I would not be able to have written my books or done my research without the support of my patients. Many people ask me how I can be so solidly in the academic and medical mainstream and still study near death experiences. My reply is that my funding is from my private practice of medicine. It is my patients' support which allows me to be as independent as I am. It is that same support which allows me to lecture to groups who cannot afford a "best selling author". When I meet with a group of grieving parents, or spend a few hours with a family in spiritual crisis, it is my patients who "fund" that. I wish that every parent who brings their child to me for an ear infection could read the sort of letters I get regularly thanking me for my near death research. It is their confidence in my skills as a Pediatrician which allows me to do this work.

This poem was written by one of the mother's in my practice:

Come on, let's get busy
let's get down
they can be the best around

Let's pass them the torch
and watch them fly
taking academics to the sky.
our guidance is what will see them through

The main ingredient in our children's soar is love
L....for the laughter we share everyday
O....for the obvious
V...for the volunteering at your child's school and for the victory of our children's success
E....is for everything we do to help our children to know. To be successful and to always grow.

So let us not sit watching from the porch
But let us pass on the torch
to a bright future.

Donna Peguero 1996

I wrote the next two stories:

She was Lillian's granddaughter and I wanted to make a good impression as her doctor. Lilian was the head obstetrical nurse at the hospital. Her approval could make or break a young physician. I had heard at the hospital nursery that Lillian was bringing in her teenage granddaughter, Emily, to check out the new Pediatrician.

Lilian's granddaughter appeared to have a straight forward case of strep throat. Yet she seemed unusually nervous, tapping her foot emphatically. I remembered my professors telling me that often teenagers present to the doctor with minor symptoms such as Emily' s, when really they have another agenda, such as fears of pregnancy or drug problems. I asked Lilian to excuse us, that I wanted to speak privately with her granddaughter. After an awkward silence, I asked her if there was anything wrong, anything she wanted to discuss privately. As her foot tapped furiously, she said "No, I just want to go home".

After another awkward pause, I suddenly stopped thinking up her as Lilian's granddaughter, and saw her as Emily, a young frightened shy girl who could have been my own daughter. I told her that she had a minor throat infection and she would get better with antibiotics. I said that I would always want to see her alone, without her grandmother, as she was my patient. We chatted for a few minutes. I reassured her that she could tell me anything, anything at all. I thought it went well,that I had actually achieved rapport with a teenager!

I saw Lillian the next day at the hospital. She said: "Well, Dr. Morse. Emily sure liked you. But she said she could never go to your office again".

My heart sank. I wanted to fall through the floor. "But why?" I said, realizing I was talking too loudly.

Lillian laughed at my discomfort and said, "It's really all my fault. We were in a hurry to get to your office, and Emily had on a sock with a hole in it. She wanted to change, but I told her not to. 'You have a sore throat' I told her, 'he won't be looking at your feet'.

So what happens as soon as we get to the office? The first thing the nurse says is "slip off those shoes". "We need to weigh you." And there was her toe, sticking right out of a hole in her sock. My granddaughter said she was so embarrassed, she can't ever go back to see you!"

My friend Pierre has studied angels, and states that they are real, very powerful, and often quite funny. If you have not previously believed in angels, this story might change your mind.

A doctor friend of mine asked me to prescribe for him a new drug for male baldness. I laughed, and said that I didn't think that he needed it. He is one of my role models, a fellow pediatrician I have learned so much from. I was surprised that a man of his stature would even be worried about something as real life as going bald. (That is just the sort of thing I obsess about, of course.) I wrote him a prescription, but told him he was worried about nothing.

The next Monday, I saw him at work, and the very spot he was worried about was red and inflamed, and had no hair on it at all! I was worried, thinking this was some sort of weird side effect of the medicine I had prescribed. Instead of growing hair, it was removing it!

"What happened" I cried. He replied that he had been crawling under his hot tub installing an type of expandable foam insulation. He was crawling on his back, and accidentally knocked his hat off. Suddenly a huge blob of the sticky foam stuff fell directly on his head, right on his balding spot. He had to peel off his skin and most of his hair to get rid of it.

I thought to myself that sometimes angels use humor to teach us lessons. I know that too often I am obsessively worrying over something trivial while unknown to me, a giant blob of sticky stuff is poised, ready to fall on my head!