ABSTRACT
It is pretty unusual for me to see someone wearing sunglasses in the examining room, but that is the first thing I remember about Betty Devon. Betty, a nurse, was 60 when I met her, and I could not see her eyes. She was angry at me, though she and I had just met. She was angry at me, angry at doctors and angry at the world. It was an anger that would pass, and an anger that I would come to understand, but still it should have never been allowed to grow in the way it grew, or damage others, and Betty herself, in the way it did.
