Dr. Glam

So, waiting... My first experience interacting with foreign healthcare system. I'm in a doctor's office. I called, said to come at 5:30 without appointment and wait, so I'm waiting. The waiting isn't any different than at the U.S. Clinic but the atmosphere is much better. It's an historic building with decorative plaster moldings, high ceilings, wood floors and tall windows that look out onto a similar pastel and white confection across the street. The same building houses a gay hotel, a gay bar and a gay sex club. The reception desk looks more tech-firm corporate, simple, elegant, designed. People wait in the next room on chairs lining the white plastered walls. A large ceramic egg hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room with holes all around, a banana in each, I suppose meant as snacks for the patients. People queue up to talk with desk staff, the desk staff take their information, ask that they wait and call names, when rooms and providers are available. One by one, patients respond and head to the instructed room number. One man looking at his phone as he responds to his name, walks into the monkey feeder and knocks all the bananas off the egg. The others laugh. I'm instructed to talk with the handsome black man because better English. He's beautiful, everyone here in beautiful. He's a native speaker, i enquire, from Atlanta, been here four years. He asked about my complaint, takes some info and escorts me down a cast iron staircase to again wait. I'm in a library, modern, full height shelves filled with books line the walls. There's a rolling ladder, in the center, a large conference table, contemporary like the shelves surrounded by chairs, on top, lovely flowers, coffee, water, little ramekins of spiced nuts, fresh fruit. Am I allowed to eat it? A few other's file into the room, "hallo," take a seat, sift through magazines, check out Facebook. Two older gentleman across, one with persistent cough, two  pretty young boys next, one with hair dyed the color of blood oranges, a French boy opposite with the telltale fine features, dark hair, pale skin, Disney character eyes, disproportionately large on his fine face, nervous, biting lip. We wait.

A door opens, from inside a voice calls out a name. The man waiting when i came down goes in. I wait. The door opens again, "Morris." I get up, assuming it's me, and so does the French boy. He shoots me a frightened look. So scared. I'm wondering if he suspects HIV exposure. I can't think of anything that would warrant that face. He hurries in. I assume French so Maurice, Morris, if he's not the right Morris, they'll come get me, right...?.

Finally, the doctor calls, "Herr Morris!" Tall, very German, grey hair, bushy eyebrows big black glasses like an architect, deeply, resonant voice, fish mouth, upper lip never moves when speaking. I follow him down the hall. He takes me to the exam room, actually his brother's office, asks if I speak German I tell him English please. He introduces me to Tobias, the intern who will interview me and collect my data prior to examination and treatment. Tobias, so young, how can this child with again refined face, freakishly huge eyes with lashes that look fake, high cheekbones, flawless skin, beautiful bow shaped lips, budda bun atop shaved head,  be a medical student? He's a baby...! He's very sweet, gentle, caring. It's his second week in the office and he's diligent to get all the required information, listens intently, my stats, allergies, medical history, vaccinations, children's diseases, checks his list to make sure everything is covered. I watch his tiny hands, thin fingers, so childlike, tap away at the keyboard entering my data as I tell him my life story, stopping occasionally to translate something unknown on his phone. We finish, the doctor comes in, we talk, he makes his treatment plan, infusion and pills. He jokes about me being a trump refugee and sends me off to the lab.

The lab technician is friendly, efficient.  She hooks me up to an IV, draws blood for tests, and then an IV for medication, a slow drip, will take 20 minutes, she explains and then as she’s running gout the door to attend to other patients, “If you need anything, just scream.”