The door opened without resistance, and I entered. The doctor's waiting room was decorated with the popular industrial plums, blues, and grays, but there was enough mahogany to impart a sense of reverence. The room was tasteful yet warm, and it reassured me. I was surprised to be greeted there by a patient of my own, a doctor himself. It was like looking into a mirror, with doctor doctoring doctor, doctoring doctor, receding into infinity. My patient was an elderly man, a retired army physician, refined and gentle, with a keen if fading intellect. I sat one chair away from him and leaned toward him, close, but not too close.