The Surgeon came to see me. He marked my skin badly enough that I had to terminate a late-evening appointment. I can’t show up like this.
The Surgeon’s in crisis. The storm destroyed a property and various things are up in the air. He’s working his ass off. He is not a balanced individual with a healthy support network. He’s emotionally isolated. He’s a frantic, deranged rat in a wheel.
He is getting too thin. I like slim men, but I’m telling you, he still has muscle on him, but he’s getting too thin. I say, “You have to eat more, Surgeon.” He says, “How much weight have you lost?”