I feel particularly strongly about his choice of career just now, as I enter Day No. 8 of a killer cold. This bodily hurricane hit me just as I had to go to a conference in Las Vegas. I should probably be grateful that I didn’t have as much fun as I’d planned. After paying for a few meals, we would have had to sell our house to cover anything additional like the nickel slots. The cost at even the fast-food restaurants is dazzling. I was constantly having conversations like this,

“Does the soup come with crackers?”

“No. ”

“May I have some crackers anyway?”

“No.”

“May I have the small portion of bruschetta with tomatoes without the tomatoes?”

“It will still cost you $22.95.”

Vegas casinos watch everyone all the time. If customer’s eyes do not water when told the price of anything, they must add 30%, they get special awards if they charge even more. Anyone trying to charge less will — well, no one knows exactly what will happen, because no one has ever come back. It’s the only to account for casino employees being able to state their prices with straight faces. “Would you like to add a bag of chips for $8.95?”

But there was one exception. The maid who serviced my room, which I truly hope she did while wearing a hazmat suit. She deduced from the garbage cans overflowing with toilet paper that the occupant was sick. Why didn’t I buy any Kleenex? Because there was none. The image Vegas wants to project is that you will be blowing your nose on $100 bills, and I had forgotten to bring any. But this brave maid broke all of the rules of her job and probably risked her life to sneak real puffy Kleenex into my room without charging me for it. I hope she doesn’t pull crazy stunts like that too often. I have an uncomfortable vision of her being called into the janitor’s closet by her boss for a “friendly” chat using vacuum cleaner hoses.

Anyway, I left her a carefully worded note just mentioning good service, and I hope, a nice tip and came home to my very own private doctor who is not a doctor.

So far, he has not helped. I told him my symptoms,

“I’m dying.”

“Don’t worry! You’re not going to die,” he said as though this were good news.

Oh, well. Even though he’s not much use in my current condition, he did have his big moment a few years ago. It was my bad luck to go through a series of eye surgeries. Afterwards, it’s important to lie on your side so the delicate repairs don’t get squashed. In the recovery room, I was foggily coming out of the anesthetic. Dave was holding my hand and medical people were fussing around. I vaguely remember hearing the words, “blood pressure.”  Dave, on the other hand, remembers everything very clearly.

The surgery had gone well, but inexplicably my blood pressure kept rising. It was pushing 170 and everyone was getting worried. They asked Dave if he knew of any problems with high blood pressure.

“No actually, it tends to run low,” he said. “I usually think she’s dead.”

More fussing, worry and conversation ensued. 

Dave, however, had noticed something. Knowing he was the wrong kind of doctor, and not wanting to look stupid, he hesitated. But as the numbers kept rising, he figured it was better to look stupid than to risk my getting the wrong kind of medication (thank you, love), he cleared his throat and said, ”Excuse me?” 

 ”Yes? said the pre-occupied nurse.”

“Well, it’s just that the blood pressure cuff is on her left arm and you have her lying on her left side … could that have something to do with the high numbers?”

A long silence.

Then they switched the cuff to my right arm, and PRESTO!! A miracle cure!

My hero!

Anneli Byrd is an academic adviser in Weber State University’s General Studies and Exploratory advising.