Ah temperal Oh temperance. Rose Franken, as anybody over a certain age knows, spent years pampering Claudia in print. Now she's cosseting herself. Pettishly. A grandmother, chronologically, she had some sort of disturbance which sent her to a new (and younger) doctor; Dr. Smith is very modern; he doesn't talk much and relies on his machinery; he sends her to a hospital for further tests; she remembers the ""sandwiches and hot chocolate"" from a more ""benevolent kitchen"" in earlier years; she doesn't even get breakfast-- she rushes out in her peignoir to ask why. Dr. Smith says she has to have an operation. Her husband sends longstemmed roses which she doesn't quite appreciate-- ""I must have been too busy paying attention to myself."" So she was, without acknowledging all of the problems hospitals with far more serious cases face. She had a hysterectomy.