Science Fiction - Daily Short Stories
An Ounce of Cure - Alan E Nourse
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- Duration:
- 12m
- Broadcast on:
- 07 Aug 2024
- Audio Format:
- mp3
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An ounce of cure by Alan E. Norris. The doctor's office was shiny and modern. Behind the desk, the doctor smiled down at James Wheatley through thick glasses. Now then, what seems to be the trouble? Wheatley had been palpitating for five days straight at the prospect of coming here. "I know it's silly," he said. "But I've been having pain in my toe." "Indeed," said the doctor. "Well now, how long have you had this pain, my man?" "About six months now," I'd say. "Just now and then, you know. It's never really been bad. Until last week." "You see, I see," said the doctor. "Getting worse all the time," you say. Wheatley wiggled the painful toe reflectively. "Well, you might say that. You see, when I first, how old did you say you were, Mr. Wheatley?" 55. 55, the doctor leaved through the medical record on his desk. But this is incredible. You have had a checkup in almost ten years. "I guess I haven't," said Wheatley, apologetically. "I've been feeling pretty well until feeling well," the doctor stared in horror. "But my dear fellow, no checkups since January 1963. We aren't in the middle ages, you know. This is 1972." "Well, of course. Of course, you may be feeling well enough, but that doesn't mean everything is just the way it should be. And now, you see, you're having pains in your toes." "One toe," said Wheatley. "The letter one, on the right. It seemed to me one toe today, perhaps," said the doctor heavily. "But tomorrow, he heave to sigh." "How about your breathing lately?" "I've been growing short of breath when you hurry upstairs." "Well, I have been bothered a little." "I thought so." "Heart pound when you run for the subway?" "Feel tired all day." "Pains in your coughs when you walk fast?" "Yes, occasionally." "I," Wheatley looked worried and rubbed his toe on the chair leg. "You know the 55 is a dangerous age," said the doctor gravely. "Do you have a cough?" "Heartburn after dinner." "Propped up on pillows a night." "Just as I thought." "I've no checkup in ten years." "Ugh," he sighed again. "I suppose I should have seen to it," Wheatley admitted. "But you see, it's just the my toe." "My dear fellow, your toe is a part of you. It doesn't just exist down there all by itself." "If your toe hurts, there must be a reason." Wheatley looked more worried than ever. "There must?" "I thought perhaps you could just give me a little something." "To stop the pain," the doctor looked shocked. "Well, of course I could do that. But that's not getting out of the mood of the trouble, is it? That's just treating symptoms." "Medieval quackery." "Medicine has advanced a long way since your last checkup, my friend." "And even treatment has its dangers." "Did you know that more people died last year of aspirin poisoning than of cyanide poisoning?" Wheatley wiped his forehead. "I... dear me, I never realized." "We have to think about these things," said the doctor. "No, the problem here is to find out why you have a pain in your toe. It could be inflammatory, maybe a tumor. Perhaps it could be a... functional, maybe vascular." "Perhaps you could take my blood pressure or something," Wheatley offered. "Well, of course I could. But that isn't really my field, you know. It wouldn't really mean anything if I did it. But there's nothing to worry about. We have a fine, hypertensive men at the Diagnostic Clinic." The doctor checked the appointment book on his desk. "Now, if we could see you there next Monday morning at 9, very interesting x-rays," said the young doctor with the red hair. "Very interesting. See the shadow in the duodenum cap? See the prolonged emptying time? And I've never seen such beautiful pylorus pasm. This is my toe," asked Wheatley, edging toward the doctors. It seemed he had been waiting for a very long time. "Tow! Oh no," said the red-haired doctor. "No, that's the orthopedic radiologist's job. I'm a gastrointestinal man myself." "Upper. Dr. Schult here is lower." The red-haired doctor turned back to his consultation with Dr. Schult. Mr. Wheatley rubbed his toe and waited. Presently, another doctor came by. He looked very grave, and he sat down beside Wheatley. "Tell me, Mr. Wheatley. Have you had an ortho diagram, Wheatley?" "No." And he K.G. "No." "Floor-o-artagram." "I don't think so." The doctor looked even graver and walked away, muttering to himself. In a few moments, he came back with two more doctors. "No question in my mind that it's Cardio McGallie," he was saying. "But Adam Field should know he's the best left ventricle man in the city. Excellent paper in the AMA Journal last July." The inadequacies of modern orthodiogramic techniques in demonstrating minimal left ventricular hypertrophy. A brilliant study, simply brilliant. "Now this patient," he glanced toward Wheatley, and his voice dropped to a mumble. Presently, two of the men nodded, and one walked over to Wheatley, cautiously, as though afraid he might suddenly vanish. "Now there's nothing to be worried about, Mr. Wheatley," he said. "We're going to have you fixed up in just no time at all, just a few more studies. Now if you could see me involved clinic tomorrow after night at three," Wheatley nodded, "nothing serious, I hope." "Serious? Oh no, dear me, you mustn't worry. Everything is going to be all right," the doctor said. "Well, I—that is, my toe is still bothering me some. It's not nearly as bad, but I wondered if maybe you—" Dom broke in the doctor's face. "Give you something for it?" "Well, now, we aren't therapeutic men, you understand." "Always best to let the expert handle the problem in his own field," he paused, stroking his chin for a moment. "Tell you what we'll do. Dr. Epstein is one of the finest therapeutic men in the city. He could take care of you and a jiffy. We'll see if we can't arrange an appointment with him after you see me tomorrow." Mr. Wheatley was late to the mitral valve clinic the next day because he had gone to the aortic valve clinic by mistake, but finally he found the right waiting room. A few hours later he was being thumped, photographed, and listened to. Substances were popped into his right arm and withdrawn from his left arm as he marveled at the brilliance of modern medical techniques. Before they were finished, he had been seen by both the mitral men and the aortic men, as well as the great arteries men, and the peripheral capillary bad men. Therapeutic men happened to be an Atlantic city at a convention, and the rheumatologist was on vacation, so Wheatley was sent to the functional clinic instead. "Always have to rule out these things," the doctor said. "Wouldn't do much good to give you medicine if your trouble is inorganic now, would it?" The psycho neuroticist studied his sex life, while the psychosociologist examined his social milieu. Then they conferred for a long time. Three days later he was waiting in the hallway downstairs again. Hats met in a huddle, words and phrases slipped out from time to time as his discussion grew heated. "No doubt in my mind that it's uh, but we can't ignore the endocrine implications, doctor." "You're perfectly right there, calls, but in bender at the university might be able to answer the question." "No, but a pituitary osmo-receptorologist in the city." A tubular function man should look at these kidneys first. He's 55, you know. "Has anyone studied his filtration fraction?" Might be a peripheral vascular spisticity factor. After a while, James Wheatley rose from the bench and slipped out the door, limping slightly as he went. The room was small and dusky, with heavy Turkish stripes obscuring the dark hallway beyond, a suggestion of incense hung in the air. In due course, a gaunt, swarthy men in mustache and turban, appeared through the curtains and bowed solemnly. "You come with that problem?" he asked in a slight accent. "As a matter of fact, yes," James Wheatley said hesitantly. "You see, I've been having a pain in my right little toe, and of an ounce of cure." If you're a facilities manager at a warehouse and your HVAC system goes down, it can turn up the heat, literally. But don't sweat it, Granger has you covered. Granger offers over a million industrial grade products for all your operations, including warehouse HVAC maintenance. And even better, they offer access to experts and fast delivery, so you and your warehouse can both keep your cool. Call 1-800-GRAINJER, click Granger.com, or just stop by. Granger, for the ones who get it done. Heart Cleaner. Get two cans of O'Reilly brake parts cleaner for just $8, valid in-store only at O'Reilly Auto Parts. O'Reilly Auto Parts.