Reddit reviews The House of God: The Classic Novel of Life and Death in an American Hospital

Medical research? You must get him this:
http://www.amazon.com/House-God-Classic-American-Hospital/dp/0440133688

I read a description of this in House of God, which is sort of the bible of such shenanigans. I asked my med student friend if this really happens, and he says it pretty much only happened in the 70s. The relevant passage is here:

> Often I'd find myself entwined in variants of the same erotic theme: late at night, the eerie artificial Unit light punctured only by the green-flashing BLEEP-BLEEP of the cardiac monitors. The nurse calls me from the bed to see a comatose patient whose body is being run by the machine, one parameter of which has gone awry. Following her to the bedside, I notice her bralessness, that she wears no pantyhose. I put a stethoscope on the body. I need to listen to the chest, and ask the nurse to help me. She bends over, the two of us hoist the body to sitting, tube dangling down. I listen to the clogged lungs, inflated by respirator, my fingers on the waxy skin, fighting the stench of chronic disease. I smell her perfume, coconut. Our heads are close together. I drop my stethoscope, put my free hand around her neck, kiss her. Her tongue and my tongue slither together. I lean my shoulder against the patient's body, freeing the other hand. The kiss prolonged, I fondle her breast through her cotton dress, a feeling the coarse fabric scratching against the skin, pulling the nipple erect. We part, the body falls back THUMP on the bed. Later, on her break, she comes to the on?call bunk bed, hoisting up her green surgical skirt because there isn't time to undress. We two begin to take out our hatred, our loneliness, our horror with human suffering and our despair at human endings in the most tender of human acts, making love. Knowing that she hates me for being a doctor, for forgetting her name three times that shift, for being a Jew who views her eunuch Pope's pronouncements on "Human Life" as comical at best, for running her Unit, for her being trammeled on by men like me, for my always being the smarter one in the class, for all those hates and for the arousal bred by hates, bash away at each other savagely, skin on skin, cock in cunt, with the desperation of two space travelers on a journey of light-years, with death at the far end and no way back, imprisoned in a spacecraft of chrome and lights and computers and MUZAK. She will not talk to me about her hatred, she will not even gesture to me about her hatred, she will only fuck me for her hatred, and let it go at that. Groaning, we rattle the springs of the bunk bed, secured by the vigilance of two machines: her IUD, and each of our abilities, the next morning, to forget. California, here I come! We finish. Blushing from the clitoris and not from the heart, she goes back to work.