Small, White Rooms


Small, White Rooms -- November, 2016

Small, White Rooms — November, 2016


As a child, when I was ill, our General Practitioner Medical Doctor (GP) would stop by the house to check in on me. He had this wonderful leather bag with two handles on top that opened in the middle when the brass clasp was twisted. Pulling the handles apart, the top half of the bag would flop open. There seemed to be acres of room with nooks and crannies for all kinds of things in this bag. Using his experience, and I was convinced the bag helped, he would diagnose what ailed me. He was a close, and important, friend of the family.
As I have aged, the GP has given way to the Internist and I go to the Doctor’s office for my check ups. I have been going to mine for 30 years. He is a one man shop, always has been. Along with his nurse and office manager, they take care of many patients in a highly professional way and work long hours. Over the years, we have grown to know each other very well. I think of him as a close, important, friend. Recently during a check up, I explained this blog to him, because I was curious about his special image of Williamsburg. I always ask the question, “What iconic picture comes to mind about this area that if it was buried in 100 photos, and you ran across it, you would say – I know where this is.” He grasped the concept quickly, and replied in a quiet voice, ”My image is small, white rooms.” I chuckled and responded, “not familiar, iconic.” He nodded. We came up with a few candidates. Some really good ones.
The ‘small, white rooms’ comment stuck with me because, in that visit, we talked about some upcoming changes. It reminded me that I do live in a small town where for the last 30 years I have had access to great professional services while at the same time personally knowing who is providing those services. Our area is growing and professional services are changing, becoming much more corporate and somewhat less personal. My Internist is retiring and another way of life is changing.
Those rooms mean a lot to me, too. What is familiar is now iconic. I will miss these small, white rooms, but I wish him, and his staff, well. Thanks for the care.


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