The witticisms are often fearlessly self-mocking. “Used to bench press two hundred pounds, Doc,” Tony, emaciated, shriveled, and dying of AIDS, cracked during one of his last office visits. “Now I can’t even bench press my own dick.” When my addict patients look at me, they are seeking the real me. Like children, they are unimpressed with titles, achievements, worldly credentials. Their concerns are too immediate, too urgent.
