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Victor M. Victoroff, MD

JAMA. 1985;254(24):3464-3466.

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

I SAT in one of those uncomfortable metal folding chairs the director set about the funeral parlor to accommodate overflow guests. The "dearly beloved deceased," a physician suicide, lay on white satin, his face spray-painted in mortuary pink and green. His eyes were closed; a faint, supercilious sneer distorted his mouth, a failure of reconstructive efforts to conceal facial injury suffered when he drove his car into a bridge abutment. At the age of 45, his life was smashed. The shards of what was left sat about me.

His wife sat rigid, stiff-backed, and grim, staring with contempt at the minister as we listened to boiler-plate platitudes. An older brother sat across the aisle from her.

A 6-year-old child, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, stood next to her mother, whose arm circled her shoulders. In the adjoining chair, a 12-year-old boy sat sobbing. The new widow extended her hand to cover his. . . . [Full Text PDF of this Article]

Author Affiliations
Dr Victoroff is in private practice in Cleveland.

Footnotes
Reprint requests to 5 Severance Circle #303, Cleveland, OH 44118 (Dr Victoroff).

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