Life in the Village: In which I visit a physician

This morning I woke up with a sore throat. Other than that, I felt fine, but since Mother Vel-DuRay is still in a compromised immune state due to the chemo, I thought I'd better get checked out.

Back in MY day, I would go to the Cogley Clinic, which was named for Doctor Cogley, who had a fabulous estate (Cogleywood) and a wood-sided station wagon with "Cogleywood" on the side who actually used his station wagon to meet people at the station. (I bet you didn't know that that's why we call station wagons "station wagons". La, the useless knowledge I can empart....)

The Cogley Clinic was a wonderful example of 50's medical: It looked like a serious version of a ranch house, with a fake fireplace in the waiting room, grasscloth wallpaper, lots of planters with fake plants, and TONS of glass brick. It was made for nurses in white dresses, sensible shoes, and caps, as well as doctors with white lab coats and neckties. It was what I would call "medical chic", and looked like something right out of "The Doctors" (which was a soap opera that most of you are too young to remember)

That's all gone now. I had no inkling where to go, except that I noticed that Allegant Health Care had a clinic out by the Hy-Vee. Since Allegant runs Mercy Hospital (where I was born) and Cogley was affiliated with Mercy, I thought that they were as good as anything.

The experience was not half bad: No fake fireplace, or glass brick, or plastic plants, or nurses with caps, but they were nice. And they gave me some pills that made the sore throat go away almost immediately.

The only false note was the doctor: When I mentioned to him that I was taking the train back to Seattle, he wrinkled up his nose and said (like absolutely everyone in this ridiculous town) "They have a TRAIN between here and Seattle? That sounds like an awfully long ride".

I had had such high hopes for this doctor, as he was a Canadian, but I had to face the truth: He was no Doctor Cogley. He's probably one of those Doctors who lives out in that awful subdivision I was telling you about. (REAL doctors, by the way, live on Forest Drive, Keeline or Kenmore Avenues)

So there you are. I am apparently healed, but my physician lacked pizzazz. Oh well. Things could be worse. I comforted myself by going over to the Hy-Vee, and buying some pork chops from (sigh) Cole....