Knowledgeable

My mother always says, "getting old is not for the faint of heart."

Today I spent an hour and a half at the hospital. Nothing major—just three little things I needed to take care of. I have health insurance that covers 90%, so I knew it wouldn’t be expensive.

First, I had to deal with a rash around my waist and lower back. I got it ten days ago at the country house. That damned jungle is full of noxious insects and plants, so I figured it was an allergy. I got back to Bangkok and showed a pharmacist:

“Herpes!” he said.

“Herpes?!?” I was startled. “No way! I’ve been in the jungle. I’m sure it’s a plant.”

“But the little dots,” he pointed out, “that’s a sign of herpes.”

“No, not herpes,” I insisted. You see, I am KNOWLEDGEABLE. I know that Herpes is a sexually transmitted disease that causes painful rashes and sores.

“No pain,” I told him, “so it’s not herpes. Give me a cortisone cream.”

Three days later, the rash was worse, not better. I went to the hospital today and saw the doctor. I lifted my shirt.

“Herpes!” she said.

“Really??” she could see I was distraught.

“No, not herpes simplex. You’re thinking of herpes simplex. This is herpes zoster. You had chicken pox one time when you were a child, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the same virus. It stayed in you. But now it’s past seven days, so we can do nothing.”

Then I told her the story of the pharmacist.

“Smart pharmacist,” she said, “you should have listened to him.”

Then I showed the cream I bought from him.

“OH NO!” she shouted, “you can’t use THAT cream.”

I’ve been trying to treat a viral infection with a steroidal cortisone cream. That’s like treating a blister by scrubbing it with steel wool.

Then I needed my ears cleaned. Another doctor, also a nice lady, laughed her way through 20 minutes of attaching suction pumps and high pressure warm water rinses until she eventually dislodged two chunks of wax the size of thumbnails.

Seven years ago an American doctor did the same thing but without the laughter; instead, he charged me $100 and gave me a telling off: never stick your fingers in your ears!” he shouted.

The nice Thai doctor just said, “You should get your ears cleaned more often, because you have sticky wax.”

Finally, I told the nice ear doctor that I needed a certificate to get my Thai driver’s license. She read though my file and provided it. The certificate avers that:

“Mick Purcell is free of polio, elephantitis, alcoholism, and drug addiction.”

I paid my bill. What was the total for visits with two doctors, including the correct diagnosis of a skin rash and medicine for it, the laborious cleaning of my ears, and the certificate swearing that I am free of elephantitis?

Six dollars. I’m going to miss Thailand.