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Two years ago, Johns Hopkins surgeon Marty Makary penned a Wall Street Journal piece, “How to Stop Hospitals from Killing Us,” which contained a paragraph that was at once sickening and a call to action.

Marina Alvarez holds her 14-month-old son Esteban and kisses the chunky toddler on the cheek as she talks with her neighbor Thomas Locke in the front yard of her northeast Las Vegas home.

The Hollywood treatment of a childhood bout with leukemia, one that makes your tears flow in the movie theater or living room, often involves a seriously ill boy or girl whose wise physician uses all the therapies at his command to bring the youngster back to cheerful good health.

The more I think about the burial plot my wife gave me as a gift a couple years ago, the more I think about how I’ll get there.
And now I have decided once and for all that I want to kick the bucket like a doctor.

When she gave her husband a huge bear hug and told him how much she loved him, a breath escaped from his lips. “Are you sure he’s still not with us?” Jean Georges recalls asking a nearby medical attendant through her tears. A little more than a half hour earlier, Leonard Georges, had died from Alzheimer’s disease.