He didn’t sound like that.
He sounded determined. Almost angry. Like the damage in my eyes was a personal enemy he was going to hunt down.
“Nobody’s cracked optic nerve regeneration yet,” he said. “Not in humans. Not reliably.”
“Yet,” I repeated.
“Yet,” he said firmly.
Over the next year, he became my primary doctor.
Then he became my friend.
I don’t know exactly how it happened. My appointments started running long. We’d finish the exam and he’d ask me about my job, at a children’s services agency on the east side. I’d ask him about his day. Somehow, forty-five minutes would go by.
He started walking me out to the parking lot after appointments to wait for my cab. He’d stand next to me on the curb and describe the sky.
Nobody had ever done that before. Not like he did.
