This is like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie!
Last night as I was walking into Shul (Synagogue) for Yom Kippur evening services the person entering directly behind me was Dr. Jacobs. Yes, Dr. Jacobs the pulmonologist. My pulmonologist. The very same person who told me that I had lung cancer. I don't know why, but I could not bring myself to greet him. I guess some kind of deep seated resentment even though he was just the messenger.
Also, when I sat down, I instinctively placed my index finger somewhere in the prayer book. When the rabbi announced the next page for prayers it was page 401. Guess where my finger was? Page 401.
Carpe Diem.
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