You grow up not giving it a second thought. And probably your childhood friends take it for granted too. And then one day, later in life, much later in life, it hits you -- everyone didn't grow up the way you did, with this special luxury.
* * *
Well my parents aren't bakers, though that would be nice. They are doctors, which is also nice. The last time I went to see a regular doctor before this week was in 2002 (and before that 1980-something), when I suddenly decided that I need a checkup, since my regular phone calls home did not qualify as such. So I went to see one of my father's medical school friends from his days here in New York. His friend, who I remembered when we used to visit NYC as children, was very nicely set up in an East Side brownstone, with his office on the ground floor and living above. Anyway, I went to see him and we chatted for a bit. He used his stethoscope, took my blood pressure and sent me on my way, pronouncing me in excellent health and "say hi to your father..."
* * *
Once I was on a flight when the stewardess actually came on the announcement system and asked "Is there a doctor on board?" I was only 6, but I had seen this on television so I waited and watched my parents. They didn't reach for the call button. I nudged them a bit, and still nothing. The clock was ticking, at least in my mind. It's not that they were going to let a patient die or even suffer. All of this infinite waiting really only lasted a second. They had already motioned to a stewardess and were in consultation. It turns out there were several doctors on board and everything was under control.
Some time later, I had a dream (or was it a day dream?). I was on a plane and the stewardess came on the intercom and asked "Is there a baker on board? A gentleman in first class is having some trouble with a crusty bread roll."
* * *
Well this week I realized what it's like to grow up without fantastic dinner rolls every night. I need to see a doctor regarding a problem I've been having -- nothing terrible really, but very annoying. And when it's been going on for 3 months (or is it 6?) you think it might be time to see a doctor. By my parents are in India at the moment, and for immigration reasons I can't travel right now. So I finally (after 3 years) chose an official doctor from my health insurance and went in, in the need of seeing a specialist (or so my father told me I needed).
The doctor wasn't available for 3 weeks, but there was an assistant (resident?) who could see me within 10 days. So I went to see him this week. Initially I was suspicious. I don't want to see the assistant, I want to see the real doctor. Actually it turned out he was really, well there's no other word, cool. Looked a bit like the kid on Scrubs. He agreed that I need to see a specialist without much fuss.
* * *
Imagine if you grow up, begin to live on your own, and then finally realize that most people are in 4-10 week wait lists to have some really nice dinner rolls. Well, there it is, and there I am. I have never waited more than 1 week to see a specialist and now I am told that if I'm lucky they can get me in March. I'm not complaining (well, yes I am), but not in a presumptuous way that I somehow deserve better. But truly I had no idea that the whole world doesn't eat eclairs for breakfast if you see what I mean.
I've always intellectually understood that even for the fortunate health care is a struggle and a matter of anxiety here in the United States, and probably in much of the world, because after all can you really trust a doctor as much as your parents?
Today I resolve that I will never, ever take my dinner rolls for granted again.
BB
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