“ON MY LAST WEEKEND in the ICU, I rounded with Isaac Sweeney. Dr. Sweeney was a portly, avuncular attending physician with a mischievous grin. Despite the miseries of the ICU, he always maintained a relentlessly upbeat manner. It was a brilliantly sunny day, perfect weather for sailing. Midway through long, protracted rounds, Sweeney called us over to a window. He pointed down at a sailboat on the river. A man was standing on the deck, looking up at the hospital. He looked like he was about Sweeney's age, though fit and tan. He was holding a drink, and a party was going on onboard. "See that guy?" Sweeney said. "Do you know what he's thinking?" No one ventured a guess. "He's thinking, 'I should have been a doctor.' " Before I left, I surveyed the unit one last time. I had seen so much over the past month; things I had never seen before, that I had never expected to see. I had changed. And yet I was leaving the place essentially as I had found it.”