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Michael R. Wilson
San Francisco, California
michael.wilson@ucsf.edu

JAMA. 2006;295:1347-1348.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings.

Medical miracles visit us through the media with undeserved regularity, while medical monstrosities are largely relegated to the antiseptic rooms of hospitals. As students, we seek out the latter with enthusiastic curiosity tempered by respect for the suffering we encounter. Despite this enthusiasm, most of us find a welcome escape in our homes at the end of the day (or night). Upsetting this pattern, I took a leave of absence during my first year of medical school and drove home to confront the medical monster I would learn from over the next six months. It resided in my parents' house. It lived in my mother.

In my mother's obituary, my father is quoted as saying, "She was never the kind of immigrant who sought out only those from her native country. She spoke beautiful English, so she made friends everywhere we lived." Growing up as the only . . . [Full Text of this Article]