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Article
April 3, 1972

Getting Well in Barranquilla

JAMA. 1972;220(1):112-114. doi:10.1001/jama.1972.03200010096018
Abstract

I was sitting in the Lounge of the Algonquin Princess after dinner, listening to the ship's orchestra scratch out a rumba, when Miss Holloway asked me the question. A slim, prehensile blonde from East Orange, perhaps 46 years of age, Miss Holloway would be dining at my right through the entire cruise.

"Tell me, Johnny," she said, nibbling a peanut. "Have you had any unbelievably exciting adventures at sea?"

"What did you have in mind?" I said.

"You know perfectly well what I have in mind. Gory, fascinating things must happen all the time to ship's doctors in boats like this. Violent deaths, mutilating fractures, epidemics of plague or tetanus, breech deliveries during a screaming hurricane. That sort of thing."

I considered her question carefully and allowed a little time to pass before answering. Fiction No. 3, I decided, would do very well under the circumstances. I had not used

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