The Premonition: A Pandemic Story

by Michael Lewis

Carter would never forget one crusty old World War II vet with incurable lung disease, and a tube down his throat. He’d been able to communicate only by writing on a whiteboard. I want to die, he’d written one day. The nurses brought Carter over. I want you to take me off this goddam machine and let me die, he wrote to Carter. Carter told him that if he really wanted to die, he could die, but maybe they should sleep on it, as death wasn’t one of those procedures that was easy to reverse. The old vet wrote, If you don’t pull this tube out, I’m going to yank it out. “He was in a rage,” said Carter. “They brought in the chaplain and the family.” Carter decided to change the subject. “What can we do to make you more comfortable?” he asked. The old vet studied him a beat and then wrote on the board, “Beer.” “What kind of beer?” asked Carter. A few minutes later Carter was at a gas station buying a six-pack. He gave it to the ICU nurse along with a formal prescription: one can of beer a night. “I hand him the beer and he has a smile on his face,” said Carter. “And he went to sleep.” The old World War II vet decided he preferred to live, and he lasted a surprisingly long time.