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young, lonely doctors

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-eight years and a million words

It's been one of those weeks. The baby's been sick at nights with a middling-grade fever and constant congestion that wakes her into long ragged crying sessions. She's essentially been on a forty-five minute waking cycle the entire week.

So naturally, Mari, who's been staying up with her, woke with a thumping headache today. I stayed home for an extra ninety minutes or so to first, take care of the baby while Mari rested a bit then secondly, to take Ken to school. By that time the pain killers had kicked in and Mari was up to taking the baby to Doctor Lee. (So I went to work.)

Doctor Lee is so young, she doesn't remember the cold war. This stunned me at first, but then I realized that it's been over twenty years and she must have been in her single digits when that crapsack affair ran its course. I haven't asked, but I bet that she's also far too young to realize something important about her colleague Dr. Won. And that is, of course:

Won is the loneliest doctor she will ever know.

No, I haven't asked. But I will.