inflamation
Monday through Friday, Matthew suckles at the teat of human suffering, and has become bloated with that sweet, sweet milk. The people who call him have miscarried, are addicted to painkillers, have had their cancer termed a pre-existing condition. They are scared, confused, and desperate. These people, at their worst, come to him for counsel and comfort. It is energizing, transformative.
On the other hand, Joanne is calling because she must know if her surgeon is a devout Christian and specifically if he prays before surgeries. This is not fulfilling. Furthermore, this information is outside of the scope of Matthew's database. Joanne is not happy about this. Joanne demands to know whether or not her doctor "is aware that God's hand is guiding him through the surgery."
Matthew covers the microphone of his headset.
"I don't know what to tell this lady," he whispers. "How do you answer someone like that?"
"Tell her that he sacrifices a goat on the operating table before every procedure," says Counterpoint.
Joanne sermonizes. Matthew cannot break in to provide counsel. Instead, he occupies his mind by imagining her surgeon dressing the walls of the operating room with goat entrails. Matthew imagines the dance the doctor does as he casts salt to purify the space. A set of chimes are rung whenever he requests a scalpel or such. Matthew thanks Joanne for her call, and instructs her to call again if she has any other questions.