This is a much more sober entry, so if anyone is reading these simply for cool, interesting adventure stories, this is not the blog for you. Skip it and come back next time. My first patient died on me yesterday. True he was not technically "my" patient, I was hardly the responsible physician on call, but I was involved in his care, and I think I can call him "mine" in the sense any nurse could call a patient "his/hers." He was a Tibetan boy (there is a Tibetan colony in Mussoorie, so we see quite a few patients in clinic) of maybe 10 - 13, wearing a bright red T-shirt with some American rock band name on it that I haven't heard of. He came in a couple of afternoons ago, and we all rushed
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