I Wonder What Happened to my Friend, Brad Dolinsky?

Brad Dolinsky, M.D. moved into my apartment building in 2003.  He was working on a residency in Obstetrics and Gynecology at Walter Reed Army Medical Center.  He was a terrific guy.  He moved out in 2007, upon the completion of his residency training program.  Brad was a special person who had won a national award for excellence in medical writing for a paper that he published in his field.  He had earned his bachelor's degree from Columbia University.  I still think about Brad.  The front desk manager in my building, Mardi, said that Dr. Dolinsky was somebody that his superiors -- highly ranked people in his field -- had their eyes on.

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/15368314

I have nostalgic memories of the year 2003. I'm not precisely sure why that is. I think perhaps the reason is that I turned 50 that year. Fifty is a transitional age, I suppose; the year 2003 was a transitional year for me in some ways.

One of my former psychiatrists, Dr. Lawrence C. Sack, MD, died on August 5, 2003; his office was located on the second floor of my apartment building. I remember the note Dr. Sack's son, Robert Sack, MD -- also a psychiatrist --left on Dr. Sack's office door advising his father's patients of Dr. Sack's death. I remember so clearly the Saturday following his death. I lay on my couch all afternoon, stared into space, and listened to the slow movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony again and again. I was devastated by Dr. Sack's passing.

My apartment building opened up its new fitness room, and I started using the elliptical machine for the first time. I remember it was around the time of the Iraq war, specifically the fall of Saddam Hussein. I remember watching coverage of the Iraq war on the TV in the fitness room.

I turned 50 on December 23, 2003.

I started writing letters to my friend Brian Brown in about April 2003, leaving the letters on the hard drive on the public access computers at the library. Brian used to be the branch manager at the library. He later lied to the DC police, saying he never read the letters -- and that he just happened to read the one letter I wrote to him in which I called him a fag, in April 2004. Ha!

My apartment manager David Castleberry left and we got a new manager.

My apartment building was redecorated. The lobby was totally redone. A new faux marble floor was installed. The halls were painted, and molding was installed on the doorways to all the apartments.

Elizabeth Joyce, the front desk manager at my apartment building, went on vacation in July 2003 and never returned. She retired at the end of her vacation. Tim Norton replaced Elizabeth Joyce, then Mardi replaced Tim.

I saw Dr. Israella Bash as my case manager for the first time on about May 3, 2003. She said: "Why aren't you working? You can work. I'm not saying you can work as a lawyer. Lawyers work 70-80 hours a week. But you can work as a paralegal. It's a sin in the Jewish religion not to work." I said, "Dr. Bash, where are you from?" She said: "Israel. I'm a fifth generation Israeli."

My therapy with Dr. Nancy Shaffer ended in early 2003. I had started to see Dr. Shaffer in September 1999. I started seeing Meghana Tembe at the George Washington University Center For Professional Psychology in early 2003.

I remember Yom Kippur so clearly. It was a beautiful, warm late summer day: Monday October 6, 2003. I visited the Madison Building at the Library of Congress. October 6 was also a Monday in the year 1986; it was the day Craig W. Dye started working at Hogan & Hartson.

I got a new neighbor that year. He was an affable, young Frenchman. I never learned his name.