Trapped again in the office by painters for the second day, I am streaming a jazz station from Toronto, and on the air is a man with whom I worked 30 years ago in Montreal. He hasn't changed a bit! He's still smooooooooooth, and the music, with which I am unfamiliar, helps my imprisonment.
Think about that: I am jumping both time and space. Pretty cool.
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Here's an interesting development that will soon play out, perhaps as early as today: one of my prescriptions has run out (in fact, my only prescription - the one that prevents hair from gowing on my head) - well, my new doctor (the old one had an office that felt dirty and the doc gave Terri the creeps) moved to a rural community too far from here. I had seen him once. So technically I am doctorless and if he says I must be seen for a refill, I will go cold turkey while I seek a new guy/woman as my doc. Meanwhile, get the cranberry sauce ready.
Since I was such a vagabond, I have had, by my count, at least 17 doctors of the general practice stripe. All sorts of docs - good, bad, old, young, men, woman. The woman was in Montreal and one of the best - she actually sat down after the exam to talk, and listened. Even though there were people waiting... she cared. It mattered.
My favorites are not so lost in their assembly line of patients that you can enjoy some shared humanity. Since they make me nervous, I tend to joke. Since I mistrust authority I can be somewhat - what? - Mark Twainesque: a nice new work for skeptical.
Due to my mistrust, I usually save up about three problems before I go.
If you are the trusting type, I have a book for you to read.
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