Most doctors these days ask questions without looking you in the eye. They're busy typing your responses into a computer and then reading your history on the computer and then, I kid you not, the computer decides which drug to suggest. If he agrees, the doctor then punches a button and tells another computer, maybe in Las Vegas, to send that drug to you. End of story.
I went through this today with a gastroenterologist. He stared at the computer screen, fingering a pen. I stared out the window behind him at the foothills of Mt. Diablo and wondered who fetched his pristine pink shirt from the cleaner's.
"You've tried ginger and cinnamon tea?" he asked, looking up from the screen.
"No," I said, bewildered. This was startlingly low-tech.
He dropped his pen.
"No?" he said in his precise East Indian English. "Oh, my God." His dark eyes were full of concern and empathy. "That could clear up the entire problem."
He gave me directions: I am to chop up ginger and stick cinnamon, put the pieces in a pot of water, and boil it for 30 minutes. With any luck, the tea will relax my digestive system. In the meantime, he'd told the computer in Las Vegas to send a two-month supply of Elavil.
Then he gave me a light, encouraging touch on the back as he escorted me to the waiting room.
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