So, several months ago my old doctor just up and left town with no forwarding contact information. It came as a surprise to me that doctors could or would do something like that, but apparently they can and do. I finally found a new doctor a couple of months ago.
I've been sick with what I thought was a standard cold all week, but by Wednesday and Thursday I was feeling pretty run down. Today when I woke up I knew right away that something wasn't right. Before I even got out of bed I told My Man that I was going to call the doctor; and just that alone is unusual for me. I'd rather suffer and let nature take its course than make the phone call, drive to town, sit and wait in the waiting room, then sit and wait in the exam room, then haul my butt to the pharmacy for drugs I don't want to take and where I have to sit and wait some more before I make the long voyage back up to our mountaintop. It's like a day out of my life that I don't want to give up to go see the doctor. Even more amazing than making that comment was that I actually did call my doctor.
The receptionist put me on hold several times and then finally gave me a time to come in. I got cleaned up and headed for town and when I got to the office the door was locked. I assumed that in my mental fog of not feeling well I must have got the time wrong, so I went to go back to the car to wait. Before I got to the car the doctor popped her head out the front door and invited me in. Her office is an old stone house - it's quaint and homey with its well worn dark hardwood floors and painted walls, and she was all smiles and acted like she has known me for years. She didn't even have me sign in at the empty front desk in the waiting room with no lights on. We just went right back to an exam room where I told her of my fatigue and tow curling cough that was showing no signs of getting better, but was in fact getting worse.
She noticed that my shirt was from southern Oregon and asked me where I had got it from, and when I told her that I had got it in southern Oregon, that we were from there - she smiled big and said that she was from there, too.
We talked about the towns and the things to do in them, the mountains (real mountains, not the foothills that Tennesseans mistake as mountains), and the people we had left back home. She mentioned her favorite park and I told her that is where My Man and I got married. She wanted to know the exact spot in the park that we had our ceremony, and when I told her she said that it was one of her most favorite spots and she bet I had beautiful wedding pictures because it was so pretty there.
We talked and talked and she made me feel just a little bit closer to home. I reached out and touched her on the leg several times even, and I never touch people like that. There was comfort in our shared and familiar memories, and honestly, I could have sat there with her all day reminiscing about southern Oregon. Tennessee is so different than Oregon, and most notably is the difference in people. Six years into our new state and we still feel a little like strangers in a strange land. At this point I just think that we will always suffer from a bit of culture shock. But today, there were a few brief moments that I felt normal and like I was with my own kind.
We could have, sat there and talked all day, because the office was closed. She told me that she was just there updating her charts and she knew that if I called I must be really sick and need to be seen. She even argued with her receptionist who told her that I could wait till Monday. Aside from our mutual love of Oregon, I was in a state of disbelief that she actually cared enough to see me even when her office was officially closed. Doctors, in my experience, just don't do things like that anymore.
This doctor was a bit of a pain to get into and I had to jump through a few hoops, and so I almost didn't do it. I almost thought she was just a little too big for her britches and just walked away and went to a different doctor, but now I'm so glad that I stuck it out. When I was going through the process of being accepted as a patient I told My Man that she was either going to be the best doctor ever or just a complete Queen that I couldn't stand, and honestly, I was really afraid that it was going to be the latter of the two. I'm happy to admit that I was so wrong, and now I'm not so sure that it is a complete coincidence that she is my doctor - sometimes, most times, I think that when things like this happen that they were meant to happen for a reason.
So, she decided that I have pheumonia. She had me drop my drawers for a super shot of drugs to get me on the road to recovery, gave me an inhaler, and then she got out her handy dandy prescription pad and wrote me out a few pages of little chicken scratches to take to the pharmacy. Normally, I'd fight the drugs because I hate to take them, but I felt so bad that if she had told me to drink monkey piss on ice with a dash of donkey turds to feel better - I would have. My weekend is now all mapped out with me sitting and steering our ship from a semi reclined position, which isn't always the best position to be in when it comes to wrangling wild five year olds, but I don't have laryngitis, so I should manage just fine.