my psychiatrist is dying

I see him once a year to get pills

formulated
to
prevent me
from killing
me. But this year they said he was on medical leave due to a serious illness.

“Somebody should have
called you,” the girl said.

“They probably did;
I rarely answer my
phone.”

She wouldn’t say what was wrong; only that it was terminal and he probably
wouldn’t
be
coming
back.

“Are you okay?” she
asked. “Do you need
to see somebody?”

“I’m fine.”

She said she would get another doctor

to
call
in my prescription. When I got outside it was raining very hard. I had no
doctor.

And
no

umbrella.