Dr. Zeus

"We have health insurance," my wife informs me. "As of last month, according to this." The whole country's in a recession thanks to half the workers being underpaid as part of some longterm strategy, the other half being dismissed while their jobs are reassigned to the third-world, and to hear CEOs at the top of their game bemoan the state of things you're surprised they're not winging themselves off skyscrapers or signing-up to fight the new war in the Middle East. But we have health insurance. Take a breath and absorb that. Watching yoga videos on Youtube was previously 80% of my coverage plan. (The other twenty was bandages and aspirin.) 

"You should make a doctor's appointment," she says. "Just to let them look at your eyes and your ears. You know?" 

There's a brochure that mention a website in the mailer. You go to the website and click your way through some questions and they try to find a doctor located near you. I make an appointment with a guy about fifty minutes away. 

I get worried for a moment in the parking lot reading a few of the bumperstickers on other people's cars and wondering if those are the doctor's or the patient's, but I figure I'm making a big deal out of nothing and shake it off. 

Once inside everything's bonhomie and affable. No draping spiderwebs, leaky pipes, faulty electrics burping sparks. It's a regular waiting room. Two female staff working at computers behind the partition in the wall and a young woman there with her mother and a skinny guy who looks somewhat cold in the lobby. I go to the partition and introduce myself. The young lady brings up my info on her computer and gives me a clipboard with a pen and a one-page form inquiring about allergies and the basics. "Take your time," she says. "A minor emergency came up and so your appointment's been pushed back ten minutes." 

I nod, look at the form, tell her I'm not in a hurry, and take a convenient dose of her perfume before moving to one of the chairs in the lobby. 

About two minutes later Dr. Edelweiss emerges from one of the inspection rooms and calls the young woman with her mother to join him. He notices me filling out the form. He says something I don't hear to the receptionist and she confirms and he turns to me and says, "I'll be with you shortly, sir. Something just came up at the last minute." "No problem. I have time." "Thanks for understanding." He escorts the patient and her mother towards the back and it's just me and this kid minding our business. I figure his is the car with all the weird bumperstickers on it. 

The doctor returns quickly as promised and invites me with him into the back. "It's Curt Benigni," he asks after closing the door behind us. "That's right," I answer. "And we're just doing a routine check-up today: Is that right?" "My wife figured we might 's well do a once-over so long 's it's this convenient. We just got health insurance last month." "Mm-hmm," he says. "Been an uptick in those lately. Chalk it up to human progress. Would you kindly remove your shoes and step on the scale there for me. Just need to get a precise height and weight." I do and he does. "Thank you. If you could remove your shirt for the systolics and pulmonary readings..." "Breathe in..." "Out..." "Good. You can put your shirt back on." I do. "Sexually-active, Mr. Benigni?" Buttoning my shirt, "I try my best." "That's what they all say," says Dr. Edelweiss. "Been married long?" "A few years." "It's normal to scale back some after the first year. Even the most passionate youth is known to relent like an aged whale." He prepares an audioscope with a fresh cone that he removes from a hermetically-sealed package that he opens in front of me. He pushes a button on the device and a small bulb glows like a round earring. He gets in close, peering into the canal and the abyss inside. "Be thankful neither of you is Zeus or any of his impulsive children. Condemned to watch eternity without the promise of tranquil conclusion. I'm amazed the ancient gods didn't go mad one by one, cast themselves into the future of the modern world and punch through the walls of tenement buildings abducting human brides and grooms to quench their eternal thirst and hunger. It's not easy being a deity, you know." "I imagine that's true." "What could an immortal god pray to anyway?" "No wonder they were so preoccupied making humans." 

We round out our casual theology and he tells me I'm fit as a fiddle. No need for a follow-up although yearly physicals are much encouraged. He excuses himself to his other patients and I start to pull on my shoes. I remember Zeus was the one with the lightening bolts fashioned by his regurgitated siblings and it was millenia before Ben Franklin thought to tie a metal-key to a child's toy and pursue the endeavor towards lightbulbs, and, I suppose, radios and airplanes. 

****