While sheltering in a battered waiting room, bullets whistling past my ears, I pause to breathe and reload. My oncologist is blowing a bugle, not quite the cavalry, but, fuck, at least he's on a horse and he's reaching out his arm to pull me up.
Unlike your over-worked, stressed GP who is always looking at his watch to see if you've hit your
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I wanted to ask out front before thinking of any ideas in case you would rather people didn't do this.
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