We expect our stylists to have decent hair, our mechanics to drive roadworthy cars. Should we ask any less of our doctors?
The week before Christmas, dogged by a mysterious and persistent sore throat, I made an appointment with a specialist. I'd never seen him before, nor had he been recommended; he was one of two nearby ENTs approved by my insurance company, and he could see me pronto. That should have been a clue. Oh, and his name was Dr. Amini. I hoped desperately that his first name was Idi. Alas, it was Massoud.
His office did not inspire confidence. It was in a high-rise suburban apartment building that was decades past its prime - if in fact it ever had one. The corridors smelled of boiled vegetables and weary resignation.
My spirits sank further when I saw the waiting room with its random mishmash of battered furniture clustered awkwardly around the perimeter like kids at a junior-high dance. The walls were graced by some of the ugliest landscapes I'd ever seen - and I've stayed in plenty of cheap motels. They were, of course, mounted in wildly baroque frames, the faux gilt applied with a heavy hand.
I was engrossed in a copy of The Virginia Sportsman magazine when something caught my eye and I glanced up to see a wraith drift eerily past. With a shudder, I realized he was the doctor.
A few minutes later I was called back, and the impression was even more chilling up close. Part of it was his advanced age, but far more disturbing was his cadaverous pallor. The man was actually gray. As my eyes roved the room, looking at anything but Dr. Death, I noticed that all of his equipment seemed as old and worn out as its owner. By that point I didn't much care about my throat; I just wanted to get out of there.
The spookiest thing was that he murmured "You'll be all right" three times during our encounter. It had honestly never occurred to me that I might not recover from a sore throat. Until I met him.
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4 comments:
Fabulous narrative, but puts fear in my heart about what horrors people have experienced at my chop-shop. I no longer read the various doctor review sites, since I've been either Dr. William Osler or Klaus Von Bulow. I'm sticking to the Mystery Date model. You'll hopefully have a great story about the next specialist.
Reminds me of the only doctor I remember hating on first sight - an exceedingly obese surgeon who took out my appendix. It probably didn't need to be removed in the first place and he taped the outer layer of the incision shut. He then failed to even look at it when I told him that the tape had come off and one end of the incision was infected. I found out a few years later that he basically killed a friend's mother by only removing one breast when there was an obvious mass in the other one on the x-rays. Guess removing the other one would have meant he had to stand up for too long. You might want to go with your gut next time - leave.
When Dan made the apperntment, the receptionist warned him the doctor had been sick.
"Is he contagious?" Dan asked.
"No," she replied, adding: "It's gastrointestinal."
Lovely.
Of course, Dan didn't share this until last night.
Lordy. My Father stuck with a quack for a year before the unbearable pain forced him to an emergency room where in intern diagnosed kidney stones in 5 minutes....something that had apparently eluded the 'doctor.'
What's the solution? I'm not taking up with the Christian Scientists so unfortunately I'll have to do my own studying so I can help guide them.
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