That night I saw the sculpted, fitness fanatic who had fallen off his bike. So chiseled a body, yet with one shoulder completely dislocated, distorted, like a sculpture who had broken and been incorrectly fixed. His body turned green with pain. He was not doing well. His neighbor, biking with him, had brought him in. He sat with him as he waited to see whether or not he needed surgery. He was unable to focus on anything but his pain. His wife was three thousand miles away, who would come to be with him that night? His clothes were muddy. I then understood the genius of being a surgeon. For, like an artist, with deft hands and pinpoint accuracy, they would re-sculpt this patient's physique to its former glory! What a job!

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