As I usually do on Fridays, this afternoon I returned from the office quite early. When I opened the front door, I heard my mother moaning in pain. She realized I was back only when the door slammed behind me. In desperation, she started banging her forehead with the palms of her hands. “I cannot stand this pain any longer!” she cried. There was some anger in her voice, too. I came closer and grabbed her elbow. “How … are you … doing?” I stammered idiotically. After a few sobs, she cried again: “Let me be operated or let me die!” I tried to calm her down, but she was disconsolate. She had had enough. The pain in her lower belly has been with her for a month now. In addition, it has been getting worse. Only when I got on the phone to call the doctor, she calmed down a bit. She was listening, trying to understand what I was saying. I got lucky. The doctor on duty at the University Health Center was not busy at the time. From what the receptionist had told me, I assumed the doctor was a man from someplace like Pakistan, but it turned out to be a young woman with a very pleasant voice. Dr. Rasheed, I think. Her English was impeccable. Reading my mother’s file as she was talking to me, she spoke in a calm but firm voice. Step by step, she calmed me down. She asked me a few questions about my mother’s current condition, and then she explained what I should do in the case of a real emergency. My mother was fine for the time being. “If you need to talk to me again,” she said gently, “I will be on duty through tomorrow morning.” I should not worry, she told me again and again. In the end, I thanked her for her help. She did manage to calm me down. I was really thankful. Listening to me all the while, my mother calmed down, as well. Everything is fine now, although I am carefully following my mother’s every move. A moment ago, an unexpected question took shape in my mind: “Is the good doctor married?”