Sweet Marquisele, your writing is persuasive and eloquent. I wish I knew what initially ailed you, knowing of course your overall thrust of citing prejudice as if there should never be such. I agree! My father was a doctor, more a holy man, who never seemed to have a bad bone in his body, sacrificed himself amid hundreds of thick, unbelievably complicated books, and always working. He died after three heart attacks. He never raised his voice. He never asked anything of me or anyone. He just watched with tired eyes his narcissistic child, and would fall asleep during extended family visits. He was overweight and apparently overwhelmed, but he never complained. I lost him when I was ten. You, my love, should have had him as your doctor. He would have loved you. I know I do. He was a urologist. He would have worked until he found what ailed you, then worked to repair it. He loved medicine. His patients loved and cherished him. I know because I was there making rounds with him, talking to them as he drew long Q-tips into their prostates to remove scabbing blood and redressing them. There was joy and healing in the room. Medicine, I thought, was the highest expression of man’s greatness, but I could be wrong. But, I know of your greatness and truth. You, my dear, are profound! You matter. You are what is good for medicine. I love you!