Susie and I are not spring chickens. She is eighty, and I am a lad of seventy-nine. We have been coming to our apartment in Paris for nine years, and by an extraordinary stroke of good fortune, we have in all that time not needed a doctor. But clearly it is feckless and irresponsible of us not to have made some sort of connection with a doctor to whom we could turn in time of need. So I went on line and found a list, posted by the American Embassy, of English-speaking doctors in Paris, one of whom is located rather near us off rue Monge. I wrote to her, got a reply, had our Chapel Hill doctor fax her our medical records, and came to Paris planning to make an appointment for an initial visit some time during our stay.
Last week I wrote to her again, and today I received a reply. I was so stunned by it that I read it twice, and then read it aloud to Susie. Here it is, verbatim:
"Dear M. Wolff, I hope for you a much better weather for June! I could come and visit you Thursday afternoon around 3pm. Would it be convenient for you. Yes, I received your records, I will read them now you are in Paris. Please send me everything I need to reach your apartment.
See you soon, sincerely"
I am deeply ashamed to admit that when I read this, my first thought was, "Maybe she is not such a good doctor." I mean, who ever heard of a doctor who makes house calls? I figure she is either about twelve, or else about ninety-five and hasn't heard about recent developments in medicine.