This December I’ve spent time buying gifts, reading, socializing, exploring and searching for a lawyer.

Last December I did much the same. But last year I had what was later diagnosed as pneumonia. A doctor, not my doctor he was too busy with other patients, took my temperature and stuck Q-tip up my nose. She tells me I probably don’t have the flu. That’s a relief. Antibiotics? No, she writes a prescription for cough medicine with codeine. “This should help you sleep.” Three days later, a letter comes in the mail confirming I don’t have the flu. I’m running a temperature of 102. I call in sick to work and spend days and nights on the couch in my sleeping bag shivering or sweating and coughing, and coughing, and coughing. The aspirin I take for the aches and fever leaves me with acid reflux. My stomach and throat burn. It’s worse if lay down. For the first time I begin to see why pneumonia can be so deadly. Weeks later I go to a different doctor for a second opinion.

While I’m out sick, I call four lawyers. I leave messages. Two never return my call. One calls back to hear more and then disappears. The last lawyer listens, debates the merits of my situation (to me) and then refers me to another lawyer. Like pneumonia, I’m beginning to understand why people don’t like lawyers.

At dinner on New Year’s Eve a friend’s wife leans in and says “So, you’re looking for an attorney” sotto voce. I know why she’s whispering.