When I graduated from college, I had absolutely no idea where I wanted to go in life. All I knew is that I’d do whatever I am meant to do. What is it? I told myself I’d figure it out.

Different companies called me a few months after graduation and because I didn’t know exactly where to start with my career, I just went to all interviews. There were some that kind of scared me because of the job description, some that made me dread working because of the job description, some that made me dread working because of the possible workload and some that seemed just like the perfect job.

There was one particular job I liked but the promised call didn’t come. I felt lost again and decided to apply to other companies and forget about the one that got away. Just as I was losing hope, the company called and informed me that they had a job offer for me. Before I knew it, everything was fixed and I was working!

My husband told me about a patient who checked in to a Florida hospital for a life-saving amputation. He awoke to find that the wrong foot had been removed. IN the same hospital, another patient had surgery on the wrong knee.

Defenders of the healthcare system point out that such tragic cases of malpractice are like airline crashes—they are newsworthy because they are so rare. In that Florida hospital, officials responded with a plan to avoid what could go wrong: Staffers now write “NO” with a black Magic Marker on the healthy limb.

My elder sister started wearing glasses when she was 10 years old. They are still a necessity because her 50-something eyes are losing their battle against time. When she was younger, she thought glasses were a nuisance—especially when playing sports. Once, the lenses of her glasses got cracked while she was playing softball. It took several weeks to get them replaced. In the meantime, she saw everything in a skewed and distorted way.

My husband may not be perfect but he never gives me major problems. There’s just one thing he does not do that I often complain about. He does not give me flowers. He thinks he has proven more than enough that he loves me and would stand by me no matter what; he does not have to give me flowers to prove anything.

While I often complain about the flowers, my husband never complains about anything so I thought I treated him better that he treated me.

Then, one day, on our 6th year of marriage, over coffee, I pointed out—for the nth time—that he never gives me flowers. Out of the blue, he said, “Well, you never prepare coffee for me.”