Turn the Other Cheek; I’m Just Checking on You [T, 7-16-24]

BEYOND WINTER: Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—Turn the Other Cheek; I’m Just Checking on You [T, 7-16-24]

 

Two old women in a nursing home talking. “How did your date go last night?” “I had to slap him three times.” “He was getting fresh?” “No, I thought he was dead.”

That sounds sort of unkind, in a comical sort of way, but it’s exactly what she needed to do. What we all need to do for one another. What I hoped someone would do when I was at the dermatologist’s last week.

It’s a new dermatology practice in town. I went there because, in the publicity flyer they sent out, the dermatologist had a wild and crazy gleam in his eye. My kind of guy.

My first appointment went great. He and his staff were fun to talk to. Pleasant and professional.

I went for the usual reason I do anything medical; Helen told me I had to. She did not like the place on my temple. I don’t care about my looks, unless they get bad enough to scare little kids, and Helen thought that the place on my face was getting close to “scare city,” as our daughters used to say when they were little. The dermo agreed with her, and sent a biopsy off. Sure enough, cancer.

That’s not the first time, and it’s not surprising. I’m fair-haired and light-skinned. I grew up on a farm, going shirtless all summer to hoe weeds in the garden and to make hay. Even to play baseball or basketball. We didn’t know about sun screen. I don’t think it even existed then. Anyway, I burned all summer, every summer, and we now know what that does to skin when it gets old.

This dermo doesn’t do Mohs surgery, because you have to maintain a path lab on site for that, so he sent me to the big dermatology center in town. Went fine. Can’t even tell the place used to be there. Little kids flock to me.

He suggested I make an appointment for a full-body scan, and I was overdue, so I did. It was about six months away. No prob. About two months ago his office called and asked if they could reschedule my appointment from 2:30 to 2:25. It seemed like a long leadup for such a minor change, but I took it as a good sign—he wants to keep a tight schedule. He wants to be on time.

So, I obsessed for two months about getting there on time. I was there at 2:15. Sure enough, at precisely 2:25, an assistant led me through the warren of halls to an exam room.

She told me to take off everything but my undershorts, to put on the thin little backless gown she handed me, and to sit on the elevated, armless exam chair. She left. I complied with her instructions, hurrying to get my clothes off and the gown on so I would not hold things up. Hurrying for an old man is not exactly quick, but I did the best I could.

The room was cold. Because my year of chemo gollywhacked my internal thermostat, it’s fairly easy for me to get chilled. I did not see a blanket anywhere, but no prob, he’d be in right away

Dermatologists are the quickest of all the medical professionals. I think there is some sort of daily competition for spending the least amount of time with patients. They want to show off their competency by running in, taking a quick peek, and running out again. “Look, I’m so smart I can tell at one glance if little kids run when they see you.”

But I began to shiver.

The chair was padded, but the pads were hard, and the chair had only one position, at least only one that I could figure out, and that was straight up. I’m used to being on a sofa, where I can change positions often. So, my back began to hurt. But, no prob; he’d be in right away.

At 15 minutes, I thought that his entrance was surely imminent. Likewise at 20. And at 25. And at 30. I thought about opening the door and going out to see if they had all left for the day, but I thought a barefoot old man in a backless gown might be sent to the psych ward…

Nobody checked on me. No offers of water. No request to see if I needed a blanket. No “We’ll be in soon.” Nobody came in to slap me that whole time, to see if I were still alive.

At 30 minutes, I rolled off the high chair, and managed to shiver my clothes on and tie my shoes. At 35 minutes, I exited the room… and met the dermatologist, and his whole cheery crew, “We’re just coming in to see you,” he exulted. “Too late,” I said.

He must have won the prize that day. The exam took none of his time at all.

Here is my suggestion. Go check on someone you disagree with or don’t like. If you’re a lib Dem, go check on a MAGA neighbor or relative, and vice versa.

Don’t go to converse. I think if we gave up talking to one another in these times of great division, but just checked on one another, to see if somebody needs some water or a blanket or a hand to get out of an uncomfortable position, a lot of our problems would be solved.

It’s okay to slap them, but only to be sure they are alive.

John Robert McFarland