I was in an elevator in the heart of the Texas Medical Center in Houston. The building was huge, but it did not occur to me that office number 3502 meant the 35th floor. The elevator just kept going up. I finally arrived at a very nice, large “office.” It was a therapist’s office, and all I could think was, “I hope my insurance is going to cover this because I can’t afford this kind of therapy.” After a few anxious minutes of waiting in the outer office, I was invited into the therapist’s office. I was greeted by a…