Memoirs of a Life Living

During one of my rotations in internship at Passavant Memorial  Hopital (Northwestern Memorial Hospital) I met a patient who was dying from kidney failure. She was very weak and kindly and plain looking though she combed her hair each day. She had been an English teacher and as best I could tell had few if any visitors. It is not common to meet educated people let alone educators who maintain an interest in the arts or literature or in learning. As I got to know her I felt a kindred attachment to her and of an evening when I was on call or if I were off at a decent hour I would go to her room to talk and to bring her some poetry which I would read to her. She was much more  educated in poetry than I and she would close her eyes as I would read  until the intervals of her breathing would lengthen and at last I felt she could relax into what appeared to be a restful sleep. Ultimately she became comatose and was transferred to the ICU (intensive care unit) where I would visit her every da

Mother One afternoon I was sitting in the dining room of our 2 bedroom one bath apartment. Facing my typewriter (newly minted Royal portable) so I was about 13 years old writing some homework I assume at the heard of our oblong dining room table. In this position I was facing the front door of our apartment in our 2 story house shared below with Uncle Sherwin and Aunt Betty. Ultimately my mother came home carrying a bag or 2 of groceries and as she passed through the door through the small "foyer" and into the dining room she suddenly grabbed her right breast and stopped as if in pain or short of breath. Fearfully I rose and shouted Mom are you are right. I am fine, she replied I am fine and proceeded to walk in a stately and self possessed manner  through the dining room with the stoicism (real or not) I came to expect from her. (This last scene, remarkably, was actually depicted in exact duplicate form without the groceries on a British comedy series of a Jewish family by

10/20/18 e-mail to my daughter who has left Plato's Cave: The World According to >?Garp Edward Lack   < pagingdrlack@gmail.com > 8:11 PM (4 minutes ago) to  Geoff Dearest Child, You are becoming a Lack! I say that as a compliment, I think. My Grandfather Benjamin is looking down now and seeing you blossom like a flowered bud exposed to spring and basking in the warmth of the sun. Yes truths are painful and if we open our hearts, provoke intense emotion. May I ask (suggest) that you read Plato's "The Cave". So many other great books of literature to put the present into perspective but two of the greatest are Anna Karenina and A Tale of Two Cities. I am suggesting you read early literature so that you are not only exposed to truths but to the eternity of suffering. All 3 are  also fun to read. If we are going to speak about America we must note that America was founded in rac

December 21,2018 Xmas is approaching and this time it is different. In another week I will retire and a new life starts. Part of me wishes I could stay the same; same house, smae routine, same projects . But I know I would wither away, be more tired, do less. Kerstin and I are moving to Stockholm, at least 6+ months a year and I will form a new life. The winters will be cold. No car. Lots of walking. No familiarity. The positives are I must be alert to function in this new environment. I can see Freddie, my incredibly bright and focused grandchild often. We will be near London and hopefully our new to be granddaughter, Ebba-In Quotes will arrive and we can forge a relationship with her. It is a bit scary because we know that our relationship with our children will largely determine what that rtelationship will be. However, Rebecca sincerely wants us to be a part of Ebba's life so if we can give each other some space it can be as wonderful as our relationship with Freddie. I will

12/26/2018 I ahve 2 working days left before retirement. I have many feelings about this and not a little trepidation. This is opportunity!

Next Tuesday is Jan 1 and I have an extra day off, or at least I would have if I were still working. Technically I retire on Dec 31 but my last day was Dec.27. So I really don't have a day off because I don't have any more days on. It just isn't as much fun to squeeze in a round of golf or a trip to the gym if I don't have to be somewhere or stress somehow to get it in. My to do list is just not as compelling. The time is January, maybe February 2003. I am recuperating from my Whipple surgery and Pam called the surgeon and told him I am very depressed. He talks to me over the phone and tells me I need to see a psychiatrist. I set up an appointment with Dr Feinstein or whatever and see him for about 2 weeks. My affect is flat. I have a shit marriage, a shit relationship with my son, no intimate friends and I feel nothing. Dr. F finally asks me: Ed, have you cried? I reply "no". That's funny, he says. I cry every night for you. My tears flushed out and I cr

This is one pretentious title, but I want to get some things off my chest and then maybe I can be more analytical. I find fault with myself for not having been a good student, not having leareed as much as I could, having empathy when a patient touched my soul and being provocative and argumentative when I did not like patients. Yet I think my heart was in the right place. I believe Yale Medical School did a survey on my class, the class of 19369 and found that the number one reason for becoming a doctor was to seek prestige. I believe if a survey were conducted today, it would reveal a quest for money. My grievance is that the entire medical profession, nay, the entire culture revolves around acquiring riches. The pursuit of knowledge, well being of our fellow man, sophistication, comraderie and harmony have been relegated to a lesser goal. The doctors , the pharmaceuticals, the para-medicals, the hospitals, and above all the money-power thirsty politicians who line their money with