On a break I run into The Boss, who asks without looking at me: "Don’t you need to go home or something?" "Are you talking to me?" I ask. "Yes!" he says. I tell him that if I could be sure that neither of these patients would die, then I would go home. My partner, an out of town consultant with no home to go to, explains for me: "He knows he can always make money – this is more important." I think we are returning to work but instead we go to the basement which is a large, crowded gym. My partner, now a large black woman, has removed her shirt. I see her big back. She advises me to go check out a medicine ball and roll around on it for my stomach ache. I step into line at the ball check-out counter.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #96
The Ball Check-Out Counter
1 min read
