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Daniel Spitzer, MD
Suffern, NY

JAMA. 2002;288:548.

	Since this article does not have an abstract, we have provided the first 150 words of the full text and any section headings.

"Look, Ma!" wasn't going to come out ahead. A little ice, flat light, and some steep moguls weren't going to beat me: I'd been skiing for 40 years and could handle anything this silly mountain could throw my way. Stepping off the mogul and turning to the right, I suddenly realized I was falling through space, minus one ski.

One of the earliest of memories. Late fall 1963, sitting on the floor in front of a small black-and-white TV screen, watching an open car drive down the street on a sunny day. Then crying people and an airplane landing somewhere, at night, and a box being taken off the airplane and images of a pretty woman, close to my mother's age, crying. "Why can't we simply turn time backward," I asked her, "like in those books you read to me at night?" And I dreamt that I . . . [Full Text of this Article]

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