milligrams of diazepam immediately. Start a dilantin drip and get a stat head CT. She called neurology immediately. Both of us knew this couldn’t be good. "By the way is his wife there?"
He had come to my office at the suggestion of his wife. She had been seeing me for about a year. Like so many males in their fifties, he started the visit by telling me he didn’t like going to doctors. He had always been healthy and didn’t feel the need. But this chest pain he started to feel recently while on the school bus was bothering him. It had been about a month and he thought it was time to do something.
His testing showed coronary artery disease and he was sent to a cardiologist. She recommended a cardiac catheterization that showed extensive blockages in multiple coronary arteries. He was scheduled for a bypass surgery the next week.
The call from the radiologist confirmed our fears. There was a large tumor in the anterior part of his brain that had bled from the blood thinner that is necessary during bypass surgery. This tumor had been asymptomatic to this point. It was a benign tumor and likely if it could be removed the patient had a good prognosis. None of us had known it was there. He had none of the telltale signs. No headache, no visual problems, no signs on physical exam. It was just bad luck.
The neurosurgeons were antsy about taking him to surgery right away. It was Saturday morning and the blood thinner used in the bypass surgery was still in his system. Also this would be a complex surgery and they felt it would be better to wait till Monday when full staffing would be available. So he sat in the ICU and waited.
On Sunday night he started to feel a little nauseous. He sat up to call the nurse and said quietly….."Something is wrong". He then collapsed back on the bed and died. Likely the bleeding in his brain had restarted causing the brain to swell. The increased pressure then caused the brain to herniate which is incompatible with life. CPR was performed for about thirty minutes to no avail. His wife and daughter were called at home…..they had left the hospital a few hours before.
The next two years were a blur. There had been multiple visits with his wife. We had met together with the cardiac surgeon to go over what had happened. There had been tears and more tears. I felt horrible for her. I watched with time as the depression set in. We discussed medications which she decided against. We discussed therapy which she attended. The birth of her daughter’s baby, he first grandchild, was bitter sweet.
When she walked into my office two years later I knew immediately that something had changed. I could see it in the way she walked, her facial expressions, the way she talked. She had stepped away from the sadness and started to live again. We exchanged small talk for a few minutes and then I gently asked her what had changed. Her explanation was straight forward. And this is what she said…
Since her husband’s death, she and her daughter had been focusing on loss, focusing on tragedy. They were morning life that was taken away too early. After the birth of her daughter’s child they started to look at things differently. Her husband, she explained, was a bus driver for a local school district. Everyday he drove young kids to school. He loved it and he loved the kids. She figured that he had two ticking time bombs. One in his brain and one in his heart. Each of them could have instantly caused death while he was driving the bus. Each of them could not only have taken his life but the lives of all those precious children. She told me that now instead of morning his death, they celebrate all the beautiful lives that were saved the day he died quietly in the hospital. She said that now when they feel sad, her daughter and her sit down and make up stories of what would become of those young lives…you see….
The boy sitting in the front of the bus holding tightly to his lunch box is named William. His clothes are tattered and his jeans have patches on them. The lunch box is empty but no one around him knows that……….
Friday, November 7, 2008
Diagnostic Acumen
I have spent a lot of time pondering what makes a good physician and have come to some conclusions. While medicare and other rating companies are developing lists of what constitutes good medical care.....I think they miss the point. Sure it's nice if hgb a1c's are checked every three months. Sure its important to make sure every patient with coronary disease is on a beta blocker. I won't argue with that. But in my mind what makes a good physician is not soo cookbook.
In my mind what makes a good physician is diagnostic acumen. In otherwords, how quickley will your physician diagnose and treat your problem correctly. Without a keen mind for diagnosis, a physician is average at best. They will continously miss important clues and often fail to prevent their patients from life altering consequences.
A few months ago I read Jerome Groopman's book, How Doctors Think, and continue to study medical decision making. How I think about a given problem often dictates my success or failure to diagnose. It's something I will spend my whole career doing. I especially remember the times when I miss diagnosis. This really burns me.
The other day I saw and elderly anxious lady with back pain. I examined her thoroughly. Asked many questions. And the pain seem to be muscular. But it was getting worse. So I set her up with an xray to rule out a spinal fracture. The xray was negative. When I called today she told me the pain was gettign worse.
So I did what I normally do in this situation. I asked her to come back to be reexamined. She was not happy. As I felt her temper rising I explained that sometimes when the answer is not apparent we have to start again at the beginning. Take a fresh look at the information and make sure nothing is missed.
She eventually agreed....and came for a visit. After a few minutes of questioning I lifted her shirt to find on her back a typical shingles rash. It had not been there two days ago. I treated her with valtrex and narcotics. Nothing earth shattering here but a simple answer to a simple question.
It's something I have to teach myself over and over again. If things don't make sense take another look. Start again. Don't be too intellectualy lazy or afraid to help those in need.
In my mind what makes a good physician is diagnostic acumen. In otherwords, how quickley will your physician diagnose and treat your problem correctly. Without a keen mind for diagnosis, a physician is average at best. They will continously miss important clues and often fail to prevent their patients from life altering consequences.
A few months ago I read Jerome Groopman's book, How Doctors Think, and continue to study medical decision making. How I think about a given problem often dictates my success or failure to diagnose. It's something I will spend my whole career doing. I especially remember the times when I miss diagnosis. This really burns me.
The other day I saw and elderly anxious lady with back pain. I examined her thoroughly. Asked many questions. And the pain seem to be muscular. But it was getting worse. So I set her up with an xray to rule out a spinal fracture. The xray was negative. When I called today she told me the pain was gettign worse.
So I did what I normally do in this situation. I asked her to come back to be reexamined. She was not happy. As I felt her temper rising I explained that sometimes when the answer is not apparent we have to start again at the beginning. Take a fresh look at the information and make sure nothing is missed.
She eventually agreed....and came for a visit. After a few minutes of questioning I lifted her shirt to find on her back a typical shingles rash. It had not been there two days ago. I treated her with valtrex and narcotics. Nothing earth shattering here but a simple answer to a simple question.
It's something I have to teach myself over and over again. If things don't make sense take another look. Start again. Don't be too intellectualy lazy or afraid to help those in need.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Stroke of Genius (2)
There wouldn't be anymore research. There may not even be anymore life. Scott's mood was getting progressively dour as he languished in the hospital. It was already three days and still minimal movement on the right side. The thrombolytics did nothing. Physical therapy was doing nothing. Thank god he was left handed! He could still perform some tasks for himself. He would be able to go home and not some forsaken rehab facility.
But he was useless. How could he run experiments. How could he set up the stroke patients if he had no use of one side of his body. Sure he had students. Sure he had post docs. But he never felt as good as when he had his own hands were in the mix.
And what tortured Scott the most was that his mind was more clear then ever. In fact his thoughts had started to race. He was quicker then before. His mental cogitations were less labored. In the ER the nurses were trying to figure the TPA dose and Scott did the complex calculations instantaneously in his head. He had always fumbled with calculators before.
He was also learning to read people better. He was able to hear the changes in pitch in his doctors voice relaying bad news even before he got to the point. Or the look on the nurses face appraising his physique when helping him put his shirt on. Strangely these were things that Scott had never picked up on before.
And when a colleague he had known for years came to visit him in the hospital the day before discharge he sensed something that completely took him by surprise....
Love
But he was useless. How could he run experiments. How could he set up the stroke patients if he had no use of one side of his body. Sure he had students. Sure he had post docs. But he never felt as good as when he had his own hands were in the mix.
And what tortured Scott the most was that his mind was more clear then ever. In fact his thoughts had started to race. He was quicker then before. His mental cogitations were less labored. In the ER the nurses were trying to figure the TPA dose and Scott did the complex calculations instantaneously in his head. He had always fumbled with calculators before.
He was also learning to read people better. He was able to hear the changes in pitch in his doctors voice relaying bad news even before he got to the point. Or the look on the nurses face appraising his physique when helping him put his shirt on. Strangely these were things that Scott had never picked up on before.
And when a colleague he had known for years came to visit him in the hospital the day before discharge he sensed something that completely took him by surprise....
Love
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I grew up knowing a family. The father was a doctor. A funny guy he was strict with his kids but loving. Generous. All the other kids in the neighborhood adored him. The mother was a lawyer. It was clear she was the boss of the family. But she was also fun and caring. Everyone knew to go to her if you had a real problem.
They were afluent but not outwardly rich. Intelligent. They were keenly aware of what was happening in the world. I remember passing through their living room and seeing world events on the TV.
Their kids were typical. Often well meaning but making the common mistakes of youth. Usually getting into some kind of trouble but never anything serious. They were like all the other kids on the block. Occasionaly overly virtous.
They were you and me. They were American Pie. They were the best we strive to be.
And oh....by the way....they were black. And they were completely fictional (this family at least).
If you haven't figured it out I am talking about the Huckstables (The Cosby show).
As I watched Barack Obama and his family last night I found myself thinking back to all those evenings I invited the Huckstables into my living room.
Over the next few months you will hear the pundits discuss the luminaries of the civil rights movement. I would like to add Bill Cosby's name to the discussion.
Without him, I feel relatively certain that white America would never have had the courage to vote for a black president.
They were afluent but not outwardly rich. Intelligent. They were keenly aware of what was happening in the world. I remember passing through their living room and seeing world events on the TV.
Their kids were typical. Often well meaning but making the common mistakes of youth. Usually getting into some kind of trouble but never anything serious. They were like all the other kids on the block. Occasionaly overly virtous.
They were you and me. They were American Pie. They were the best we strive to be.
And oh....by the way....they were black. And they were completely fictional (this family at least).
If you haven't figured it out I am talking about the Huckstables (The Cosby show).
As I watched Barack Obama and his family last night I found myself thinking back to all those evenings I invited the Huckstables into my living room.
Over the next few months you will hear the pundits discuss the luminaries of the civil rights movement. I would like to add Bill Cosby's name to the discussion.
Without him, I feel relatively certain that white America would never have had the courage to vote for a black president.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Stroke of Genius
Fucking irony. As Scott sat on the gurnee they were the only words running through his mind. Just hours ago he was happily in his lab reviewing data. He finished with the last stroke patient for the day and was enjoying the luxury of an extra few moments to crunch numbers.
His research was promising. He already secured funding from multiple sources. He had a few medical students and PhD candidates working for him. Scott was making a name for himself. Early into his career he had given up most of clinical responsibilities. And he felt his research was showing progress. In the last year his data had sharpened. He could feel in his bones that he was close to something big.
Scott had discovered a novel compound that when used on rabbits reversed the most egregious effects of strokes. Rabbits who had been induced to suffer strokes could have their symptoms completely ameliorated. Even if the event occured months before. The coumpound regenerated damaged neurological tissue. Restoring it to its prestroke condition. But safetly data was lacking. And a number of the treated rabbits died prematurely for unknown reasons.
He was so close. He knew he was missing a key concept but just couldn't put his finger on it. He stayed up late at night reviewing the data. Often he would forget to eat because he was so busy. He was losing weight. His family and friends had given up on him. His social life was at a standstill. He was fourty years old and hadn't gone on a date for a year.
And then this. First he felt a heaviness in his right arm and leg. He tried to get up and walk around the lab but he was clumsy. He kept tripping. Then he tried to steady himself on the lab bench. But he couldn't lift his arm. He fell against the bench and then slid to the ground in a seated position. He was alone. He lifted his left arm which was still working and reached towards the table. He clutched at his cell phone. With one hand he gingerly dialed 911...
"Hello....hello..." he fumbled with the phone...
"I think I'm having a stroke!"
Fucking irony
His research was promising. He already secured funding from multiple sources. He had a few medical students and PhD candidates working for him. Scott was making a name for himself. Early into his career he had given up most of clinical responsibilities. And he felt his research was showing progress. In the last year his data had sharpened. He could feel in his bones that he was close to something big.
Scott had discovered a novel compound that when used on rabbits reversed the most egregious effects of strokes. Rabbits who had been induced to suffer strokes could have their symptoms completely ameliorated. Even if the event occured months before. The coumpound regenerated damaged neurological tissue. Restoring it to its prestroke condition. But safetly data was lacking. And a number of the treated rabbits died prematurely for unknown reasons.
He was so close. He knew he was missing a key concept but just couldn't put his finger on it. He stayed up late at night reviewing the data. Often he would forget to eat because he was so busy. He was losing weight. His family and friends had given up on him. His social life was at a standstill. He was fourty years old and hadn't gone on a date for a year.
And then this. First he felt a heaviness in his right arm and leg. He tried to get up and walk around the lab but he was clumsy. He kept tripping. Then he tried to steady himself on the lab bench. But he couldn't lift his arm. He fell against the bench and then slid to the ground in a seated position. He was alone. He lifted his left arm which was still working and reached towards the table. He clutched at his cell phone. With one hand he gingerly dialed 911...
"Hello....hello..." he fumbled with the phone...
"I think I'm having a stroke!"
Fucking irony
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