Published: January 23, 2007
I carry the card in the glove compartment of my car. It is not a Valentine’s card from my wife, or a graduation card from my mother. It is a simple greeting card, with a cheerful watercolor of wildflowers, sent to me by a patient I cared for after moving to Memphis.
She was an attractive 34-year-old medical detailer who was engaged to be married until she became inexplicably short of breath. First her doctors thought it was asthma, then bronchitis.Read More