I’ve been sick for a whole week. On the fifth day I broke down and went to a doctor. My doctor was on vacation so I saw someone new.
Her clinic is painted pink with rose rubber baseboard and a cluster of gold-framed impressionist posters decorate the waiting room. There was also a large original pastel drawing of an abstracted woman looking round and peaceful. I wish all doctors, dentists, and veterinarians would put original art in their waiting rooms. I know they’re willing to spend money because framing those posters is costly. I don’t know if they just don’t want to invest the time or if they don’t think it makes a difference – but it does!
The doctor was short and older with hair that was dyed auburn and had grown out to expose an inch of gray hair. She wore ultramarine blue corduroy pants with front pleats. The pants were in good condition considering that they had to be twenty years old. She shook my hand when we met. I never get over the willingness medical people have to touch sick people. I liked her because of the drawing, the pants, and the handshake.
When she asked me about my symptoms I explained that the worst of them was my sore throat. She told me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten, ten representing the most pain I’ve experienced. I said 6-7. She seemed surprised. I thought about this method and wondered if I should have told her that I’ve never experienced extreme pain. I’ve never had a serious injury or a baby. I had a migraine once when I was sixteen, so that represents ten on my pain scale.
Next she held up an illustration of a man with the flu. He had messy hair, pink eyes, pale skin, and was frowning. “Is this how you feel?” she asked.
“Yes, except he looks like he has a fever and I don’t.”
She told me I had the flu and I should keep resting until I feel better.
