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The Comedy of Errors A sentence in the recent issue reminds me of the old New Yorker quips: “Clement was a psychiatrist who specialized in the treatment of alcoholism on the staff of Buffalo General Hospital.” Buffalo is a tough place to live but… —Eugene E. Nattie ’71 [Spring 1996] From the Bottom of My Heart Though on occasion rectal examination or dilatation may indeed induce extrasystoles or even syncope from sinus standstill, and straining at stool may bring about serious pulmonary embolism, I hasten to correct any impression of Leonardesque versatility conveyed by the title given for my book in the Alumni Notes section of the last issue of the Bulletin. It should read “Cardiac Emergencies and Related Disorders,” rather than “Rectal Disorders.” However, the surprising interest in the quoted title suggests that perhaps the subject as given deserves greater attention. —Harold D. Levine ’32 [Spring 1961] How Do You Like Them Apples? In the July 1957 issue of the Bulletin, I find: “Leslie M. Bell reports that he keeps busy doing in the ‘apple country’ (Winchester, Virginia).” Perhaps there is a chance of misinterpretation of just what goes on around here! One can do some things around the apple tree, a few things in the apple tree, but many things under the apple tree. If you could insert the word “surgery” between “doing” and “in,” I should be very appreciative. —Leslie M. Bell ’35 [May 1958] Is There Death Before Life? I used to dislike proofreading; however, lest the following succeed by eminent domain, I hesitate little in pointing to page 20 of the spring Bulletin: “Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in 1809”; and later in the same paragraph, “Holmes died in 1804”! At first I thought this was a classic case of heart success, “where the heart beats better and better ’til time runs backward.” —David Dove ’42 [Summer 1982] The Nature of the Beast In the Alumni Notes, it is stated that I am president of the Society of Peloric Surgeons, and surely this must be a most interesting society! My dictionary defines “pelor” as a fetal monstrosity with some parts abnormally large. Surely this society must have more intriguing meetings than my own, which is the Society of Pelvic Surgeons! —Somers H. Sturgis ’31 [May/June 1970] The Unkindest Cut Of especial interest in “Dr. Guillotine and His Non-Invention” was the date of the visit to the priest by the executioner Sanson—1973, 200 years after his execution of the French king. The author should have revealed the secret of Sanson’s long life before the days of low cholesterol and other fad diets. —Theodore B. Massell ’31 [Spring 1991] Greatly Exaggerated Reports Friday morning my wife, Enid, received a phone call from my HMS classmate Bob Scully. “Enid,” he said, “I’m so sorry to read of Lew’s death in this month’s Alumni Bulletin.” Enid, like Bob, is a pathologist and, like all pathologists, her middle name is equanimity. “Well,” she answered, “he was breathing this morning. Frankly, he didn’t look any different than he did yesterday.” Scully countered, “I thought there was something funny. The note said he was survived by his widow, Sylvia.” “Really,” Enid replied. “Maybe there are skeletons of which I’m not aware.” The importance of this was emphasized when we got home and found a message from a distraught Sydney Gellis ’38, my hero and mentor of many years. “Enid, I just read the terrible news about Lew, and incidentally, I think it’s in poor taste to leave his voice on the answering machine.” After phoning him and hearing the distress in his voice, she said, “I’ll let you speak to him.” I got on the phone and told him this was a very long distance call and it was very hot here. On Tuesday I received a call from the Bulletin’s editor. She apologized for the error and said she was sorry, but did not make clear whether she was sorry for the notice or that I was alive or both. I assured her that my mother’s name was Mary and my father’s name was Joseph and that he was a carpenter. Therefore she need not worry. (I am still confused as to whether the Bulletin’s announcement of my death was wishful thinking or if the school anticipated a large trust.) Now the truth is that life and being alive are philosophical concepts. When Enid related the conversation that had alerted her to my untimely demise, I immediately went to the EEG lab, where squiggles were reported. My pulse ox is respectable and my EKG shows electrical discharge. Nonetheless, if I am dead—legally, that is—please notify our class agent, Chet d’Autrement. —Lewis Barness ’44 [Spring 1995] This article appeared in the Summer 2002 issue of the Harvard Medical Alumni Bulletin. |
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