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KEATING: Just Give Me the Ceclor, Doc 

Morton Fisk called the office because of a deep, deep cough. He was in a hurry, he explained to the triage nurse over the phone. Could he come at lunchtime? That way he could squeeze the doctor's appointment in between his own clients. Besides, it would be a quick visit, he explained. He knew precisely what he needed - an antibiotic named Ceclor. He had had this once before, about two years ago, and he recalled that Ceclor worked like magic. Maybe the doctor could call in a prescription? . .

. I knew he had been a smoker, having picked up the Camel habit in Vietnam, and was still smoking during the workweek, hiding it from his wife. But I knew little else about him.

To diagnose the cause of this kind of cough requires many questions and a careful examination, none of which Mr. Fisk felt he had the time for. . .

"Well, the damn tumor looks like it is about to block the superior vena cava. It's classic."

"Tumor," I mumbled, and felt numb.

Then I called to Paulette.

"I'm going to need Mr. Fisk's chart and his telephone number."

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