I am going to the Doctor's office. I see Dr. A having a cup of coffee. He is seated in a wooden school desk, the type with a wooden arm on one side. He sees me and asks me to have a cup of coffee with him. He is gentle and pleasant, seeming to want my company. We chat for awhile. He pats me on the arm and says sweetly, "I love you." He doesn't mean man/woman, but friendship. I say, "I love you too." He goes on. Then I remember I need a refill on my cortisone. I go in. A woman doctor says she can fill the prescription. It is a shot. I really live in some other town but decide to go ahead and get this month's shot now and save time. She is friendly with her women patients; she is sort of New Age. She now has a cream that looks like shaving cream and raises my blouse to expose my upper belly just below my breasts. This is the correct spot for the application of the cream. I am concerned that she might put too much on, how does it time itself for a whole month, and so on. She asks me how much I take and I say, "Four milligrams a day." I sort of feel this isn't right, but I can't remember any other number that is correct. She rubs the cream into my skin and that's that. There is no pain, and it's done. Then she offers a raffle ticket to me and two other women to go to a party and enjoy ourselves. After we are done, we can get reimbursed for the cost of the ticket by my brother Dwight.