I’m seeing a fifty-something with knee pain when I feel the curtain behind me erupt open. It’s Roland, my last patient, and his breath is at my neck: “Why are you being so difficult?” he says. “Why can’t you just give me the prescription?”
I turn, and wave my hand over Roland’s head.
He’s swearing again, and I can hear security’s racing footsteps as a code white is called.
“I have nothing more to say to you,” I tell him. “You don’t need a...