My husband went for a physical checkup, and when he returned, I looked at his somber face. Feeling concerned, I asked, “What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing. Everything is fine, except I have to make another appointment next week.” With a sigh, “Pay again.”

“How come?”

“‘Cause…”, he paused, “my time was up for today. To ask for an EKG, he has to listen to my heart.”

I felt perplexed. “How come he didn’t listen today?” My husband’s brows furrowed. “I told you he didn’t have time.”

“What did he do today, then?” I asked.

“We were talking. Talking about…” with a pause, “About things.”

“Like what?”

“Like when he first came to this country… he was just an eight-year-old boy, who came in a boat with his father, from Vietnam.” My husband took a long breath, “And his father pushed and threw him in the water. ‘And I learned to manage,’ the doc said” with wide eyes, he said, “ Can you imagine?” Taking a break, my husband said, “Then he asked me my story and phew! ‘My story is nothing compared to yours’” I admitted, “but I told him that airport story, you know.”

I was feeling agitated. “So you were chit chatting all this. Is this why you pay the doctor?”

He ignored that. Taking the cap off his head he wiped his crown and said with a big grin, “You know he has this nice ponytail at the back”, running his fingers through the few strands of hair he has, he added, “‘I really like your style’, I told him. ‘How do you do it?’ and he said, ‘You know Covid did it.’ Huh!” he shook his head.

At this point I was dumb found and probably was glaring at him. He looked at me and flapped his hand,

“So the doctor said, ‘Come next week, I’ll make you run on the treadmill.’”