But she was gone.” We returned multiple times over the next few weeks. She remained gone.

Until our reunion, where we found Emily in her usual place. She had gone shopping and not back to the hospital as we had feared.

Emily was a fixture at the old, low-income motel. She had been living in her one-room for months, surrounding by neighbors who were recently been released from prison under a program managed by the government. Emily was a tiny, fragile woman, and for the longest time, we thought she must be nearing 80-years-old. But, we found out differently the first time that we actually treated her; she was barely into her mid-60s.

“Doc,” the neighbor says, wincing in pain, “my feet hurt so much. I can hardly stand up. My left foot has some serious pain!”

“Well, let’s take a look and see what’s going on,” I say.