Just as we finished unpacking, there was a knock on our door. Doctor Sam entered, greeted Gia, and introduced himself to me. He was a hulking man with a quiet and soft air. He walked over to Gia, who was sitting on the side of the bed. After a bit of small talk, he traced her hairline and temples with his fingers, explaining how the facelift would be carried out. There was a lull in the conversation, and I could see Gia steeling herself to ask the question.

“Sam?” she began. “I was wondering whether I could remain awake for the procedures and if Jordan could film them.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. Sorry.”

She tried to work her charm, but he kept shaking his head; the operating theatre was small and I would get in the way. She suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Sam” she said, looking into his eyes. “An artist needs documentation.”

He made to rebut but then stopped. Perhaps he was trying to discern which artist she was referring to; he seemed bemused by the implication it was him. Gia’s sincerity was disarming. She let go of his arm but held his gaze as the nurses arrived in the room. The nurses helped Gia into her blue surgical smock, placed a white, gauzy cap on her head, and helped her into a wheelchair. I’m not sure why she needed to be ferried to the operating theatre in a wheelchair, but I could see she enjoyed the theatrics of it. I followed a couple of steps behind with my camera, still uncertain whether my presence was permitted, but no one stopped me.