Okay. It’s time to play tough. “Stop it. It is not kidney cancer. It’s a cyst. It’s excruciating. All I can give you for it is my sympathy. And my sympathy is real.”

Five minutes later, Sheila says that she understands, but I know she doesn’t believe me. Or at the very least she thinks I’ve misdiagnosed her. I have to face it. Sheila’s going to spend the rest of her life believing that she had kidney cancer and that it miraculously disappeared after she gave birth.

Funny how arrogant people always think they’re smart people.

By lunchtime, I realize how hungry I am. I had no breakfast. I should eat an apple, a few whole-grain crackers, and a salad with just a disgusting, unsatisfying dash of red wine vinegar.

“Never balsamic vinegar,” Tracy Anne always reminds me. “That has a ton of sugar in it.”

I think it over carefully and then decide I will go down to the cafeteria and pick up a frosted doughnut, a bag of Fritos, and a special Lucy Ryuan dipping sauce: mayo, ketchup, mustard, and extra salt. As I’m convincing myself that I’ve worked hard enough to have such a deliciously stupid lunch, there is a knock on the door. Before I can say “Come in,” the door opens.

It’s Sarkar, of course. I had actually forgotten that he said he might come by.

He smiles. He speaks. “Is this the right office for my internal exam?”

“No,” I say. “We’re only doing bleeding hemorrhoids today. Come in and bend over.”

He laughs. I think I’ve used that joke only a thousand times.

“I am here to beg for my favor,” he says.

For this favor-asking visit, Sarkar has ditched his white coat. He’s spruced up quite a bit. He wears a blue linen blazer with slightly pegged gray khakis. Okay, there’s no point in lying to myself: he looks pretty good. Not hot, just pretty good.

“Hit me with the favor request,” I say.

“I have a patient who is near-term. You may have heard of her. Greta Moss.”

Heard of her? After Melania Trump, Greta Moss is quite simply the most famous model in the world. As a mainstream celebrity, she ranks somewhere between Beyoncé and Jennifer Lawrence on sites like TMZ, Dlisted, and People.com. Greta has fifteen million followers on Twitter, because, after all, what woman doesn’t want to know what kind of two-hundred-dollar seaweed-based cleansing cream should be used to remove your three-hundred-dollar Provençal organic avocado foundation?

“Yes, I think I’ve heard of her,” I say casually. Then, as if I wasn’t sure, I casually ask, “She’s married to that football player guy, right? Plays for the Bears.”

“Hank Waldren. He’s a wide receiver for the Giants.”