Paisans

I do not want to jinx myself, but I think I am finally better. After the last post, I was still sick for several more days. In fact, I only started feeling like myself just yesterday. I even went to the gym on Monday and Tuesday. I know how I got back to normal; it was the mere act of calling a doctor that made me better. That's right. I did not even have to actually visit a real doctor. I just had to call one, find time in my schedule for an appointment, and arrange a sub so I could leave early to make this appointment. It is a good thing, in fact, that I got better without an actual visit to the doctor because when I got there for the appointment, I was too afraid to go in. Let me explain.

If I blindly have to choose a person from a list of names, say to pick a doctor, I always try to find a person with an Italian name and select him/her. I have to resort to such an arbitrary means of selecting a doctor because I grew up in the suburbs and so did many of my friends. So while most people might choose a doctor based on a referral from a friend, I could not do that because I want a doctor near my home in the city. That explains why I had to go about finding a doctor based on whether or not his/her name ended in a vowel. I went on my insurance company's website, and I found a list of doctors within a 5 mile radius of my home. In Chicago, a 5 mile radius of anywhere can encompass the richest and poorest neighborhoods in the city all at once, and Bucktown, my 'hood, is no exception. When I looked at the list and found a Dr. Mario Silvo* 11 blocks west of my house, I hesitated because it is a shady neighborhood. But Dr. Mario Silvo? How can I say no to Dr. Mario, a paisan? I cannot say no to Dr. Mario. In hindsight, I probably should have been struck by a few things when I called for the appointment. First of all, I called to make an appointment on Monday, and I got one for the following Wednesday. That is unheard of, especially if you are a new patient. Second, the receptionist did not ask if I had insurance. When I offered that information, she seemed surprised that a potential patient actually had insurance. Finally, she did not ask for what reason I wanted to see a doctor. Sure, it is a general family practice, but I kind of expected her to ask what event convinced a healthy 30-year-old woman that she needed to see a doctor. None of these facts registered as odd at the time, but when I pulled up to the office today, it all started coming together. Not only was my doctor's office in the ghetto, but I have a hunch that Dr. Mario Silvo himself is, in fact, ghetto. Again, I knew that 11 blocks from my home was a rough neighborhood, but I also know that is an "up and coming" neighborhood* that is getting many new businesses and restaurants. I was hopeful that Dr. Mario Silvo was part of that wave of nice new businesses establishing themselves to revitalize this struggling neighborhood.

Not so much. The mere fact that I was not hit by a pickup truck or a stray bullet on my way into the "office" was a miracle in itself. Sure, I was hesitant, but I wanted to keep an open mind. When I walked up to the office, I looked in the window and saw three alarming things;
1. A man in the waiting room who looked just a little too close homeless for my taste***
2. Trash strewn on the waiting room floor
3. The receptionist seated behind a cage

Yes, you read correctly, the receptionist was seated behind a cage. I opened the door, looked in to see this mess and walked right out. I am not that sick folks. I keep telling myself that Dr. Mario Silvo is probably Latino to ease the guilt I feel for skipping out on an appointment with a paisan.

* I have made only a minor alteration to his name to make a half-hearted attempt at protecting this doctor's identity
** to be fair, it is more "coming" that "up" but still...
*** not to be a snob, but I have insurance and a steady job; there's no need for me to have the same doctor as a homeless man