(Mom to doctor, as the syringe enters the void of her knee joint): “How’s your family?”  (Doctor looks up and around, momentarily confused): “Who, me?”  (Nurse, who had mouthed Who, me? looks relieved.)  (Doctor to Mom): “Fine…How’s yours?”  (Mom to me): “How are we?”  (I do not answer the question.)  (Mom to nurse): “Do you have kids?”  (Conversation ensues about nurse’s kids.)  (Mom to everyone): “My birthday’s this week.”  (Hearty congratulations from doctor, approaching with second syringe, and nurse.)  (Mom to everyone): “It’s on Thursday.”  (Friday, actually.)  (Mom to everyone): “I’ll be 87!”  (86, actually.)  (Hearty congratulations and light laughter.)  (I roll Mom’s wheel chair out of the room.  The doctor smiles at me, whether in amusement or sympathy I cannot tell, but not likely in general good humor.)  (Mom to doctor as she rolls by): “My knees feel all full and squishy, and they sting a little.”  (Doctor to Mom): “That sounds about right.  See you next week for round 3!”