Barbara Huttmann A CRIME OF COMPASSION “Murderer,” a man shouted. “God help patients who get you for a nurse.” “What gives the right to play God?” another one asked. It was the Phil Donahue show where the guest is a fatted calf and the audience is a 200-strong flock of vultures hungering to pick at the bones. I had told them about Mac, one of my favorite cancer patients. “We resuscitated him 52 times in just one month. I refused to resuscitate him again. I simply sat there and held his hand while he died.”
