The Pandemic and the Dermatologist
At the height of the pandemic, I got a severe itchy rash on my scalp and inside my ears. It was unrelenting. It was driving me crazy! At the same time, the media was warning senior citizens to refrain from going out as much as possible. Since I lived alone and since I feared burdening my son, I stayed home. In wintertime, I did not mind it. I feared slipping in the rain or snow. I had a select group of friends with whom I met, but mostly we chatted over the telephone. They were like me. We hardly ever ventured out of our homes, and when we did, we all masked. At that point in time, there was a scarcity of vaccinations. We all listened with dread at the alarming rise in death tolls. First we heard of the death tolls on the news, but soon it was people we knew who were passing away. It was definitely not a laughing matter. In fact, people were dying at quite an alarming rate.
In the meantime, the itching left me no peace. I would wake up in the middle of the night, sit up in bed, and get into a frenzy of scratching my scalp. I worried about going to a doctor, since there was a priority on who could and who could not be vaccinated first. Finally, it was announced that seventy-year-olds and over would be able to be vaccinated. One evening, my grandson called me.
“Grandma, what are you doing tomorrow evening?” he asked.
I smiled happily. “Would you like to come over for dinner?” I asked.
“No, I made an eight o’clock appointment for you to be vaccinated in the Bronx!” he said, quite pleased with himself.
“In the Bronx? How on earth did you manage that?” I asked.
“I went on the computer and searched, and this is where I found some place for you to be vaccinated,” replied my genius grandson, ever so coolly.
The next evening, he picked me up. We drove to the Bronx. I couldn’t figure out how he found the place. “It’s easy, Grandma. The GPS directs me,” he said. I had stopped driving before I even owned a GPS, so I was even more impressed by his technical capabilities. I was never technically minded. Once in the Bronx, the GPS directed him to our destination. Soon we turned into a CVS parking lot. It was late. The store was almost empty, narrow, and long. We walked almost to the end of that vast shop. A man took my information and politely offered me a seat as I waited my turn. We struck up a conversation, and being the proud grandmother that I am, I did what I do best when I speak of my grandson. I sang his praises. I spoke of his kindness and how considerate and thoughtful he is. I described how he searched the internet until he found this drugstore in the Bronx to make sure I was vaccinated. I mentioned how he drove me all the way from Queens to there. How many twenty-one-year-old young men would do that? The pharmacist smiled. He looked at him quite admiringly. We waited a while before I was called. It was almost nine o’clock. The store was becoming even more empty. I noticed that some of the people working there were leaving as well. As the pharmacist jabbed my arm, he said with a smile, “It is the end of the evening, and I have an extra dose left. I would have to discard it if I do not use it. Would you folks like me to vaccinate your grandson?” he asked with a smile.
Would we? Did he have to ask, that wonderful man? If it would not have been unseemly, I would have put my arms around his neck and covered him with kisses! “Oh thank you! Thank you so very much!” I beamed in delight. He also smiled, my grandson smiled! It is in that manner that my sweet boy now was able to be vaccinated two more times and not have to wait his turn to be vaccinated with all the other twenty-year-olds! I was so sure that fate had smiled down on us.
Now that I was vaccinated, I felt safe enough to get a recommendation for a dermatologist. Our family doctor recommended two dermatologists. The first one was a female. I prefer female dermatologists. I called and was told she does not take my insurance. I then called the next one. A very cold, uncaring voice answered. There was no warmth to her voice. She was all business. I did not like the voice, but I chided myself. “This is not the doctor, but the receptionist.” I made the appointment. When Kelly and I entered the waiting room, sitting behind glass dividers were four dour-looking women. Not one of them smiled as we entered. They gave Kelly and me a cold glance. I know that sometimes I am quite effusive, but these women lacked any degree of warmth. I looked at Kelly to see if he was sensing what I was feeling, but he was staring at the TV screen hanging on the wall. I could imagine him chiding me, “You did not come for a social visit, Mum! You came for a doctor’s visit. Get over it.” So I said nothing. I leafed through a magazine that was on a side table.
Soon a nurse stuck her head out of a door and called my name. I looked at Kelly and asked him to accompany me. He did. We entered an examination room. He sat on the chair reserved for those accompanying patients. He twiddled his thumbs impatiently. We chatted quietly until the doctor entered. Ah! The doctor! Now that was a sight! He was covered from head to foot, as if he was on his way to perform a very serious surgery. Moreover, he was wearing a clear, full-head plastic headgear, just in case I happened to breathe on him and infect him with the Corona Virus! I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. I looked at Kelly. Kelly glared back at me. “Mother! Now is not the time for your histrionics, Mother! Calm down!” his eyes warned me. When Kelly wants to make a statement, he addresses me as Mother and not as Mum! Now, was that kind of moment. The doctor stood there looking at me expectantly. He stood at a safe distance, waiting for me to speak. I was thinking, “Hmmm! This office consists of a group of frigid people.” I waited for him to greet me. I just looked at him. Without a smile, nor a hello, from behind his plastic-covered head, his voice muted with all that protection, finally asked me what the problem was. I told him. Not moving an inch, he withdrew a flashlight from his pocket and aimed it at my scalp and my ears. He did not venture closer than five or six feet of me. He did not come close enough to part my hair to look at my scalp. Then he pointed his flashlight towards my ears from that same safe distance! I was beginning to feel greatly irked! What kind of weirdo was this? Finally, he told me I have rosacea, which I definitely DO NOT have, and some kind of scalp condition. He prescribed three things: tiny bottles of shampoo which cost $20 each, a cream for the rosacea which I do not have, and a cream for my ears. After using three bottles of that shampoo, I now have a terribly scaly and itchy scalp. I stopped using that awful shampoo. It was then that I remembered Peter had a wonderful dermatologist. I have to go through my old phone book to look for his number. And while I am at it, I think I will advise my family doctor not to recommend that man to anyone anymore!