Dr. Nathan Katowsky: I worked in this hospital forty years. I know you have a stash of decent blankets!
Rebecca: Dr. K? I thought I recognized that voice.
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: Oh, hey, you. Yeah, it's been a while.
Rebecca: Nine years
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: Ooh.
Rebecca: What's... happening? What's all this about?
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: I was rushing to get to the airport, hit some ice. Wrapped my old LeSabre around a lamppost.
Rebecca: Ooh.
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: How about you? You just come for the food?
Rebecca: No. Uh, our little Kate... appendectomy.
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: Oh, no. And on Christmas Eve. Well, don't worry about it; it's routine stuff these days.
Rebecca: Yeah, thank you. I know. Where is your family? They on their way?
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: Uh, Montana; that's where we go. I mean, they're... they're trying, but weather being what it is, they wouldn't get here in time to say goodbye anyway.
Rebecca: Goodbye? I don't... I don't really understand. You seem okay.
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: Yeah, well... it's internal. A slow hemorrhage between the heart and a lung.
Rebecca: Can't they operate?
Dr. Nathan Katowsky: Well, I'm sure they'll try, but don't let this flattering hospital lighting fool you, Rebecca. I'm old. And the odds of digging around in me without causing either a massive stroke or a bleed-out are close enough to zero to pass for it in any math I know of.
