Smiling, 17-year-old Samantha McClean walks down the stairs of her Henderson home with examples of her artwork under her arm. As she hurriedly makes her way to the living room, there is nothing about her entrance that suggests anything more or less than normalcy.
Paul Harasim
Ten years earlier, her Type 1 diabetes had already cost her the vision in one eye.
It was 2005 and retired Gen. Paul Tibbets, who led the A-bomb mission on Hiroshima, sat in the living room of his Ohio home and spoke about the role the Wendover airfield on the Nevada-Utah border played in the planning of the first use of the atomic bomb.
I saw the mass of barren trees off the riverbank. What had been green was now black. Nothing alive was visible.
You want to believe that someone who works in the health care industry has extra caring in his or her soul for their fellow man, that they’re at least partially driven by service to mankind, not solely by the pleasures and power made possible by the dollar.
The phone calls keep coming. Frequently the callers are angry. Often they’re crying.
When nurse Abby Hudema talks about why the University Medical Center pediatric intensive care unit staff follows infection control policies so closely — it was one of only five such units nationwide to earn the Consumer Reports’ top rating for preventing bloodstream infections in 2012 — she recalls a scene that at first blush doesn’t seem to have much to do with preventing bacteria from entering the bloodstream.
Marina Alvarez holds her 14-month-old son Esteban and kisses the chunky toddler on the cheek as she talks with her neighbor Thomas Locke in the front yard of her northeast Las Vegas home.
If you believe the great writer Oscar Wilde — “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” — the past week was a great one for those trying to make medical tourism a substantial part of the economic engine of Southern Nevada.
It’s a topic that’s become a part of the national conversation, almost as much as unemployment and same-sex marriage.
He sits there day after day in the courtroom staring straight ahead through custom eyeglasses, his eyes wide, wide open.
It eats at Dr. Michael Casey when someone with minor injuries dies, seemingly giving up the will to live.
