for a person who let her lab partner mess around with eyeballs and livers while she read a book under the table and copied the drawings later, i am oddly drawn to memoirs of medical men. i think it was reading the medical bits of crichton's travels when i was 13 that did it. then to have both your best friend and then-boyfriend become med students - both too easily pumped for details of cases and residencies and blood and bones - so that you can go on building on this awful fascination. is it any wonder i have been listening all day to the medical student bits from a recording of graham chapman reading from his autobiography (a splendid one too) while doing a little latin homework and getting hopelessly high. (what sort of woman gets high listening about hospitals and cadavers anyway? kt: closet science whores. me: *gasp* who me?) anyway since i'm in lying in bed shivering today a medical man's story is quite apt.