A Touch of Magic

A Touch of Magic

In the wee hours of this icy morning my throat and chest hurt so much that I couldn't bear the thought of driving to Dr. B's consulting rooms and waiting in a room full of sick people until it was my turn to see him (even if I was prepared to take the risk of being infected by Covid-19).

So I got out of bed, pulled a jersey and dressing gown over my night-dress, and took out my laptop. Within minutes an email was on its way to the doctor. I had described my symptoms and asked him whether he would kindly fax a prescription to my pharmacy.

I phoned his rooms later, to be told that Dr. B. was no longer using is computer to receive messages and that I should WhatsApp my request to him.

Not a word spoken had been spoken between doctor and patient and there was no examination of any sort. Later in the day a course of antibiotics and some painkillers appeared on my front lawn, as if they had seeded themselves and grown there.

***

When I was a child my general practitioner would visit me at home when I felt off-colour. He would sit on my bed and open his black box. First out was a thermometer which he wiped with Dettol before popping it into my mouth. Next came the little torch. "Say 'Aah'", and I would gag on the wooden spatula pushing my tongue down as he peered deep into my throat. The torch was also used to look into my ears, and into my eyes. His warm hands would explore my abdomen and the glands under my jaw.

Then, holding my hand, he would turn to my mother. "Give her an aspirin now, and another before she goes to sleep tonight, and I'll come by tomorrow."

***

Today pressing buttons on a hard, cold keyboard secured me my medication, but how I would have preferred the warm touch of my doctor!