"Thank you."

The shy young man sincerely expressed his gratitude.

"You're welcome."

Adam smiled, closed the hospital room door behind him, and almost couldn't contain the amusement in his eyes.

He really wanted to tell the shy young man, "Don't thank me—thank Howard."

But professionalism held him back, so he kept it to himself.

In The Big Bang Theory, when Sheldon's twin sister Missy came to visit him, Howard, Raj, and Leonard were all instantly smitten with her. They competed fiercely, each trying to win what they believed was the "right" to date her.

Raj, after drinking, started acting wild and talked to Missy about the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, referring to it as a legendary book. He also mentioned a certain indescribable book, claiming it was one of China's greatest contributions to the world, and told Missy not to hold back.

Howard, as a Jewish man, refused to be outdone. He immediately boasted that his people had invented circumcision, also telling Missy not to hold back—his face full of pride as if he were expecting applause.

Now, seeing this shy young man genuinely wanting to thank Howard, the first thing that popped into Adam's mind was that scene. It was so vivid that he almost lost control.

It was just too perfect—complete with top-tier sound effects in his head.

"I understand. I'll have someone from plastic surgery come over," Susan said, shaking her head.

Technically, Adam could handle this himself, but unless Shani temporarily assigned him to the plastic surgery department, he really wasn't in a position to step in.

Besides, deep down, Adam wasn't too interested in this type of procedure.

Doctors are expected to be professional and not have personal hang-ups, but given the choice, Adam preferred to avoid these kinds of surgeries—just like rectal exams. The fewer, the better.

"Patients these days are getting bolder," Susan sighed after making the call. "They come across some half-baked medical information and think they can perform procedures on themselves. Do they ever stop to consider—if it were that easy, why would we spend so much money and so many years training to do this?"

"Ignorance is bliss," Adam chuckled. "The more you know, the more you respect the complexity of medicine. I'm sure after this experience, he'll carry that respect for the rest of his life."

No doubt about it.

He had taken a knife to himself and botched the job. Even with a plastic surgeon's intervention, it would never look the same as before.

And if the surgeon wasn't skilled? Well, if they left him looking like a piece of broccoli down there, that would be a lifelong nightmare.

Using public restrooms would turn into a mission—dodging glances and avoiding any chance of being seen. The mere thought of it...

"Dr. Lewis, there's a patient waiting for you," a nurse called out, pointing to an elderly African American man sitting in the waiting area.

"Got it," Susan acknowledged and motioned for Adam to come along.

"Adam, you take the lead on this one," she said.

"Did this start this morning?" Adam asked as he examined the patient's eyes with an ophthalmoscope.

"Yes, I noticed it when I woke up," the elderly man confirmed.

"Are you still seeing double now?"

"No."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Adam raised three fingers.

"Three."

"Have you had any previous eye issues?"

"No."

"When you were seeing double, did you feel any pain? Headaches? Loss of balance? Strange tastes in your mouth? White spots in your vision? Weakness in your limbs?"

Adam ran through a series of questions, but the patient shook his head at each one.

"I think he should see a neurologist," Adam suggested after ruling out most possibilities. He suspected a neurological issue and looked to Susan for confirmation.

"Mr. Irwin, right?" Susan glanced at his chart and said in a gentle tone, "A neurology consult costs $200. Right now, you don't have any concerning symptoms, so I'd recommend waiting until something actually feels wrong before seeing a specialist."

"Is it because I'm Black?" the elderly man suddenly asked. "Are you discriminating against me?"

"No!"

Susan quickly shook her head. "I'm just trying to save you some money. I know you don't have insurance..."

In American hospitals, insured patients usually get private rooms, and doctors treat them with a high level of confidentiality.

But for those without insurance? The treatment was much less personal. Quick assessments in the waiting area were common. Some hospitals wouldn't even accept uninsured patients.

After all, in the U.S., healthcare is a business—one of the biggest.

Money buys the best medical resources.

For example, wealthy donors often contribute large sums to hospitals—not just for philanthropy, but also for personal reasons.

When they have a mysterious illness that multiple doctors can't diagnose, they might try to book an appointment with a top specialist, only to be told there's a months-long wait.

But if they donate a large sum? They could be admitted that very afternoon. A top-tier doctor would personally oversee their case, quickly pinpointing the issue and recommending the best treatment.

That difference in timing? It could be the difference between life and death.

And hospitals? They already have all the numbers worked out for you in advance. You just need to pay up.

"If I weren't Black, you wouldn't say that!" the elderly man accused.

"Dr. Lewis, should we just schedule the neurology consult? Provisional diagnosis: transient diplopia?" Adam interjected.

"Fine," Susan sighed, full of exasperation. She instructed the nurse and then turned to leave.

"Make sure to add it to his bill," Adam whispered to the nurse.

"Of course," she replied with a knowing look.

People like this—who assumed discrimination where there was none—were frustrating to deal with.

Hospitals were profit-driven. They didn't care if you had symptoms or not—if you walked in the door, they'd happily run every test imaginable just to rack up charges.

By medical protocol, Susan should have ordered the neurology consult immediately. It was a billable service, after all.

A single visit to a neurologist cost $200, which was a huge sum for someone without insurance.

Susan was genuinely looking out for the patient's best interests, yet he instantly accused her of racism.

This was still 1998. A decade or two later, Susan could have faced serious consequences for such an accusation—possibly even losing her job.

"Don't follow my example," Susan said with a bitter smile as Adam caught up with her. "Your diagnosis was correct."

"I know," Adam replied. "And I also know that you know what the right thing to do was."

A seasoned attending like Susan wouldn't be unaware of the right course of action.

"Yet I still did it," she laughed at herself. "And it's not the first time. Maybe I'll never change."

"You're a good doctor," Adam said sincerely.

### once wrote: "To understand the world yet remain kind—that is true wisdom."

Susan embodied that—both wise and kind.

Adam wouldn't have gone to such lengths for a patient like that, nor did he feel the need to. But that didn't stop him from respecting doctors like Susan, who genuinely cared.

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