Yesterday I went to the funeral of Harry Lassman (age 92). He’s the grandfather of the Wishes and the Rosenthals. He was a wonderful man, active and alert to the end. He and his wife, Anne (still alive) were Dad’s patients and love him dearly.
Harry is the one who, after his first heart attack about 25 years ago, said to Dad, “You’re a wonderful doctor and you saved my life, but your wife’s soup is what put me on my feet.”
Dad never told me this. Harry did on one of my subequent visits to him. When I heard it I told Dad, “Hey, I want some credit for the ones I save.”