This quest for diabetic supplies seems to never, ever end. I’m still trying to find the cheapest supplier with the best value, not to mention easiest for my patients to apply. Insulin injectors are the toughest, because there seem to be 100 or so companies that make them and at least three times as many wholesale distributors. I even hired an assistant office administrator just to help screen these salespeople. She’s very good, but she’s leaving for Switzerland at the end of the summer and then we’ll be back to just one receptionist and it’ll be hell all over again. The constant efforts to find equipment for chemotherapy are insane enough, although my hospital provides some of that for us. The last thing I want is to lose any of my patients, unless it’s to death. My practice is in New York City, so I have lots and lots of competition. Not only that: I’m 64 years old and nowhere near ready to retire. Oh, I live pretty comfortably up here in Scarsdale and all, but we never did finalize plans for wintering in Palm Beach. Rubbing noses with the beautiful people, that’s how I’d care to spend the last years of my life, yes, sir, trading tales of successful and failed operations with lawyers, Hollywood actors, businesspeople. If there isn’t enough money for that, well—we’ll just be wintering right here in Scarsdale, and maybe Judd, Jeremy and Josh can help us with the ice and snow part of the deal. Oh, there’s my wife Sarelle. I think she saw me talking into this microphone. She’s always saying how I always complain about life.