Word: dye
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...John Herrmann took the arm to the operating room. To guard against clots, he flushed out the whole artery-vein system with a special saline solution combined with antibiotics, an anticoagulant and a radiopaque dye. X rays promptly showed that the arterial tree was open all the way to the fingertips. Relieved, Dr. Herrmann picked up the arm, carried it carefully to the operating table on which Ev Knowles had just been wheeled in, all draped except for his torn and bloody shoulder...
...explain why the baggage compartments were catching fire, the bureau men borrowed a DC-6, filled its No. 3 fuel tank with water dyed bright red and coated its belly with a material that will absorb dye. Taking it into the air, they pumped more water into the No. 3 tank, forcing it to overflow through a vent. When they landed, they found that the wind had whipped the overflowing water to the belly and dyed it red. Included in the reddened area was the air intake of the cabin heating system. Conclusion: gasoline sucked into the heater had started...
...conferred with his wife, his mother, Rose Kennedy, and other members of the family. From his father's three doctors he learned more details about the fact that Joseph Kennedy had suffered an intracranial thrombosis, a blood clot in an artery in the brain. A quickly performed arteriogram-dye injected into the main artery of the neck and photographed by X ray as it flows through the vessels of the brain-had revealed the thrombosis to be in the left cerebral hemisphere, and inoperable. There was some paralysis in Kennedy's right side, and he was unable...
Today Americans are denied the whoop-dedoo promotion of Barry's Tricopherous, or Kickapoo Indian Sagwa, or Wine of Cardui, or Madame Dean's French Female Pills, or Dr. Dye's Voltaic Belt, or even Dr. Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People. But the television viewer, morosely staring at an armpit, or watching little hammers beat a brain, or listening to the simulated gurgling of a stomach, knows that the spirit of the medicine man is still around...
Night after night, everybody is there-cops, professors, bums, Wall Street customers' men, out-of-work actors with Biblical haircuts, dye-blonde actresses with bright blue eyelids; sailors in summer whites, girls in their summer dresses, girls in slacks, pony-tailed skinks from Greenwich Village, and novice beards with the Penguin Classics in the hip hip pockets of their dungarees-fabricating laughter in all the archaic places. The crowd begins on folding chairs around a large and multi-proned stage, then spreads out onto bleachers and grass-covered slopes. About 3,500 turn up in Manhattan's Central...