Quote of the day

"This is the tale of a smartarse Brit getting lost in the Philadelphia health system. The highlights—edited for shock value—include cockroaches, urine-drenched bathrooms, a crazed geriatric chip-sucker, a frenzied attempt to masturbate into a specimen jar while the chap in the next bed watches Patton at a libido-shattering 128 decibels, and nurses hiding their name badges while my wife screams, 'My husband's got cancer. Get off your arse and get him his fucking painkillers now!'

The story also features Kafkaesque data chases, a scrotal sac swollen to the size of a football, glimpses of oak-paneled $300-a-night posh-patients' rooms where protein shakes come in silver salvers, the horror of the catheter they stick down your cock (and this is legal, why?) and the nightmare foot-long scented candle of compacted fecal matter that was so hard to shift that I collapsed and had to be given oxygen the first time I tried.

Plus more love, affection and staggeringly efficient professionalism from amazing doctors and incredible nurses than you could possibly believe. And more really, really, really great free drugs than you could shake a shitty stick at."

From this article by regular Philadelphia Weekly columnist Steven Wells in which the inimitable former NME scribe writes about being diagnosed with and treated for lung cancer. It's an essential read.

(Thanks to Jonathan for the link.)