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Admissions: Life as a Brain Surgeon
The 2017 National Book Critics Circle (NBCC) Finalist, International Bestseller, and a Kirkus Best Nonfiction Book of 2017!“Marsh has retired, which means he’s taking a thorough inventory of his life. His reflections and recollections make Admissions an even more introspective memoir than his first, if such a thing is possible.” —The New York Times"Consistently entertaining...Honesty is abundantly apparent here--a quality as rare and commendable in elite surgeons as one suspects it is in memoirists." —The Guardian"Disarmingly frank storytelling...his reflections on death and dying equal those in Atul Gawande's excellent Being Mortal." —The EconomistHenry Marsh has spent a lifetime operating on the surgical frontline. There have been exhilarating highs and devastating lows, but his love for the practice of neurosurgery has never wavered. Following the publication of his celebrated New York Times bestseller Do No Harm, Marsh retired from his full-time job in England to work pro bono in Ukraine and Nepal. In Admissions he describes the difficulties of working in these troubled, impoverished countries and the further insights it has given him into the practice of medicine. Marsh also faces up to the burden of responsibility that can come with trying to reduce human suffering. Unearthing memories of his early days as a medical student, and the experiences that shaped him as a young surgeon, he explores the difficulties of a profession that deals in probabilities rather than certainties, and where the overwhelming urge to prolong life can come at a tragic cost for patients and those who love them. Reflecting on what forty years of handling the human brain has taught him, Marsh finds a different purpose in life as he approaches the end of his professional career and a fresh understanding of what matters to us all in the end.
289 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 3, 2017
About the author
Henry Marsh
24 books717 followersHenry Marsh read Politics, Philosophy and Economics at Oxford University before studying medicine at the Royal Free Hospital in London. He became a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in 1984 and was appointed Consultant Neurosurgeon at Atkinson Morley's/St George's Hospital in London in 1987, where he still works full time.
He has been the subject of two major documentary films, YOUR LIFE IN THEIR HANDS, which won the ROYAL TELEVISION SOCIETY GOLD MEDAL, and THE ENGLISH SURGEON, featuring his work in the Ukraine, which won an EMMY award. He was made a CBE in 2010. He is married to the anthropologist and writer Kate Fox.
His latest book is And Finally, coming after Admissions and Do No Harm.
He has been the subject of two major documentary films, YOUR LIFE IN THEIR HANDS, which won the ROYAL TELEVISION SOCIETY GOLD MEDAL, and THE ENGLISH SURGEON, featuring his work in the Ukraine, which won an EMMY award. He was made a CBE in 2010. He is married to the anthropologist and writer Kate Fox.
His latest book is And Finally, coming after Admissions and Do No Harm.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 647 reviews
August 16, 2017
I love autobiographies. Sometimes one identifies strongly with the writer, and the reading process feels quite seamless. Then there are other writers whose experiences of life and the world are very different to yours. This makes for a bumpy ride, with little identification, but these books are often the most fascinating. For me this autobiography fits the latter mould.
Marsh starts the book by telling us that above everything, he values his suicide kit, which he plans to use if he gets dementia, or some horrible terminal illness. He ends the book in a similar fashion, discussing voluntary euthanasia. He approves of countries and states where this is legal, and points out that the fact it is available doesn't mean that everyone rushes up to take advantage of it, rather it acts as a cushion of reassurance - reassurance that if everything gets too bad, there is a kindly way out. He also mentions that 75 percent of medical costs are incurred in the last six months of our lives. This presumably means that 75 percent of sickness and medical crises occur within the last six months of our lives. I am always pleased when these issues get an airing.
The book covers the time when Marsh retires from working as a neurosurgeon in Britain, although he still continues with the voluntary work that he has done in Nepal and the Ukraine for many years. I found the book heavily tainted with sadness and regret. By the end of it I wished that he hadn't become a neurosurgeon, but had rather chosen a genre of surgery with higher success rates. He is obviously passionate about brain surgery and talks about the 'intense joy' of operating, but I think the costs/risks are too high, and a couple of times Marsh voices similar views.
The situation is even worse in Nepal and the Ukraine, where things like brain tumours are left undiagnosed until much later stages than in the UK. Plus families insist on operations when there is really no hope of a good outcome. Another issue is that most of the young surgeons that Marsh is training in Nepal just want to get their qualifications and then practice abroad. In the Ukraine, Marsh has issues with his main associate of many years - the head surgeon of the hospital where he goes to do voluntary work. Even though much of the operating theatre has been furnished with equipment that Marsh has brought over from the UK over the years... and in spite of putting in years of effort to train brain surgeons here. In this book he terminates his commitment to going to the Ukraine.
On a completely different tack, we hear about an old run down cottage beside the Oxford Canal, which Marsh has bought in his retirement and is renovating. Marsh is obviously a skilled carpenter, but this cottage is massively decaying and decrepit. Nor does it have a road leading to it. All materials have to be delivered by path overland, or by boat. He wonders if he has taken on too much. The cottage is attacked by vandals, who break the glazing on the windows that Marsh has made himself....but he keeps going with his project.
I think Marsh has huge determination and drive, and he is not turned off by massively challenging causes. His honesty and scrupulous self-appraisal are admirable. Whilst I feel sorry that his life does not have more happy endings, I nevertheless found this a gripping and fascinating read.
Marsh starts the book by telling us that above everything, he values his suicide kit, which he plans to use if he gets dementia, or some horrible terminal illness. He ends the book in a similar fashion, discussing voluntary euthanasia. He approves of countries and states where this is legal, and points out that the fact it is available doesn't mean that everyone rushes up to take advantage of it, rather it acts as a cushion of reassurance - reassurance that if everything gets too bad, there is a kindly way out. He also mentions that 75 percent of medical costs are incurred in the last six months of our lives. This presumably means that 75 percent of sickness and medical crises occur within the last six months of our lives. I am always pleased when these issues get an airing.
The book covers the time when Marsh retires from working as a neurosurgeon in Britain, although he still continues with the voluntary work that he has done in Nepal and the Ukraine for many years. I found the book heavily tainted with sadness and regret. By the end of it I wished that he hadn't become a neurosurgeon, but had rather chosen a genre of surgery with higher success rates. He is obviously passionate about brain surgery and talks about the 'intense joy' of operating, but I think the costs/risks are too high, and a couple of times Marsh voices similar views.
The situation is even worse in Nepal and the Ukraine, where things like brain tumours are left undiagnosed until much later stages than in the UK. Plus families insist on operations when there is really no hope of a good outcome. Another issue is that most of the young surgeons that Marsh is training in Nepal just want to get their qualifications and then practice abroad. In the Ukraine, Marsh has issues with his main associate of many years - the head surgeon of the hospital where he goes to do voluntary work. Even though much of the operating theatre has been furnished with equipment that Marsh has brought over from the UK over the years... and in spite of putting in years of effort to train brain surgeons here. In this book he terminates his commitment to going to the Ukraine.
On a completely different tack, we hear about an old run down cottage beside the Oxford Canal, which Marsh has bought in his retirement and is renovating. Marsh is obviously a skilled carpenter, but this cottage is massively decaying and decrepit. Nor does it have a road leading to it. All materials have to be delivered by path overland, or by boat. He wonders if he has taken on too much. The cottage is attacked by vandals, who break the glazing on the windows that Marsh has made himself....but he keeps going with his project.
I think Marsh has huge determination and drive, and he is not turned off by massively challenging causes. His honesty and scrupulous self-appraisal are admirable. Whilst I feel sorry that his life does not have more happy endings, I nevertheless found this a gripping and fascinating read.
May 23, 2017
Brain surgeon Henry Marsh’s first book, Do No Harm, was one of my favorite reads of 2015. Admissions serves as a sort of sequel, recording Marsh’s last few weeks at his London hospital and the projects that have driven him during his first years of retirement: woodworking, renovating a derelict lock-keeper’s cottage by the canal in Oxford, and yet more neurosurgery on medical missions to Nepal and the Ukraine. But he also ranges widely over his past, recalling cases from his early years in medicine as well as from recent memory, and describing his schooling and his parents. If I were being unkind, I might say that this feels like a collection of leftover incidents from the previous book project.
However, the life of a brain surgeon is so undeniably exciting that, even if these stories are the scraps, they are delicious ones. The title has a double meaning, of course, referring not only to the patients who are admitted to the hospital but also to a surgeon’s confessions. And there are certainly many cases Marsh regrets, including operating on the wrong side in a trapped nerve patient, failing to spot that a patient was on the verge of a diabetic coma before surgery, and a young woman going blind after an operation in the Ukraine. Often there is no clear right decision, though; operating or not operating could lead to equal damage.
Once again I was struck by Marsh’s trenchant humor: he recognizes the absurdities as well as the injustices of life. In Houston he taught on a neurosurgery workshop in which students created and then treated aneurysms in live pigs. When asked “Professor, can you give us some surgical pearls?” he “thought a little apologetically of the swine in the nearby bay undergoing surgery.” A year or so later, discussing the case of a twenty-two-year-old with a fractured spine, he bitterly says, “Christopher Reeve was a millionaire and lived in America and he eventually died from complications, so what chance a poor peasant in Nepal?”
Although some slightly odd structural decisions have gone into this book – the narrative keeps jumping back to Nepal and the Ukraine, and a late chapter called “Memory” is particularly scattered in focus – I still thoroughly enjoyed reading more of Marsh’s anecdotes. The final chapter is suitably melancholy, with its sense of winding down capturing not just the somewhat slower pace of his retired life but also his awareness of the inevitable approach of death. Recalling two particularly hideous deaths he observed in his first years as a doctor, he lends theoretical approval for euthanasia as a way of maintaining dignity until the end.
What I most admire about Marsh’s writing is how he blends realism and wonder. “When my brain dies, ‘I’ will die. ‘I’ am a transient electrochemical dance, made of myriad bits of information,” he recognizes. But that doesn’t deter him from producing lyrical passages like this one: “The white corpus callosum came into view at the floor of the chasm, like a white beach between two cliffs. Running along it, like two rivers, were the anterior cerebral arteries, one on other side, bright red, pulsing gently with the heartbeat.” I highly recommend his work to readers of Atul Gawande and Paul Kalanithi.
Originally published with images on my blog, Bookish Beck.
However, the life of a brain surgeon is so undeniably exciting that, even if these stories are the scraps, they are delicious ones. The title has a double meaning, of course, referring not only to the patients who are admitted to the hospital but also to a surgeon’s confessions. And there are certainly many cases Marsh regrets, including operating on the wrong side in a trapped nerve patient, failing to spot that a patient was on the verge of a diabetic coma before surgery, and a young woman going blind after an operation in the Ukraine. Often there is no clear right decision, though; operating or not operating could lead to equal damage.
Once again I was struck by Marsh’s trenchant humor: he recognizes the absurdities as well as the injustices of life. In Houston he taught on a neurosurgery workshop in which students created and then treated aneurysms in live pigs. When asked “Professor, can you give us some surgical pearls?” he “thought a little apologetically of the swine in the nearby bay undergoing surgery.” A year or so later, discussing the case of a twenty-two-year-old with a fractured spine, he bitterly says, “Christopher Reeve was a millionaire and lived in America and he eventually died from complications, so what chance a poor peasant in Nepal?”
Although some slightly odd structural decisions have gone into this book – the narrative keeps jumping back to Nepal and the Ukraine, and a late chapter called “Memory” is particularly scattered in focus – I still thoroughly enjoyed reading more of Marsh’s anecdotes. The final chapter is suitably melancholy, with its sense of winding down capturing not just the somewhat slower pace of his retired life but also his awareness of the inevitable approach of death. Recalling two particularly hideous deaths he observed in his first years as a doctor, he lends theoretical approval for euthanasia as a way of maintaining dignity until the end.
What I most admire about Marsh’s writing is how he blends realism and wonder. “When my brain dies, ‘I’ will die. ‘I’ am a transient electrochemical dance, made of myriad bits of information,” he recognizes. But that doesn’t deter him from producing lyrical passages like this one: “The white corpus callosum came into view at the floor of the chasm, like a white beach between two cliffs. Running along it, like two rivers, were the anterior cerebral arteries, one on other side, bright red, pulsing gently with the heartbeat.” I highly recommend his work to readers of Atul Gawande and Paul Kalanithi.
Originally published with images on my blog, Bookish Beck.
July 6, 2022
It’s actually extraordinary how much worse this is than Do No Harm - less sequel and more leftovers.
May 20, 2017
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b08q3xnvDescription: Nearing the end of his career, neurosurgeon Henry Marsh reflects on a life in surgery.
Marsh read Politics, Philosophy and Economics at Oxford University before studying medicine at the Royal Free Hospital in London, graduating in 1979. He became a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons in 1984 and was appointed Consultant Neurosurgeon at Atkinson Morley's/St.George's in 1987, he retired from there in 2015 and has since continued to operate in Ukraine and Nepal as well as teaching in hospitals around the world.
His first memoir, Do Not Harm, was a bestseller when it was published in 2014 - Admissions is the more personal and provocative follow up.
Henry Marsh has been the subject of two major documentary films - Your Life in their Hands (2003) which won the Royal Television Society Gold Medal and The English Surgeon (2009) which won an Emmy. He has lectured widely on the subject of hospital architecture and design, keeps bees and makes furniture in his spare time. He was made a CBE in 2010 and is married to the best-selling anthropologist and writer Kate Fox.
October 27, 2017
Нашій медицині не вистачає генрі маршів.
Нашій політиці.
Нашій сфері послуг.
Сфері продажів.
Благодійності
Військовій сфері.
І просто нам.
Нам не вистачає Генрі Марша в нас. Адже,як зазначено в післямові, правда – релігія Генрі Марша. А вміння визнавати власні помилки – одна з найменш притаманних нашому суспільству рис.
Нашій політиці.
Нашій сфері послуг.
Сфері продажів.
Благодійності
Військовій сфері.
І просто нам.
Нам не вистачає Генрі Марша в нас. Адже,як зазначено в післямові, правда – релігія Генрі Марша. А вміння визнавати власні помилки – одна з найменш притаманних нашому суспільству рис.
May 23, 2017
It's been some time since I read Henry Marsh's wonderful and compelling memoir of his life in neurosurgery, Do No Harm. I had hoped to re-read it prior to starting his new one, Admissions, but I didn't manage it. I'd ordered the book from Britain-- as it won't appear in Canada until the fall of 2017, and I didn't want to wait. I started it almost immediately. Given the passage of time, I do not know if my recollections of the first book are to be fully trusted, but this new book feels very different. Marsh still (quite harshly and unforgivingly) represents himself as an impatient, irascible, sometimes arrogant surgeon. There is still the rigorous, unflinching honesty, particularly about himself and the medical errors and miscalculations he has made. However, his failings and regrets as a person, particularly as a son, a husband, a father, and as a human being are also sharply scrutinized. I don't recall quite so much of this in the first book. I'm also aware that I am a different reader from the one I was a few years back. Maybe that's the difference.
As this second memoir opens, Marsh is on the brink of retirement, eager to be done, and more keenly aware than ever of the anxiety that he has long experienced just before he is about to operate. He feels that perhaps he is losing his nerve--the fearlessness, the boldness, the confidence that seem requisite for cutting into and manipulating the physical substrate of consciousness.
Marsh fears retirement. What is to be done with all that time? He will need to be doing something. Woodworking and building things have long been hobbies, so he decides on a big project, perhaps an impossible one: he purchases a dilapidated cottage along a canal outside Oxford, not far from his idyllic childhood home, with a view to restoring it. Almost all the work he does here, though, is thwarted. Vandals break his beautifully crafted windows. The weeds grow back in almost obscene luxuriance. Still, he continues.
Large sections of Admissions are dedicated to describing Marsh's experiences in Nepal, an astonishingly corrupt, almost lawless country, where he assists his specialist physician friend. In Kathmandu, Dev, who did his neurosurgical training in London years before, now almost singlehandedly runs a private hospital devoted to brain and spinal surgery. A homegrown celebrity of sorts, he has required a bodyguard since thugs invaded his home, kidnapped his daughter, and held her for ransom a few years back.
While Marsh is charmed by the people and beauty of Nepal, and is able to do some surgical work there, he is profoundly frustrated by the language barrier. Both in Nepal and Kiev (where he has long worked with a Ukrainian physician, Igor), he questions the appropriateness of a surgeon (himself) operating on a patient he cannot speak to, cannot appropriately assess (especially cognitively) and "know". Ultimately, he appears to regard his personal project of assisting and sharing knowledge with neurosurgeons in another country as a kind of folly, perhaps even a form of hubris.
Admissions is an aptly nuanced title for this medical memoir. Having performed work that has driven home just how much the intangible (thought and consciousness) depend on the physical (the brain), having seen how a person's very identity can be decimated by pathology, Marsh does not believe in God or an afterlife. Interestingly, though, his book has the feel of a spiritual biography of sorts. It is certainly a book of confessions, of admissions of error, and an account of the terrible human misery he has seen. Perhaps it is even an act of expiation and a request for forgiveness--if not divine, then at least human. Given what the author has seen, it is not surprising that he should fear his own death and spend some pages toward the end advocating for euthanasia. I found it hard to disagree with him.
I learned a tremendous amount from Henry Marsh's book. I respect his knowledge, honesty, and integrity. Admissions gives a fairly rare, painful glimpse into the life of a neurosurgeon and a deeply thoughtful human being, who is well aware of his limitations.
A good little video clip:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HQ1uXSo...
As this second memoir opens, Marsh is on the brink of retirement, eager to be done, and more keenly aware than ever of the anxiety that he has long experienced just before he is about to operate. He feels that perhaps he is losing his nerve--the fearlessness, the boldness, the confidence that seem requisite for cutting into and manipulating the physical substrate of consciousness.
Marsh fears retirement. What is to be done with all that time? He will need to be doing something. Woodworking and building things have long been hobbies, so he decides on a big project, perhaps an impossible one: he purchases a dilapidated cottage along a canal outside Oxford, not far from his idyllic childhood home, with a view to restoring it. Almost all the work he does here, though, is thwarted. Vandals break his beautifully crafted windows. The weeds grow back in almost obscene luxuriance. Still, he continues.
Large sections of Admissions are dedicated to describing Marsh's experiences in Nepal, an astonishingly corrupt, almost lawless country, where he assists his specialist physician friend. In Kathmandu, Dev, who did his neurosurgical training in London years before, now almost singlehandedly runs a private hospital devoted to brain and spinal surgery. A homegrown celebrity of sorts, he has required a bodyguard since thugs invaded his home, kidnapped his daughter, and held her for ransom a few years back.
While Marsh is charmed by the people and beauty of Nepal, and is able to do some surgical work there, he is profoundly frustrated by the language barrier. Both in Nepal and Kiev (where he has long worked with a Ukrainian physician, Igor), he questions the appropriateness of a surgeon (himself) operating on a patient he cannot speak to, cannot appropriately assess (especially cognitively) and "know". Ultimately, he appears to regard his personal project of assisting and sharing knowledge with neurosurgeons in another country as a kind of folly, perhaps even a form of hubris.
Admissions is an aptly nuanced title for this medical memoir. Having performed work that has driven home just how much the intangible (thought and consciousness) depend on the physical (the brain), having seen how a person's very identity can be decimated by pathology, Marsh does not believe in God or an afterlife. Interestingly, though, his book has the feel of a spiritual biography of sorts. It is certainly a book of confessions, of admissions of error, and an account of the terrible human misery he has seen. Perhaps it is even an act of expiation and a request for forgiveness--if not divine, then at least human. Given what the author has seen, it is not surprising that he should fear his own death and spend some pages toward the end advocating for euthanasia. I found it hard to disagree with him.
I learned a tremendous amount from Henry Marsh's book. I respect his knowledge, honesty, and integrity. Admissions gives a fairly rare, painful glimpse into the life of a neurosurgeon and a deeply thoughtful human being, who is well aware of his limitations.
A good little video clip:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HQ1uXSo...
October 12, 2021
I have not yet previously read any of Henry Marsh's books, but after really enjoying this I might look them up. This was an very compelling, informative and easy book to get invested in.
January 22, 2022
Dr. Henry Marsh is a maven with skilled hands and an IQ higher than the "average bear" perhaps. Brain, hands and eloquent synapses are perhaps all firing like a symphony in harmony. From errors on patients to his failed marriages, we find the honesty is deeply riveting.
Nepal surgery is quite different from the shining and glittering surgical theatres at Cedars Sinai and Hoag Hospital. In Nepal (instead of the family waiting in an air-conditioned sterile work of art) here families are on dirt, poor and its no surprise if they assault the surgeon.
On audible the narration is by Marsh, who recounts (in his British accent) the “Land of the Living” and "Give up the Ghost" phrases with no regard to death. Not only does he maneuver surgical knives, but also a tongue producing witty remarks without planning. Brilliant. Buy it.
Nepal surgery is quite different from the shining and glittering surgical theatres at Cedars Sinai and Hoag Hospital. In Nepal (instead of the family waiting in an air-conditioned sterile work of art) here families are on dirt, poor and its no surprise if they assault the surgeon.
On audible the narration is by Marsh, who recounts (in his British accent) the “Land of the Living” and "Give up the Ghost" phrases with no regard to death. Not only does he maneuver surgical knives, but also a tongue producing witty remarks without planning. Brilliant. Buy it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 25, 2021
Чудова книга. Легко читається і викликає багато філософських думок.
January 6, 2018
Another book by Henry Marsh that puts you into the life and death brain surgeries that he performs. This one is near the ending of his NHS employment and he posits upon retirement and his future "workshop" rehab project.
This is the book that gives us his regrets, his "admissions" to fault. Not just to his unsuccessful brain tumor surgery outcomes, but to his lacks or his inabilities to connect when he feels he should have been able to do so. This book is about self-appraisal and his is brutal as it is exact. Like his skills, perhaps.
Also it includes long copy of his time in Nepal on teaching and operating missions during these last career years. And one to Ukraine, where he feels that the teaching will not have ultimate technique success. You get tons of his philosophy and worldview here. And he is all about surgery being team work or if it isn't- far more a shot in the dark. If you don't teach a team combined effort, he feels you cannot expect another generation of operation in this field to be maintained.
Henry Marsh is not shy either about the sense of where he thinks the NHS and regulation for "category" care in his field has become. Nor where he sees the most ill results increase from such regulation and separations within the massive overlook dictates.
He particularly picks apart memory here. Most often of his failures, but also of the few things that brought him euphoria. I found his exercise habits and some of his "suffer to be better" cognition to be strange. But they work for him.
This book gives Marsh core essence more than his others. But I enjoyed it less. This one is highly filled with dark thoughts and real facts upon his and human mortality. And especially upon the death processes in which so many humans suffer for lengths of time. SO FEW BOOKS will face that in the sense that Marsh does here.
The last chapters were daunting to read, IMHO. And being old myself, they were scary. I know that there are myriads of slow and painful ways to die, but in this book's ending he clearly details about 3 or 4 that are worse than nearly any I have heard outside of burn victims. Not cheery and it says something that they stay in his mind to the degree that they do.
He is one of the bravest, singular, unusual and heroic humans. Not only in the category of author, but in the category of honesty.
This is the book that gives us his regrets, his "admissions" to fault. Not just to his unsuccessful brain tumor surgery outcomes, but to his lacks or his inabilities to connect when he feels he should have been able to do so. This book is about self-appraisal and his is brutal as it is exact. Like his skills, perhaps.
Also it includes long copy of his time in Nepal on teaching and operating missions during these last career years. And one to Ukraine, where he feels that the teaching will not have ultimate technique success. You get tons of his philosophy and worldview here. And he is all about surgery being team work or if it isn't- far more a shot in the dark. If you don't teach a team combined effort, he feels you cannot expect another generation of operation in this field to be maintained.
Henry Marsh is not shy either about the sense of where he thinks the NHS and regulation for "category" care in his field has become. Nor where he sees the most ill results increase from such regulation and separations within the massive overlook dictates.
He particularly picks apart memory here. Most often of his failures, but also of the few things that brought him euphoria. I found his exercise habits and some of his "suffer to be better" cognition to be strange. But they work for him.
This book gives Marsh core essence more than his others. But I enjoyed it less. This one is highly filled with dark thoughts and real facts upon his and human mortality. And especially upon the death processes in which so many humans suffer for lengths of time. SO FEW BOOKS will face that in the sense that Marsh does here.
The last chapters were daunting to read, IMHO. And being old myself, they were scary. I know that there are myriads of slow and painful ways to die, but in this book's ending he clearly details about 3 or 4 that are worse than nearly any I have heard outside of burn victims. Not cheery and it says something that they stay in his mind to the degree that they do.
He is one of the bravest, singular, unusual and heroic humans. Not only in the category of author, but in the category of honesty.
May 31, 2019
A thought provoking and ultimately touching sequel to the authors debut memoir Do No Harm. This however focuses on his career as he nears retirement, with flashbacks to his work in Ukraine and Nepal.
As with its predecessor, I read this quickly and enjoyed it immensely. The brain is complex and fascinating and Marsh describes his experiences of neurological surgery with the ease of someone with years of experience and stories to be told. I particularly liked learning about healthcare in Nepal and Marsh’s observations on healthcare for profit.
A worthwhile read for those interested in the fascinating world of neurology.
As with its predecessor, I read this quickly and enjoyed it immensely. The brain is complex and fascinating and Marsh describes his experiences of neurological surgery with the ease of someone with years of experience and stories to be told. I particularly liked learning about healthcare in Nepal and Marsh’s observations on healthcare for profit.
A worthwhile read for those interested in the fascinating world of neurology.
November 8, 2017
This book is in no comparison to Do No Harm. I really admire Dr. Marsh but this book seems like a bunch of scattered ideas that you can't but feel bored (for most of the time).
I anticipated a lot of 'medical scenarios' but there were few and the remainder is an autobiography.
I anticipated a lot of 'medical scenarios' but there were few and the remainder is an autobiography.
July 11, 2022
This book offers fascinating insights into the life of a brain surgeon, while also offering life lessons about the fragility of life as well as how to face death with dignity. I will definitely read the author's other book as well soon!
May 29, 2017
Two and a half years back, I remember being left a little bewildered by the celebrated first book by ace surgeon Marsh which came packaged as a slice of life memoir-of-sorts which, to my consternation back then, alternated unannounced between his frustration with the current management styles in NHS hospitals, some scenes from difficult neurosurgical cases that took you right into the heart of his surgical practice and his brief, thwarted attempt to set up a neurosurgical mentorship and practice in Ukraine. You briefly caught him cycling, but the real person behind that meticulous professional stayed off the page. Marsh was seen introducing his readers to his art, his skills and his tools, and understandably kept the anima behind the persona off the page.
Admissions, his second outing, is the missing companion text to Do No Harm that introduces one to Henry Marsh the person behind the surgeon. I took right on to it after being struck by the introductory confessional where Marsh is seen contemplating about such morbid realities as suicide, euthanasia and what constitutes a good death. In his lonesome geriatric amble as he is considering a newly acquired retirement cottage as his next renovation project, he lets his nimble mind take his readers on various professional and personal trips down the memory lane, all tinged with a surprising dose of regret.
With castigating candour he is seen drawing his personal equations, remembering the father whose memoir he wished he had written, the mother he wished he had spent more time with, the ex-partner he wished he had a better marriage with: Mr Marsh is practically unrecognizable as this doubtful old man.
His sometimes uncomfortably intimate confessions in Admissions made me befriend Mr Marsh, an experience I enjoyed more than Do No Harm’s warranted but cold showboating from a pioneer in neurosurgery. Here, the counterpoints between the personal anxieties and the professional certitudes are stark. When a pioneer is seen dissecting a dedicated but narrow life with so much dejection and cynicism, I found myself privately cheering him on when he switched gears and busied himself in detailing a recollected neurosurgical case, However the binding theme here is that of despairing weariness as the retiring Marsh opens his eyes to the world outside neurosurgery and readies himself for retirement.
He is seen dismantling all his achievements, unpacking all the uncertain moments in his illustrious career and is seen nervously groping for the Truth, wondering if there was a point to some, or any of it. What did all those trials, all that accumulation of knowledge, all those tremendous battles of will and action amount to? Did they have any significance outside the tight context of the healthcare system and institutions he tutored and practiced in? Arguably not, and this is terribly humbling, both for him and us. Seeing him mope about listless and unheard in an overpopulated, under-resourced, money-for-treatment outpatient clinic of a Nepalese hospital is a mind-state you didn’t expect Mr Marsh to find in, and there he is, open to Consider and Meditate.
Being confronted with cultures, societies and problems completely foreign, he is seen re-evaluating the place of neurosurgery in the broader scheme of things; his righteous professional absolutism thawing into a more relativistic space and this makes for a remarkably more mature appraisal by him about his work’s Value (“As the human population continued to grow exponentially, and as I read it I wondered whether becoming a doctor, healing myself by healing others, might not be a little self-indulgent”).
In this heightened philosophical state that he has worked himself in, the aphorisms from his pen acquire a new beauty, sieved as they are from the filters of contradictions and dualities that Mr Marsh is seen newly comfortable with. Especially here: “A good doctor will speak to both the dissonant selves of a dying patient – the part that knows that it is dying, and the part that hopes that it will yet live. A good doctor will neither lie nor deprive the patient of hope, even if the hope is only of life for a few more days. But it is not easy, and it takes time, with many long silences.” or “Many medical decisions – whether to treat, how much to investigate – are not clear-cut. We deal in probabilities, not certainties.”
It is curious to observe that the same nervousness around senescence and dying that afflicts most of us also keeps this man awake: a man who has dexterously handled living tissue and cleaved dying tissue of other people, and has managed to wrestle in a good few months to years of thinking, breathing life for hundreds of patients “As I have got older, I have instead come to realize that we have no idea whatsoever as to how physical matter gives rise to consciousness, thought and feeling. This simple fact has filled me with an increasing sense of wonder, but I have also become troubled by the knowledge that my brain is an ageing organ, just like the organs of the rest of my body.”
Sometimes, the heavy-handed existentialism gets a bit too indulgent and dysphoric or veers towards adolescent solipsism, but as we see him return to the elements: to the sights, smells and sounds of nature, he makes you smile. Its endearing to see him lose himself in the world of trees and tree surgery where he waxes eloquent about the smells of a freshly severed oak bark, and he makes for equally joyful company as he playfully searches for the Big Questions of Humanity by contemplating the brains, minds and inner lives of animals.
By exposing his wounds so fearlessly, his subsequent rage at the litigious culture, and the exasperation at the dehumanizing, manager-driven NHS becomes a lament you want to lend an ear to. The questions he asks while articulating the woeful final moments where he has had to unceremoniously resign or is summoned to courts hits home with the young practicing clinician within me who is getting used to being part of the chaotic, failing-but-standing socialized healthcare.
Admissions, his second outing, is the missing companion text to Do No Harm that introduces one to Henry Marsh the person behind the surgeon. I took right on to it after being struck by the introductory confessional where Marsh is seen contemplating about such morbid realities as suicide, euthanasia and what constitutes a good death. In his lonesome geriatric amble as he is considering a newly acquired retirement cottage as his next renovation project, he lets his nimble mind take his readers on various professional and personal trips down the memory lane, all tinged with a surprising dose of regret.
With castigating candour he is seen drawing his personal equations, remembering the father whose memoir he wished he had written, the mother he wished he had spent more time with, the ex-partner he wished he had a better marriage with: Mr Marsh is practically unrecognizable as this doubtful old man.
His sometimes uncomfortably intimate confessions in Admissions made me befriend Mr Marsh, an experience I enjoyed more than Do No Harm’s warranted but cold showboating from a pioneer in neurosurgery. Here, the counterpoints between the personal anxieties and the professional certitudes are stark. When a pioneer is seen dissecting a dedicated but narrow life with so much dejection and cynicism, I found myself privately cheering him on when he switched gears and busied himself in detailing a recollected neurosurgical case, However the binding theme here is that of despairing weariness as the retiring Marsh opens his eyes to the world outside neurosurgery and readies himself for retirement.
He is seen dismantling all his achievements, unpacking all the uncertain moments in his illustrious career and is seen nervously groping for the Truth, wondering if there was a point to some, or any of it. What did all those trials, all that accumulation of knowledge, all those tremendous battles of will and action amount to? Did they have any significance outside the tight context of the healthcare system and institutions he tutored and practiced in? Arguably not, and this is terribly humbling, both for him and us. Seeing him mope about listless and unheard in an overpopulated, under-resourced, money-for-treatment outpatient clinic of a Nepalese hospital is a mind-state you didn’t expect Mr Marsh to find in, and there he is, open to Consider and Meditate.
Being confronted with cultures, societies and problems completely foreign, he is seen re-evaluating the place of neurosurgery in the broader scheme of things; his righteous professional absolutism thawing into a more relativistic space and this makes for a remarkably more mature appraisal by him about his work’s Value (“As the human population continued to grow exponentially, and as I read it I wondered whether becoming a doctor, healing myself by healing others, might not be a little self-indulgent”).
In this heightened philosophical state that he has worked himself in, the aphorisms from his pen acquire a new beauty, sieved as they are from the filters of contradictions and dualities that Mr Marsh is seen newly comfortable with. Especially here: “A good doctor will speak to both the dissonant selves of a dying patient – the part that knows that it is dying, and the part that hopes that it will yet live. A good doctor will neither lie nor deprive the patient of hope, even if the hope is only of life for a few more days. But it is not easy, and it takes time, with many long silences.” or “Many medical decisions – whether to treat, how much to investigate – are not clear-cut. We deal in probabilities, not certainties.”
It is curious to observe that the same nervousness around senescence and dying that afflicts most of us also keeps this man awake: a man who has dexterously handled living tissue and cleaved dying tissue of other people, and has managed to wrestle in a good few months to years of thinking, breathing life for hundreds of patients “As I have got older, I have instead come to realize that we have no idea whatsoever as to how physical matter gives rise to consciousness, thought and feeling. This simple fact has filled me with an increasing sense of wonder, but I have also become troubled by the knowledge that my brain is an ageing organ, just like the organs of the rest of my body.”
Sometimes, the heavy-handed existentialism gets a bit too indulgent and dysphoric or veers towards adolescent solipsism, but as we see him return to the elements: to the sights, smells and sounds of nature, he makes you smile. Its endearing to see him lose himself in the world of trees and tree surgery where he waxes eloquent about the smells of a freshly severed oak bark, and he makes for equally joyful company as he playfully searches for the Big Questions of Humanity by contemplating the brains, minds and inner lives of animals.
By exposing his wounds so fearlessly, his subsequent rage at the litigious culture, and the exasperation at the dehumanizing, manager-driven NHS becomes a lament you want to lend an ear to. The questions he asks while articulating the woeful final moments where he has had to unceremoniously resign or is summoned to courts hits home with the young practicing clinician within me who is getting used to being part of the chaotic, failing-but-standing socialized healthcare.
January 23, 2019
I have been in SUCH a reading funk since the holidays. I literally have like three books going, two lined up in my book bag, three on hold...& I am struggling to finish reading ANYTHING.
I did not struggle with this book because it was bad or not written well. In fact, it was written surprisingly well for someone who is not first and foremost a writer. I shouldn't be surprised by that. Just because I'm incapable of being good at both science/math stuff and reading/writing stuff doesn't mean other people can't be good at both. The part in the preface about "the kit" endeared the author to me from the start. The brain has always fascinated and scared me. I'm OCD to the max, so I'm not sure reading books by brain surgeons is productive or counterproductive to my compulsions, seeing as any given day I'm convinced I have a brain tumor/bleed/aneurysm/etc. You know what, though? Steady-handed surgeons suffer from fear, too.
Doctors often get a bad rap for not having good bedside manners (as opposed to nurses, I assume), and I'm sure some of them have deserved that rap. As someone who typically gets along better with (and prefers to see) nurse practitioners, I've been known to diss a doctor or two myself. However, I think Marsh, through his candidness, does an excellent job of fleshing out the stereotypical attribute out and flipping it on its head.
"The moral challenge is to treat patients as we would wish to be treated ourselves, to counterbalance with professional care and kindness the emotional detachment we require to get the work done. The problem is to find the correct balance between compassion and detachment. It is not easy."
That morsel of honesty, along with the one about doctors not liking anxious people because anxiety is contagious, was humanizing to me. I think "us regular people" who can't perform craniotomies regard surgeons of such caliber in an almost mystical sense, that perhaps their intelligence and aptitude and income spare them--or rather prevent them---from being completely mortal. That said, mortality is the thread that ties this memoir together, the running theme throughout, the reason for it all. The talk of fear, and more specifically the fear of dying, made this book relatable and poignant. The medical stuff was interesting, and anyone who has an interest in brain surgery (either from a professional or spectator standpoint) would certainly enjoy this book. But it was the honesty, the writer in Doctor Marsh, that made this memoir what it is.
I plan to go back and give this book a more thorough read when I'm back in a better reading groove.
August 17, 2017
I won an ARC of this book in a Goodreads giveaway. It's apparently due to be published in October of 2017. A bookmark that came with it urges me to include #stmartinspress in my review, so consider it done.
Yet another book where the title sums it up more succinctly than I ever could. Henry Marsh is indeed a brain surgeon (presumably retired by now), and this is actually his second volume of memoirs (Do No Harm was the first. ) The book was fascinating. Marsh writes well, with great candor, and an eye for detail. I have never been a surgeon of any description, but have a newfound respect for the profession. I had a vague idea, as do probably most of us, informed by various movies and TV shows and so on over the years. But, thanks to this book, I have a somewhat more realistic mental picture, of the decisions that must be made, and of the general complexities of the job.
It's not all brain surgery. Marsh also writes about his off hours, his hopes and fears concerning his approaching retirement, his memories ... The book reminds me, in some ways, of James Herriot's work, All Creatures Great and Small and the rest. There's the same lovingly detailed descriptions of a life and career, a similar warmth and humanity. Herriot's work has perhaps more humor, but Marsh's has more insight and introspection. It's a book well worth your time, and I recommend it highly.
Yet another book where the title sums it up more succinctly than I ever could. Henry Marsh is indeed a brain surgeon (presumably retired by now), and this is actually his second volume of memoirs (Do No Harm was the first. ) The book was fascinating. Marsh writes well, with great candor, and an eye for detail. I have never been a surgeon of any description, but have a newfound respect for the profession. I had a vague idea, as do probably most of us, informed by various movies and TV shows and so on over the years. But, thanks to this book, I have a somewhat more realistic mental picture, of the decisions that must be made, and of the general complexities of the job.
It's not all brain surgery. Marsh also writes about his off hours, his hopes and fears concerning his approaching retirement, his memories ... The book reminds me, in some ways, of James Herriot's work, All Creatures Great and Small and the rest. There's the same lovingly detailed descriptions of a life and career, a similar warmth and humanity. Herriot's work has perhaps more humor, but Marsh's has more insight and introspection. It's a book well worth your time, and I recommend it highly.
January 4, 2022
The case studies and anecdotes in this book were eye-opening and informative, but the author's arrogance ruined it for me. God complex/white saviour complex and bad attitude in abundance.
April 30, 2017
Henry Marsh
What a wonderful book.
I really enjoyed reading Admissions. A life in brain surgery by Henry Marsh.
Really interesting to read about his life working in London,Nepal and the Ukraine easing the pain and suffering of so many.
I felt very humbled by the memoirs of this man.
This book is certainly going on my to read again another day book shelf.
Thank you Good reads for the opportunity to read and review this book.
Very highly recommended.
What a wonderful book.
I really enjoyed reading Admissions. A life in brain surgery by Henry Marsh.
Really interesting to read about his life working in London,Nepal and the Ukraine easing the pain and suffering of so many.
I felt very humbled by the memoirs of this man.
This book is certainly going on my to read again another day book shelf.
Thank you Good reads for the opportunity to read and review this book.
Very highly recommended.
March 12, 2017
Should definitely be read as more of a biography than as a continuation of his first book, Do No Harm.
I found the stories of various operations both in the UK and Ukraine really interesting, but found myself skipping over life in Nepal and the renovations to the house he decided to make-over.
I found the stories of various operations both in the UK and Ukraine really interesting, but found myself skipping over life in Nepal and the renovations to the house he decided to make-over.
Read
May 4, 2017Won in Goodreads Giveaways - not read, passed on.
November 30, 2017
Я захоплююсь Генрі Маршем! Абсолютно щира, до болю чесна, але в той же час тепла, світла і неймовірно людяна книга надзвичайного Лікаря.
January 1, 2018
This book presents an interesting look into the life and mindset of a brain surgeon. He was trained and worked in the United Kingdom but also did volunteer work in several Third World countries. He describes and contrasts doing medicine in those very different environments.
November 17, 2018
“When my brain dies, ‘I’ will die. ‘I’ am a transient electrochemical dance, made of myriad bits of information; and information, as the physicists tell us, is physical. What those myriad pieces of information, disassembled, will recombine to form after my death, there is no way of knowing. I had once hoped it would be oak leaves and wood. Perhaps now it will be walnut and apple in the cottage garden, if my children choose to scatter my ashes there.”
I love Dr. Marsh’s books not only for his tales of neurosurgery, but more for his searing honesty. He is one of the few people who step back and take a hard look at what they have done, have been, and where they are going. He is self critical in a way that must be painful to him. He regrets not spending more time with his parents and children and recalls treatments and patients where he could have done things differently or better. Such self examination calls for great courage.
In this book, he describes his frustrations working in the British Medical System and his life in retirement. He goes to Nepal to help train neurosurgeons in a hospital established by his friend Dev who is also a neurosurgeon. But this environment has its own frustrations and dangers. As in his earlier book, he writes of his time spent helping/training his friend Igor a doctor in the Ukraine and how it ended badly.
Hopefully, he will write another introspective book and share more stories of his life and work.
I love Dr. Marsh’s books not only for his tales of neurosurgery, but more for his searing honesty. He is one of the few people who step back and take a hard look at what they have done, have been, and where they are going. He is self critical in a way that must be painful to him. He regrets not spending more time with his parents and children and recalls treatments and patients where he could have done things differently or better. Such self examination calls for great courage.
In this book, he describes his frustrations working in the British Medical System and his life in retirement. He goes to Nepal to help train neurosurgeons in a hospital established by his friend Dev who is also a neurosurgeon. But this environment has its own frustrations and dangers. As in his earlier book, he writes of his time spent helping/training his friend Igor a doctor in the Ukraine and how it ended badly.
Hopefully, he will write another introspective book and share more stories of his life and work.
July 14, 2017
I enjoyed reading this rather meandering memoir. Less patients than his previous book and more personal insights & recollections. However, I found the chopping and changing of focus quite irritating. I could see the reasons for constructing the book this way but instead of providing an insight into the layers of experience that makeup a neurosurgeon it read (for me) as a rather self-satisfied thumb biting at those who had tried to "contain" him.
Found the healthcare systems Marsh describes in Nepal and Ukraine fascinating but would have preferred to read these as, maybe longer, self-contained accounts, with more of the patient stories, rather than flashing episodes.
Found the healthcare systems Marsh describes in Nepal and Ukraine fascinating but would have preferred to read these as, maybe longer, self-contained accounts, with more of the patient stories, rather than flashing episodes.
June 23, 2018
A heartfelt look at what a brain surgeon lives with inside and outside his medical practice, how he got there and how he left it. Well narrated. I liked his voice and his honesty.
If I get to join him in the great nothingness after death, I will be happy. If not, neither of us will know anyway.
I earnestly hope I never have to have brain surgery, ever!
If I get to join him in the great nothingness after death, I will be happy. If not, neither of us will know anyway.
I earnestly hope I never have to have brain surgery, ever!
July 28, 2018
An eye opener.
A family member passed away as a result of brain trauma and this book appealed to me to understand what happens behind those doors.
I found it enlightening and such an amazing journey to observe as a reader. I think I’d be interested to read in more of a ‘case study’ format but I’d recommend this!
A family member passed away as a result of brain trauma and this book appealed to me to understand what happens behind those doors.
I found it enlightening and such an amazing journey to observe as a reader. I think I’d be interested to read in more of a ‘case study’ format but I’d recommend this!
January 6, 2021
me: i don't fear death
me, after reading henry's final chapter: brb gonna go have an existential crisis and ponder the knowledge that one day my entire being will cease to be and that'll just,, be it
me, after reading henry's final chapter: brb gonna go have an existential crisis and ponder the knowledge that one day my entire being will cease to be and that'll just,, be it
July 24, 2022
Як же я люблю Генрі Марша 🖤
Іронія в тому, що полюбила я його ще до того, як прочитала першу його книгу: випадково потрапила на зустріч із ним на одному з Форумів і була дуже вражена. Потім була на ще кількох подібних зустрічах і аж тоді взялась читати)
"Ні сонце, ані смерть" трохи інша, ніж "Історії про...". Тут менше медицини і більше самого Генрі Марша. Якщо після першої книги я була під сильним враженням від системи медицини ВБ і нейрохірургії та її складнощів загалом, то після цієї мені якось...млосно чи що?
Генрі Марш неймовірний у своїй щирості і глибині. Я люблю його роздуми про медицину, людство, етику. Мене постійно вражають ті жахливі вибори, які ставила перед ним його професія і мені справді складно уявити, як він з цим всім живе. І я розумію, чому він задумується про те, для чого ж обирав таку професію. І я розумію, чому він задумується про смерть. Ця книга про смерть. Головно про смерть. Про те, якою вона буде, якою вона може бути.
І дивно склалось, що я читала її у вкрай невідповний час свого життя, але що ж.. Така вона, ця книга, така вона — смерть.
Іронія в тому, що полюбила я його ще до того, як прочитала першу його книгу: випадково потрапила на зустріч із ним на одному з Форумів і була дуже вражена. Потім була на ще кількох подібних зустрічах і аж тоді взялась читати)
"Ні сонце, ані смерть" трохи інша, ніж "Історії про...". Тут менше медицини і більше самого Генрі Марша. Якщо після першої книги я була під сильним враженням від системи медицини ВБ і нейрохірургії та її складнощів загалом, то після цієї мені якось...млосно чи що?
Генрі Марш неймовірний у своїй щирості і глибині. Я люблю його роздуми про медицину, людство, етику. Мене постійно вражають ті жахливі вибори, які ставила перед ним його професія і мені справді складно уявити, як він з цим всім живе. І я розумію, чому він задумується про те, для чого ж обирав таку професію. І я розумію, чому він задумується про смерть. Ця книга про смерть. Головно про смерть. Про те, якою вона буде, якою вона може бути.
І дивно склалось, що я читала її у вкрай невідповний час свого життя, але що ж.. Така вона, ця книга, така вона — смерть.
August 7, 2018
Скажімо так, для мене медицина досі ще трішки магія.
Тому Генрі Марш для мене - це чарівник найвищого рівня.
А в цій книжки він говорить про це якраз із протилежної точки зору.
Що медицина - це робота, а лікарі - просто люди.
Ну може не зовсім просто, їм не так вже й легко залишатися людьми,
коли треба вирішувати питання життя і смерті.
Але говорить - це так яскраво, влучно, щиро, що відірватися важко.
Хоча й на перший погляд ця книжка не є чимося цілим, а скоріш фрагментами щоденників, спогадів, обдумувань старшої людини із висоти польоту.
Але під час читання усе ось це із окремих шматків складається у спільний колаж-картину.
Як бути лікарем і бути людиною.
Як долати себе понад усе і попри все.
Як робити помилки гідно, бо не робити їх просто не можливо.
Як...
Ще купа різних "як", і якщо вони вам не цікаві, то це зрештою просто хороший текст, гарно написаний, чого від лікаря, хай і такого рівня не очікуєш.
Трішки гіркого по собі залишила частина про Україну, але ілюзій тут і не мало бути.
Тому Генрі Марш для мене - це чарівник найвищого рівня.
А в цій книжки він говорить про це якраз із протилежної точки зору.
Що медицина - це робота, а лікарі - просто люди.
Ну може не зовсім просто, їм не так вже й легко залишатися людьми,
коли треба вирішувати питання життя і смерті.
Але говорить - це так яскраво, влучно, щиро, що відірватися важко.
Хоча й на перший погляд ця книжка не є чимося цілим, а скоріш фрагментами щоденників, спогадів, обдумувань старшої людини із висоти польоту.
Але під час читання усе ось це із окремих шматків складається у спільний колаж-картину.
Як бути лікарем і бути людиною.
Як долати себе понад усе і попри все.
Як робити помилки гідно, бо не робити їх просто не можливо.
Як...
Ще купа різних "як", і якщо вони вам не цікаві, то це зрештою просто хороший текст, гарно написаний, чого від лікаря, хай і такого рівня не очікуєш.
Трішки гіркого по собі залишила частина про Україну, але ілюзій тут і не мало бути.
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