That afternoon I went back to the hospital where I worked in Chicago and locked myself in my office.
I turned off the phone.
Or so I tried.
It had barely been twenty minutes when someone knocked on the door.
He was my colleague and friend, Dr. Daniel Foster.
“What happened?”
He lifted my broken suitcase.
It looks like you got hit by a truck.
“An airline.
What?
I told him everything.
When I was done, Daniel stared at me as if he expected him to ever say he was joking.
“Did you drive out the surgeon who was going to save the guy the seat was given to him?”
“Exactly.
Daniel dropped into the chair.
“That has to be a kind of world record for stupidity.
I didn't answer.
He saw my expression and stopped joking.
Did they also destroy the blisters?
I nodded.
“Everyone I was wearing.
