death?» As a physician and a psychiatrist, he had murmured these very consolations

into the ears of the dying.

Though he believed these somber reflections to be useful to his patients, he never

considered that they might have anything to do with him. That is, until a terrible moment

four weeks earlier which forever changed his life.

The moment occurred during his annual routine physical examination. His

internist, Herb Katz—an old friend and medical school classmate—had just completed

his examination and, as always, told Julius to dress and come to his office for a

debriefing.

Herb sat at his desk, rifling through Julius`s chart. «On the whole, you look pretty

good for an ugly sixty–five–year–old man. Prostate is getting a little swollen, but so is

mine. Blood chemistries, cholesterol, and lipid levels are well–behaved—the meds and

your diet are doing their job. Here`s the prescription for your Lipitor, which, along with

your jogging, has lowered your cholesterol enough. So you can give yourself a break: eat

an egg once in a while. I eat two for breakfast every Sunday. And here`s the prescription

for your synthyroid. I`m raising the dose a bit. Your thyroid gland is slowly closing

down—the good thyroid cells are dying and being replaced by fibrotic material. Perfectly

benign condition, as you know. Happens to us all; I`m on thyroid meds myself.

«Yes, Julius, no part of us escapes the destiny of aging. Along with your thyroid,

your knee cartilage is wearing out, your hair follicles are dying, and your upper lumbar

disks are not what they used to be. What`s more, your skin integrity is obviously

deteriorating: your epithelial cells are just plain wearing out—look at all those senile

keratoses on your cheeks, those brown flat lesions.» He held up a small mirror for Julius