The great writer John McPhee’s article in the February 8th issue of the New Yorker is primarily about his experiences fishing for pickerel in New Hampshire, but the subtext is his connecting to his dying father who is in the hospital after a severe stroke.
While the article is extremely warm and heart-felt, two short sections stand out because of his visceral reaction to his father’s doctor:
“His room had a south-facing window. My mother, in a flood of light, eighty-seven, looked even smaller than she was, and space was limited around her, with me, my brother, my sister and a young doctor together beside the bed.…