The Correspondent

by Virginia Evans

He put me in my own car because he drives a very low to the ground old Porsche and he said it would be hard for me to get in and out (which I thought was rude, as if I would have trouble where he is fine!) and he took my own keys right from the hook and he drove me to the ER there in Annapolis.

This surgeon turns out to be the son of a friend, Helen Dittmyer, and then we had to have the whole conversation about his mother, and on and on. Benji (now he’s Dr. Dittmyer) also said my bones look strong for a woman of my vintage, and that made me feel great I’ll say, but otherwise it was absolutely terrible.

Theodore was very good about the whole thing. He made me laugh. We were laughing about sitting there having lunch together for the first time out of bags in our laps. He mentioned a bit about his wife who did die rather young—sixty-eight. He has one daughter and she lives in California. I also learned that he is Jewish.

In the grand scheme of things that's young.