Pamela Windo

More on my daily adventures on the Santa Fe Trails buses….
I may have mentioned before that I mostly use the #2 route, which is the busiest, as it goes up and down one of Santa Fe’s main arteries, Cerrillos Road.  I get on close to town so there are usually quite a few passengers already on the bus.  Recently, I noticed a tall man, dressed in a nice summer suit, an unobtrusive straw trilby, and sunglasses.  The passengers on the #2 come from so many different classes and cultures and persuasions, it’s mind-boggling, so I didn’t think any more about the man … until … the other day, a passenger leaned across and asked him a question in a very respectful manner.  He answered politely but quietly so I couldn’t hear what he said. When the bus arrived at the terminus on Sheridan Street, the man alighted, saluted the driver, and the driver in the bus behind. And then he strolled up the street, saluted a crew of construction workers near the Convention Center who recognized him and called out. After that, he pulled out his iPhone to tell someone (I was about 10 feet behind him) that he was on his way.  By then, I had the idea the man was an important man in Santa Fe; and that he was probably the mayor.  When I got to the library where I write every day, the first thing I did was google him. And there he was; a small photo of him, though not wearing his hat and sunglasses. I don’t know if I am blowing his cover… whether he was being unassming to be invisible, or because that’s the way he is.
And I’m not sure if I will say something to him, should I find myself on the same bus again. 

A few weeks ago, I had a series of odd symptoms that I told my doctor about. She diligently took my blood pressure and pulse, both of which had been a tad abnormal for me, and then made copious notes.  But she didn’t come up with any diagnosis, or even any follow-up tests.  Instead, looking me in the eye, she said, “Life is short. Make the most of it.”  I wondered for a moment if that was her diagnosis, that I was going to die.  But she just smiled and plonked a little dark bottle of drops, a mixture of herbs for indigestion, in front of me, and said take these. They were her own brand, and ‘cheap at $10″ she assured me.  It’s hard to refuse a doctor.  But when I called a few days later for a referral to a specialist, her voice message announced: “I’m in Bali for a month.  There will be a receptionist in the office. Or you can go to …. (an urgent care center). 

Left in the lurch, I decided it was time for an alternative medicine man… and went to a chiropractor.  He assessed my posture, and listened carefully to my symptoms (no notes for him) and came up with a) getting an x-ray, and b) a good clue about what it might be.  I googled a lot over the next day or so. And it was then that I realized what a terrible task a doctor has, to figure out from all the hundreds of illnesses with similar symptoms, which one the patient has.  But with the help of the clue I’d been given, I managed to pin down my malady. That malady, as indeed the medical website indicated, was an aftermath of the flu, and as also indicated, finally stopped on its own without any medication.  My doctor had known about the flu, and even with the other symnptoms, hadn’t been able to give me a diagnosis. I don’t like to think it’s because of my ‘age’ that, well, you’re going to have something anyway; perhaps she had her mind on getting to Bali.  She is my age, and was following her own advice.  Physician heal thyself.  In my case, patient heal thyself… which is about right. We have to know our own body and read up, because doctors aren’t miracle workers… Actually, perhaps some are.