Printed on August 27, 2007
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But what is death? Is it a process? Is it a moment?
| Kathy E. Magliato |
| MD, MBA, FACS |
Until it stops.
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| Click above to preview |
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3 Comments
Blimey - really interesting post this - really makes you think and question things!
Frank Polenose of Quick Loans
Blimey - really interesting post this - really makes you think and question things!
Frank Polenose
Last summer I was on vacation with two of my best friends in Mexico when this terrible tragedy occurred. I fell three stories from my hotel balcony. My best friend since kindergarten gave me C.P.R. on site and saved my life, while my other best friend since first grade, screamed for an ambulance. I was rushed to a small hospital nearby where it was discovered that I had sustained 4 broken ribs, an orbital fracture to my face, a frontal lobe contusion, lacerations to my spleen, liver, and pancreas and also a punctured lung due to the rib. That is just a small fraction of what I actually went through, but I just wanted to throw it your way to see if you could possibly use it. Basically, the last thing I remembered doing in Mexico was ten shots of tequila in a row, and subsequently waking up five weeks later in a hospital bed in Cincinnati, OH. This is where I had to relearn pretty much everything I knew. I also learned that I had literally died three separate times and had to be revived each time. Another interesting part of the story, which most people take for granted, is that U.S. insurance is not accepted in Mexico. Luckily, I happened to have a nextel phone with direct connect that my friends used to contact my dad. He immediately booked the first available flight and arrived the following afternoon. The Mexican doctors told him that my spleen needed to be removed and that I only had 3 hours to live. He could either pay 20 thousand dollars to have it removed, or he could have transferred me to another hospital with only a three hour window. There weren't any other hospitals. So he ended up putting nearly 50 thousand dollars in bills on his credit card. It starts to make you think of all the immigrants that come to the U.S. without anything, and they go to our emergency rooms everyday to have their lives saved without paying a cent. I wasn’t even allowed onto an ambulance without my friends scrambling to find 500 dollars cash a piece for a near death ride to the hospital. Not to mention, the Mexican ambulance drivers stole my brand new shoes right off my feet. If my father hadn’t been there, there is no doubt in my mind that I’d be dead today.
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