The birthday party.

They lived here, though, not in my exam room. “Eat!” Bahir commanded when we returned to the living room. It took me 3 servings to realize that clearing the plate indicated that I was still hungry and signaled Junah to heap it with more dumplings and date-and-sesame balls. I finally tried setting it down with a few forkfuls of food remaining, and my hosts nodded with satisfaction. Shortly after, the other 2 guests excused themselves. I followed suit. I drove home to the North Shore, to my weathered 1970s home overlooking the waters of Indian Arm, neighbours obscured by massive cedars, with a minivan in the driveway and bikes strewn across the yard. It had never seemed so splendid, or so preposterous. A few days later I received an e-mail from Bahir with a photo attached. The plant I had given Junah was in bloom. The text, poetic as always, had been garbled in translation. I gathered that the flowers reminded them of my visit, and both made them extraordinarily happy. Another patient invited me to her wedding a week later. I didn’t hesitate. “I wish you all the best,” I told her. “But due to our professional relationship, I don’t socialize with patients outside the clinic.” Dr Scholtens was a family physician at Bridge Refugee Clinic in Vancouver, BC, for 12 years and is currently completing additional training in public health and preventive medicine at the University of British Columbia.