We really do quite like our shuffling, little, old, local doctor, Dr. Tseng. The trouble is, when we walk into a gleaming doctor's surgery, everything spic and span, modern and sterilized, appropriate and slick, we get a renewed pang that something is dreadfully wrong with our choice of medical comfort and care in the form of our regular doctor!
I had an ear wax buildup last week, which I suffer from periodically, a problem of narrow ear canals passed on from my grandfather to my mum and onto me. It hasn't been a big deal over the years, but something I've needed to keep an eye on. I got to the point where I was watching my kids ask me questions in class and it was akin to watching a spaghetti western or samurai movie, with the dubbed lips moving, but no sound coming out! A dash mid-morning to the doctor's was essential!
Dr. Tseng's office looks like it's been populated by some stolen, plastic park seats, all odd colours and too many to fit comfortably in the space, along with being welded together and immovable. There are various professional posters all over the walls, scratched over with texta messages from the doc offering his own essential insights into their contents. They are all dog-eared and fading, many peeling off the walls exposing yellowing, rolled up sticky tape rings beneath. The "older" male receptionist wears an off-white nursing style top, initially inspiring some vague confidence before I notice that half of yesterday's lunch appears to be spilled down the front.
Despite the fact that I first went there 15 years ago, he seems unable to locate my file but insists that Cassy's file is mine. I assure him that this person is not me but rather my wife, even though he seems confused, until I point out the character for "woman" which is clearly marked on the front. The paper file is impressively creased and ruffled, criss-crossed and annotated with strange, barely legible hieroglyphics.
Not to be outdone by the chaos and filth out in the reception area, the doc's inner office is almost impossible to describe. There are 1950s era stainless steel machines lurking mustily beneath tottering towers of paper files and folders, dusty packets of bandages and ancient bottles of medicine, along with discarded syringes in an unprotected sharps disposal bucket. The doc actually does have a computer and screen on his desk, and after the failure of the paper file system to discover my existence, he then asked me about all the ailments he'd managed to discover on the screen. Trouble was that, again, he'd called up Cassy's file and insisted, even argued, that these were my prior sicknesses. He took some convincing! In the end he sent me away with some oily ear drops, a tiny stick with some cotton wool wrapped around the end and advice to use a toothpick to poke around in my ear to loosen the wax!
The relief I felt the next day when I bit the bullet and approached a local ear, nose and throat guy was intense. I was quite euphoric when I was ushered into a beautiful clinic area replete with sparkling modern equipment, a masked and gloved doctor with perfect knowledge and an active assistant holding my head steady as the doctor used said equipment to quickly and efficiently alleviate my problem . The experience was so wonderful that I encouraged Cass to go a few days later when she was experiencing a bad sore throat and general malaise. She, in turn, was astounded by the amazing level of service: I think we'd actually got used to the old guy to the extent that we'd forgotten what correct medical service should look like!
Cass wasn't feeling the healthiest this weekend, so we stayed at home except for some forays into the great wide world of shopping, the local supermarket shop at Wellcome being supplemented by a "specialty" run to Carrefour. As pointed out previously, specialty items include mince and yoghurt, along with certain cheeses and a couple of slabs of salmon, among other things. We're not quite there yet!!!
I ventured up the steps and found it very daunting in the midday 34 degree blistering heat with high humidity. It's the first time I've seriously considered not going the entire way up, but I'm happy I kept going: I don't want to set those types of "firsts"! On the way back down, to reward myself, I split from the regular path and followed the ridge-line halfway down the mountain through to the amazing temple full of individually carved religious men. They are all unique and some of the expressions and actions have to be seen to be believed. There are hundreds and hundreds on the temple grounds and I crept through the undergrowth and jumped fences to get shots of some of the more neglected types. It's pretty freaky!
Photos: sights from the steps, the temple and on my way back to pick up the scooter from the top of Section 7. I particularly liked the muscular water buffalo guarding a corner pocket park! Cass is reading Shriver's The Mandibles and telling me where she is up to each night in this frightening dystopian future. For once, I'd actually read a book before her! I'm still on the fascinating Beatles biography by Hunter Davies...gold! Speaking practice with mind maps video here of some of my kids.
