KevinMD June 1, 2024
On this particular day, my heart rolled off my arm and crashed on the cold exam room floor. I summoned the strength—from where? I don’t know. Ginny cried, and between sobs, she described a brain tumor, the one that left him in a bed for a year. I handed her two tissues (one was never enough) and heaved my stool forward. I wrapped my entire arm around her as tears poured off her nose and distorted the phone screen. I glanced down and saw a college kid, her grandson, one who was bald and, honestly, looked my age. Our legs touched, and now that I was flush against her chair, I felt her warmth. I rubbed Ginny’s back and rested...
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