Johnny’s disabled. He can’t get to my office anymore. So I drive 100 miles up the Oregon coast to check in on him. I get lost, but finally discover his little white house on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
“Last time a doctor come to my house,
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Edited version of article reprinted by the Washington Post July 14, 2014
An obstetrician is found dead in his bathtub. Gunshot wound to the head. An anesthesiologist dies of an overdose in a hospital closet. A family doctor is hit by a train. He’s decapitated.
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I’ve always been a people watcher. Now I get paid to spy on folks. I have to ask detailed, personal questions. Sometimes I even snoop around patients’ homes.
In the 1930s nearly half of all patient visits were house calls. Now most patients are rushed through ten-minute office visits.
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Doctor revived after suicide. Here's what he says.
