She’d spent the last eight hours learning about cutting-edge treatments and diagnoses for tears to the meniscus of the knee. The first half of the day was informative and actually interesting, but the afternoon session had quickly become a rehashing of the morning program, thanks so much to stupid-question guy. Every conference she’d ever been to had one and this time wasn’t the exception. By three o’clock, an annoying twitch had developed in her eye. By four, an impatient hum in her chest captured every bit of her attention. And by five? Well, by then she’d pretty much felt like toast. As a physician’s assistant, she’d been sent to this conference by the director at the clinic where she worked. She’d learned a handful of new techniques, listened to countless spiels on up-and-coming drug therapies and typed pages worth of notes on her laptop in the last three days. To say she was glad it was the last night of the conference seemed like a vast understatement. She’d never been so ready for a cocktail and some desperately needed downtime in her life.
