I drove from my place of employment in Huntington Beach up to downtown Los Angeles to meet my great friend Sandy, who I've known forever, at the Water Grill for yet another one of our fabulous dinners we have from time to time.
I had every intention of posting a new article tonight when I got home, but after the day and the drive, like last night, bed is calling. And it's not taking no for an answer.
So I went into the archives, and found this sweet piece I'd written exactly five years ago To. The. Day. I know, right?
Since I've been revisiting older posts this week, I might continue the trend for the rest of the week. We'll see how it goes. In the meantime, I've got my jammies on, flipped the pillow to the cold side, set the T.V. on the sleep timer (still one of the greatest inventions since carpeting and air conditioning) and I'm ready to hit the hay.
Have a swell rest of your night, and please to enjoy this post. Again.
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Every once in a while - a great while - my faith in humanity is momentarily restored. This is one of those times.
A while ago I had seen this letter from an emergency room doctor to a man who's wife he'd treated. Sadly she later passed away, but she'd left such an impression that this doctor felt compelled to write his first letter ever to a family member. What strikes me is the time he took to write this letter, which is clearly carefully and deliberately worded, was probably longer than he gets to spend with most of his patients.
In an age of cost cutting, managed care, debates by monkeys in congress over healthcare and the traditional distance doctors keep from the personal lives of their patients, this letter is nothing short of remarkable.
I never want myself or any member of my family to have need of an ER doctor. But if it's unavoidable, I hope they get someone as compassionate as this.
