I went to medical school, at least in part, to get to know death and perhaps to make my peace with it. So did many of my doctor friends, as I would find out. One day\u2014usually when you\u2019re young, though sometimes later\u2014the thought hits you: You really are going to die. That moment is shocking, frightening, terrible. You try to pretend it hasn\u2019t happened (it\u2019s only a thought, after all), and you go about your business, worrying about this or that, until the day you put your hand to your neck\u2014in the shower, say\u2014and \u2026 What is that? Those hard lumps that you know, at first touch, should not be there? But there they are, and they mean death. Your death, and you can\u2019t pretend anymore.<\/p>\n
I never wanted to be surprised that way, and I thought that if I became a doctor and saw a lot of death, I might get used to it; it wouldn\u2019t surprise me, and I could learn to live with it. My strategy worked pretty well. Over the decades, from all my patients, I learned that I would be well until I got sick and that although I could do some things to delay the inevitable a bit, whatever control I had was limited. I learned that I had to live as if I would die tomorrow and at the same time as if I would live forever. Meanwhile, I watched as what had been called \u201cmedical care\u201d\u2014that is, treating the sick\u2014turned into \u201chealth care,\u201d<\/a>\u00a0keeping people healthy, at an ever-rising cost.<\/p>\n Read it all<\/a>.<\/p>\n It\u2019s time to rethink the quest to control aging, death, and disease\u2014and the fear of mortality that fuels it, writes @victoriasweet<\/a>. https:\/\/t.co\/bZAkKMw046<\/a> pic.twitter.com\/z0hhk8IW5X<\/a><\/p>\n \u2014 The Atlantic (@TheAtlantic) April 10, 2018<\/a><\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n