King of Crickets - or - Say Ah (or not)

"Oh, My God, that is SO inflamed!" Dr. B., normally a mask of professionalism, self-consciously closes her own mouth.

The professional is back. "I'm sorry, that's probably the last thing, you want to hear from your doctor, 'oh, my God,' but..." she looks in my throat with the flashlight again. "Oh my God!"

It's about the baby. Just back from maternity leave, my primary Care Physician has a three month old at home, and I doubt she's high on anything so much as lack of sleep. And guilt.

"Do you see it written all over my face?" she asks when I mouth the word "HOW?" and make rocking motions with my arms. "I feel so guilty. Everyone is coughing," she ads, and I wonder passingly if children of doctors grow up with these immensely well functioning immune systems, because they're exposed to everything from e.coli to typhoid by the time they're one. Or if they grow up sick.

I feel her struggle. Clearly Dr. B feels just as guilty about having left her medical practice for a few months. "What is this about a chronic fracture at C5?" she asks me, for all the world as if I'd wet the bed. "I was coming in every week, I should have gotten this!"

I don't know what to say, and couldn't if I did.

"Have you had a bone density test?" I shake my head no. "It'll be a fight with your insurance company because you're so young, but a chronic fracture...you should have one."

I kind of like this version of my doctor. Her relaxed sense is catching. "Now, what about this laryngitis. I've heard of people having it for two, up to three days, this virus going around but...eight?" She smiles a little wryly. "You want some 'roids?"

Now I know she's high. The word slips from her mouth like a teenager who's been drinking a little too much for the first or second time, a little amused at her own audacity. "' 'Roids" is not a word the old Dr. B. would use to discuss prescribing so serious a substance as steroids. I bet Dr. B hasn't had a full night's sleep in over three months.

"Maybe," I mouth and make a balancing motion with my right hand. "Remind me about side effects?..." I whisper.

"Oh, well you'll have lot's of energy..." she laughs and goes to explain exactly what to expect if I should take the 6-day dose of steroids. Reminding me this is only the secnd time she's ever done this. I am regularly impressed by how much information this diminutive woman keeps somewhere. She's like her own self-contained database. She pulls phone numbers out of her hand-held device, processes what's in front of her quickly and retrieves lists of the most random information out of her head. Dr. B is to me a tiny, whirling walking wonder.

I pantomime writing a prescription, and indicate that I'll take it home and think about it. I think I may be getting better without 'roids. Yesterday I was able to make this one honking sound, precisely on a B flat. And today I can make two sounds. When I put them together I sound like Tarzan. I keep my experiments to a minimum out of respect for my ailing vocal folds and my neighbors.

Today is day nine without a voice. My friend Stacy says maybe the King of Crickets has it.

El niño busca su voz.
(La tenía el rey de los grillos.)
En una gota de agua
buscaba su voz el niño.
No la quiero para hablar;
me haré con ella un anillo
que llevará mi silencio
en su dedo pequeñito.

The little boy is looking for his voice
(The king of the crickets had it.)
In a drop of water
the little boy looked for his voice..
I don’t want it to speak with;
I will make a ring of it
so that he may wear my silence
on his little finger.


-Federico García Lorca