If It's Sunday, We'll Be De-Pressed

I was in the middle of an emergency department shift when I heard of the death of Tim Russert. I took a moment between codes to check cnn.com, just to be sure it was real. A resident, reading over my shoulder, noted that Russert had just returned from Italy (a long and potentially clot-inducing flight), and wondered aloud whether Tim had succumbed to a pulmonary embolus. "Why don't you focus on your own patients?" I snapped. Then I got back to work myself. I was in a foul mood the rest of the night.

Well, it wasn't a massive PE, it was a lethal coronary occlusion, and that just makes it worse, because so often we can save those lives. But Tim's MI apparently resulted in an immediate lethal tachyarrhythmia, and he could not be resuscitated. It is a terrible, unexpected loss, all the more painful because he was clearly so engaged with and excited by Election '08. Tim was living through history, and as James Kirchick has noted, the pity is he won't get to see how it turns out.

Maybe you loved him, maybe you hated him. More probably, like me, you indulged in a little bit of both, depending on who he was talking to and how hard he pressed them (or not). But, love him or hate him, you could not dismiss him. One can argue that the moment Hillary's campaign finally crumpled was when Russert said so.



Men and women of phenomenal power and stature, presidents, pundits, senators and scientists, gladly lined up to sit in his hot seat. Political junkies like me ate it up. I can't remember how many times, watching MSNBC political coverage, I would think, enough with the lightweights already. What does Russert have to say? The man had juice.

Less than 24 hours after his death, it's already a cliche, but there's no other way to say it: Sunday morning just won't be the same. Be at peace, Tim.