“Doctor T, your YOUNGEST patient today is 70. Don’t you get tired of only seeing older patients?”
I look down at my patient list, and smile.
I don’t see what she sees... 1/
Gruff and with a jaw that stubbornly juts out, as if DARING you to try him, he seems perpetually irritated.
But Carl runs a dance studio, and still dances every day.
At 70.
And when he smiles, the sun shines for him. 2/
She seems proud, and I regard it carefully. It’s a black-and-white shot of a concert. A young singer has his back to the camera. The rest is a sea of screaming fans.
A young Gladys is in the front row, clearly visible.
The singer?
Elvis. 3/
Sitting beside each other, they hold hands. Every. Single. Appointment.
I’m always moved by how quiet each one is when it’s the other one’s “turn” during the appointment.
They’ve been married for sixty years. 4/
All sorts of delicious desserts that she cooks herself. I once tried to refuse (I’m trying to lose weight), but she looked like she would cry.
Her husband explains. Their son died in a car accident years ago.
She used to cook for him. 5/
Every single visit he apologizes for being almost deaf, and explains “I LOST MOST OF MY HEARING IN THE WAR!”
He has a photo in his wallet, of him in military uniform. I ask him how he won the medals he’s wearing.
He grins.
“I KEPT MY HEAD DOWN!” 6/
I look forward to her appointments so I can learn more about what’s in season in South Texas this time of year.
We discuss how therapeutic it is to watch a plant sprout.
Her secret?
“Love.”
Every living thing needs love to grow. 7/
He’s in his late 70s, and one day, finally, I have to suggest that he start toning it down. I’m worried about dehydration.
He says he understands. He’ll tone it down. He promises.
Then he starts walking his dogs for four miles a day. 8/
He brings my entire office staff a bouquet of red and white roses every single visit.
His smile is gentle, his eyes are kind.
He asks me how I’M doing at the start of every appointment, and really wants to know. 9/
I know something’s wrong when his wife sends us a bouquet of red and white roses, and a note.
“Mike passed away in his sleep. It was peaceful. He loved you and your office staff very much. Thank you.”
My heart is broken. 10/
I look up from my patient list, and my reverie, to respond.
“This... is a privilege.”
My student doesn’t seem to understand.
Someday, she will.