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When They Tell Me
JAMA. 2008;300(10):1122.
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| Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings. |
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the psychologist, the therapist, the nurse practitioner, and the intern, we are crowded in one office. They inhale what little air is left, the breath I imagine they collectively take each time the diagnosis is given, when the word is still fresh and hangs in the air. Why do we say the diagnosis is given when so much is taken away? I take my time to respond, my eyes wandering to the art of children framed along the office wall, and I can not stop myself from rising, from deliberately reading the labels telling me these drawings were done by autistic children in Russia. I am the only one standing, the rest still waiting. Suddenly I laugh, and I am not sure if I have laughed to myself or aloud in front of them. If I could just at this moment, lead them home, take them to my room, show . . . [Full Text of this Article]
Grey Brown
Carrboro, North Carolina
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