“Number three, on the right,” said the nurse, holding a clipboard. I
started down the corridor, left to my own devices, looking at the
numbered doors. Something always makes me nervous about visiting
doctors even though this was just a routine check: the league wanted
assurance that I wasn’t going to have a heart attack during the games.
I turned the knob and pushed the door open.

It was occupied. “Oops, excuse me,” I said, backing out. Then I stared
frozen–a nurse had turned around and looked at me. She smiled at me:
her smile said *you and I are …