Tuesday, April 14, 2020

The dermatologist is running a little late. That’s OK. I’m in no hurry. I have nowhere better to be. More patients are here than before. I find an empty seat. We all sit on chairs between the signs, not the chairs with them. I don’t know if that’s the rule or if everyone followed the lead of the first person who sat down. The electronic displays show the current appointment number for each doctor. Simple animations beside them advertise a children’s health app (“Dr. Gadget”), alternative medicine (including “the Chinese doctor”), and over-the-counter medications (mostly Maalox Plus). A man speaks to the receptionist in equally broken Hebrew and English, then wanders around the lobby singing “Besame Mucho.” The dermatologist says that my hands are looking better, but that I should be using a lot more of the cream. So be it. She also prescribes a less potent ointment for points on my face. I’m to stay in “the same kind of isolation as the rest of us,” but, as an essential worker, can return to the office on Sunday. The pharmacist downstairs sees that the doctor has written “body” and “face” in English on my prescription and also writes the words on the boxes. I stop into a produce market and quickly stock up on some missing items. As I arrive home, my landlord is quietly watering his garden. My internet cable runs underneath it. I may be off-line for much of the rest of the day.