Page 68 of Lovetown, USA
“Dr. Montgomery? Your next patient is ready.”
I nod and glance down at the chart before she leads an older man back. He’s tall but stooped, moving slow, his eyes carrying a weariness I recognize all too well. His skin is deep brown. His hair is stark white.
I remember him.
“Mr. Jenkins?” I stand, hand extended.
“Yes, sir.” His grip is firm, his palms dry and calloused like a man who’s worked hard his entire life.
I get him settled on the table, then return to my seat.
He shifts from side to side, uncomfortable already. “My daughter said you told her to bring me in.”
“I did. I saw her at the movie screening. How are you feeling?”
He shrugs. “I’m alive.”
I chuckle at that. “Always a blessing.”
“Yes, indeed.”
I walk him through the questions I know all patients hate having to answer—current symptoms, medications, family history and so on. Once we finish, his voice drops, his posture going slack.
“I lost my insurance when the plant shut down,” he says. “Can’t afford most of my meds anymore. Or this right here.”
I keep my face neutral, but inside, I feel that familiar pull. The anger. I’m angry at the system. Angry at this country. Sad for the people caught up in it. They deserve better than this. My granddaddy deserved better.
“Which plant?” I ask.
“The old textile mill,” he says softly. “Worked there for forty-five years before they shut it down to make room for that new tech center.”
“Right, right. Out on route 89.”
“That’s the one. My daddy worked there, too. I got grandfathered in on the health plan, but they started phasing that out last year.” He sighs pitifully. “And here I am.”
His exam confirms what his daughter was afraid of. Mr. Jenkins is not well. Blood pressure through the roof. Blood sugar erratic. Cholesterol worse than it was last time he got checked. If he keeps going like this, he’s headed for serious trouble.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do, Mr. Jenkins. I’ll take care of your prescriptions. We’ll get you back on track, then we’ll revisit this. Maybe by that time, you’ll have some better options.”
Like my clinic.
His shoulders sag with relief while his chin lifts with pride. I know that look; he’s grateful for the help, but ashamed he has to take it.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he says. “I really…I just…”
“It’s okay. It’s my job. It’s why I do what I do.” I pick up my pen, but stop to turn back to him. “You remind me of my father’s father.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. He was a good man. Had to watch him slowly waste away. That was hard.”
“What got him?”
“Combination of things,” I say. “You got grandkids?”
He finally smiles. “Eight all together.”
“Let’s make sure you’re around for them.”
