On a 9 a.m. on a recent Tuesday, I felt terrible. The room was spinning and making me seasick. I had a strong urge to throw up in whatever corner I could get to fast enough. There were strange patches of black ice where the memory of the night before should have been.
I’d been hungover before, but this morning it was going to serve a purpose. The previous evening, I had skipped dinner and drank a succession of whiskey ginger ales, slowly graduating to just straight whiskey, in anticipation of a visit from The I.V. Doctor, a new service that takes “concierge medicine” to a new level, with intravenous solutions to your next-day fuzzies made via house call. Read More