January 19, 1992.

I am in a doctor's office. I am undergoing tratment for my eyes.
Dr. Raber says "Put the machine at 60". I should feel some kind
oflaser beam in my eye which helps my eyesight. At 60, I feel
nothing At 80, my eyes are being burned so I ask if I can put the
macine at 70. Certainly, says Dr. Reginald.

Then, I am on the examining table. Something is pricking my
foot. I try to find it and get rid of it unobstrusively but it's
impossible. I put my knees up to see. The little blanket
covering my legs goes up and Dr. Reginald sees my knees and legs. A
fine needle attached to a long cord was misplaced on the table
and this is what has pricked my foot. I pull it out and say
"there!" Dr. Reginald is apologetic and suddenly more sensitive.
His bare foot is on the table. It is a lovely foot, sensual,
soft. All of a sudden, Dr. Reginald sees me in a new light. He
falls asleep, his head on my breast. I am content.

He eventually wakes up. He doesn't sleep long as I tell him he
must have other patients waiting. He loves me. But I am not
Jewish. "under Jewish law, I do have a certain status. I coould
be Jewish." i tell him. "I know a lot about Jewish culture. My
sons might decide to be Jewish," I add.

"We were meant for each other. I feel it" says the doctor. Then
I confess I had noticed him way back, when he was a young intern
at Saint Boniface hospital with colored beads on his stethoscope.
I was a university student at the time working as a clerk. He is
touched. It seems he had never to this point done anything
unless it was directly related to medicine. I am ecstatic. He
is in love with me.


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