He Missed My Surgery When I Needed Him Most—What the Surgeon Handed Me Wasn’t From Him

that door with his sheepish smile and some elaborate excuse. Maybe he’d bring roses, the overpriced ones from the fancy florist downtown—the ones he bought whenever his guilt finally outweighed his indifference.

But the door remained closed. My phone stayed silent.

On the fourth morning, I woke to find Dr. Martinez standing beside my bed, his usually continue reading …