I don't really believe in intuition. But I swear to you from the moment I opened my eyes, I knew it was going to be a bad day. Part of it was the weather, so foggy it would take me twice as long to get to the hospital. Part of it was being so tired -- I'd not only had my usual full day yesterday, but a dinner meeting as well, that kept me up late. But the rest of it, the main part, wasn't based on logic at all. It was just going to be one of those days. For the thousandth time, I wished I'd chosen some nice, nine-to-five, five-days-a-week profession. And for the thousandth time, I answered myself. I hadn't chosen medicine -- it had chosen me. Actually, I shouldn't complain, I told myself in the shaving mirror. I had a lot to be thankful for. A profession that brought me as good an income as mine wasn't to be sneezed at. Maybe I didn't see as much of Gladdy as I'd like, but how much worse it would have been if I'd had to board her out somewhere after Alice went -- send my daughter to an orphanage or a boarding-home. At least, we were together and we had Mrs. Hodges, bless her, to look after us -- no mother could be fonder of Gladdy than Mrs. Hodges was. I was lucky in lots of ways, no doubt about it. Especially in the way Gladdy had turned out. Growing up without a mother from the time she was three -- it wasn't a good thing for a child, even knowing the kind of mother Alice had been. But I mustn't start on Alice. She is a closed book, a picture I keep on my bureau, but never look at. If she'd kept on as she'd been going, the story I'd told Gladdy would probably have been true by now, anyhow As usual, Gladdy's bright smile greeted me at the breakfast table. Her first class wasn't until ten, but she always got up to have breakfast with me. It made me feel good and knowing that she'd decided, all on her own, to go to college right here in town made me feel good, too. Oh, I knew that I couldn't give myself all the credit for her decision. I had a feeling that young Pete Michelson, the most promising intern at Fairview, had something to do with it, too. She'd been out with Pete the night before and her gay chatter about their date lightened my mood a little. But once I was alone again, driving to the hospital, the heaviness returned. If she and Pete were really getting serious, I'd have to do some hard thinking. Should I tell him the truth about Alice? Did he have a right to know the secret I'd kept from Gladdy all these years? The boys were already waiting in the corridor outside my office when I got to Fairview. Two interns and Dick Ishii, the other resident. I'm Chief of Medicine here and this morning would start like all others, with me taking the boys on the rounds. Pete was down on Seven, Dick told me, and he'd meet us there. There wasn't anything of special interest that morning, no one sicker than they should have been. Pete came to meet us when we stepped out of the elevator on Seven -- he'd had a case of post-operative shock, but it was all taken care of now. Seven is a women's floor and, as it happened, not very busy right then. When we'd finished our regular rounds, Pete pointed me toward the small ward at the end of the floor. "Got a new one in last night", he said. "I haven't seen her yet, but I hear she's a lulu"! I wasn't surprised. The ward was a small one, four beds, kept reserved for female alcoholics. We didn't get many at Fairview and they were never pretty sights. It was thought wiser to keep them segregated from the patients in the regular charity ward. The moment I walked in, the whole miserable feeling of the day seemed to focus on the woman in the bed. They'd cleaned her up some, of course, and she'd pretty much slept off her drunk. But there was something about her -- and I felt my lips forming a name. Alice But this woman's name was Rose Bancroft! I looked at the chart for reassurance. Yes, Rose Bancroft, diagnosis: acute alcoholism. She looked about sixty, though I recalled that the chart gave her age as forty-four. An ugly scar disfigured the somewhat familiar puffy face, already marred by the tell-tale network of broken red veins that heavy drinkers carry. Her coarse hair was two-colored -- bleached blonde and its real, dirty gray. Oh, could it be? No, no it was an unfortunate resemblance, that was all it was, and I turned to Dick, forcing myself to put my disquiet out of my mind. In a low voice, Dick filled us in she'd been picked up downtown, passed out in the doorway. Although quiet when they brought her in, she'd suddenly turned violent and had to be knocked out. It was the old story. We'd keep her a day or two, and the AA people would talk to her. But if she wasn't interested, she'd just go back to the same life she'd left. Turning toward the patient again, I -- I can't describe what happened to me then, except to say that I felt sick. I tell you, it took every ounce of control I had to be able to speak. "Now, Miss -- or is it Mrs. Bancroft"? I never liked going straight into an examination with patients -- it relaxes them, I've always thought, to chat first. This was one time I'd have gladly broken my own rule, but habit was too strong. "Hey"! Her voice was flat and dull. But those penetrating eyes -- I had to turn my head away. It was then that I saw what the drawn-back covers revealed. There were bloodspots on the sheet. "What's this"? I asked. "Your period"? She shook her head. "I been spotting a little now and then", she said quietly, no emotion in her voice. "Have you spoken to a doctor about it"? Once again, there was a negative shake. I told Miss Groggins to move her down the hall where we had an examining table. "Better do a Papanicolaou", I told Pete. It was only a few moments before Miss Groggins had her in the proper position for a vaginal, but I couldn't see anything wrong on gross examination. Pete stood by with a slide and took the smear, sent it down to the lab with a request for the test. That done, I told Miss Groggins to take her patient back to bed and again put her out of my mind. I was busy the rest of the day. Late in the afternoon, I was up on Seven again. One of my private patients was being admitted and I went in to see her settled. On my way to the elevator, I ran into Pete. "I've got the results on the Bancroft smear test", he said. "There's something there, all right. Class Three, they said. Do you want to talk to her, Doctor"? "Well" -- I didn't -- I didn't ever want to see that woman again. But that was ridiculous, of course. "All right. We'll do a D. and C. and get her permission for a hysterectomy. Maybe it's nothing, maybe it's intraepithelial or in situ -- can't take any chances". "If you can keep her here that long", Pete said wryly. "Groggins tells me she's started badgering already, wants to get out. Wants to get to her booze, I guess". I grimaced in distaste. "Well, better see what I can do". We'd been standing right outside Miss Bancroft's door and as I went to turn the knob to enter, I was surprised to find that the door was slightly ajar. But she seemed to be dozing and in any case, we'd been talking in low tones. Her eyes opened as soon as she heard me, though, and once again, I felt an inward shiver. "I sure can't complain about the service in this place", she said. "I just got through seeing one of you guys. What do you want"? There was something almost insulting in her tone, but I disregarded it. "I've just been talking to Dr. Michelson", I said. "We'd like you to have a dilatation and curettage. That's quite minor, nothing to worry about. But we would like your permission to do -- that is, to go further if it proves necessary". "No". It was flat, definite. "Suppose you let me explain. Actually, I rather doubt that we'll have to do this. Even if we do, you'll be out of here in a week, probably". I was sure that was the difficulty -- she just didn't want to stay here, where she couldn't get to the liquor. "No". I looked at her in amazement. I'd had patients who'd refused surgery before, of course, but never one who didn't show, in one way or another, the reason why. Mostly, it was fear, but this woman's voice didn't tremble and her hands were still on the coverlet. "Will you tell me why"? I asked. She smiled, a smile without humor. "You shouldn't tell your little secrets outside of the patient's door", she said. "I've got cancer, haven't I"? She went on, disregarding my protests. "I'm not going to be one of your guinea pigs. Let your pupils learn on someone else, Doctor. Just let me die in peace". I stared at her, almost speechless. Her little speech was totally out of character with the sort of person I thought she was. Even her voice had taken on a more cultivated tone. This was someone who'd come down in the world, I thought. A long, long way down. Again there was something familiar about her, something -- "You haven't got cancer", I said as strongly as I could. "I don't know what you heard that would make you think so, but I assure you I don't even know myself, so how can you be so sure? And even if" -- "Don't give me a lot of talk, Joe". I gaped at her. She could have found out my first name, of course -- that wouldn't be difficult. But there was that something, some echo in the way she spoke. She was watching me intently, a funny little half-smile on her lips. "Surprised, baby? Guess I've changed, haven't I? But you haven't changed much, Joe". I knew then, knew with a heart-stopping shock. "Alice" -- I stammered through dry lips. "Alice, for goodness sake" -- "Alice", she echoed mockingly. "What's the matter, Joe, you scared of me? Think I'm going to make you introduce a drunk as your wife? Well, don't worry. Just let me outta here" -- "But why did you come back"? I'd found my voice. "Where have you been all these years"? She shrugged. "Here and there. As for coming back here -- well, I'll tell you the truth, I didn't even know where I was when I came to. The last thing I remember is a bar in San Diego" -- The way she spoke, her flat acceptance of her alcoholic blackout, made me shudder. And this was Gladdy's mother! "I never asked you for any favors, Joe", she went on, "but I'm asking one now. Let me outta here! You doctors are all alike -- all you want is to cut up people and what's the good? No, I want out, Joe"! I looked at the pathetic wreck of a woman before me. Let her out, let her out -- that would be the solution, wouldn't it? What she'd said was true -- in all these years, she'd never asked for anything from me. If I let her go, she'd disappear once more. And Gladdy would be safe!