Thursday, November 18, 2004


I offered a handshake, to which Mr. S grabbed my right hand with both of his. I could feel the desperation and fear through his flesh.

"Doctor, do your best for my wife. Do your best."

"Mr. S, you know I'm-"

"I know, I know..." he interrupted, "I know. Please, I trust you completely. You never hear a Sicilian say something like that. Please. Do your best."

I looked into this old man's eyes, and saw the raw honesty in his words. His aged hands, frail and weathered with time, clinged to mine looking for hope.

But I could offer none. His wife lay dying. It would only be a matter of time.