“I think we can move on now. You know the drill. Five words. You ready?” “Um,” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue, or if I wanted to go back and address what was just said. Ultimately, I elected the former. “Sure, I’m ready.” “Vein. Stick. Gray. Cinnamon. Cut. Rain.” I repeated them to myself. Then I realized something. “That’s six words.” “What?” “You gave me six words.” The doctor looked at the sheet where he had been keeping notes, then back at me, then said, “Vein. Stick. Gray. Cinnamon. Rain. That’s five words.” “Oh,” I responded. “My mistake.”
