But instead of hearing his words I only saw them twisted and misrepresented by a phantom lawyer pouring over my notes, even as I presently jotted them down in the chart. The lawyer was fat, sweaty, and angry as he sat his corpulence upon my shoulder to see what I was writing. I recognized him from daytime television commercials on channel 7. I couldn’t stop myself from ordering CT scans of the brain, chest, abdomen and pelvis, in addition to MRI’s of the hip and back, plus a complete metabolic panel, complete blood cell count, thyroid function tests, folate and B-12 levels, and a goddamned magnesium level. The man nodded okay, and limped out of the examining room.