Episode 21: House Call

You wake up on a brilliant September morning, feeling a little tickle in the back of your throat. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and plant your bare feet on the small and fuzzy area rug on the floor, feeling its softness beneath your toes. You smell the scent of sweet autumn clematis, from your neighbor’s garden outside your window. You stretch your arms overhead, rolling your shoulders a little, and you take a slow breath.

You glance through your messages as you put the tea kettle on your stove. A message arrived early this morning from Anna, who says, “Help! Fritz and I have the sneezes, and we aren’t getting much sleep. Would you be able to walk our puppy?”

You read the message a second time, feeling a little confused about what Anna meant by “the sneezes”, but then you text back, “Yes, of course! I hope you both feel better soon.”

After savoring your morning peppermint tea, you slip on your sneakers and walk down the street toward Anna and Fritz’s house. You open their back door to find their dog, Petra, eagerly awaiting your arrival. She sits down, allowing you to put on her leash, and the two of you set out into the neighborhood.

You are nearly back to the house when you startle yourself with a series of sneezes. 

Petra looks up at you with curiosity. You say to her, “I’m feeling a little tired all of a sudden. Let’s get you back inside.”

By the time you have topped up Petra’s water and food, and made your way back to your own home, you are feeling surprisingly sleepy. You sit down on your porch to rest for a moment, and drift off into a nap without even realizing it. You wake to the sound of someone knocking on the pillar of your porch roof, next to the stairs.

“Hello, You,” they say. “You look a little tuckered.”

You open your eyes to see a burly young Black man, wearing scrubs. You say, “Yeah, I guess I’m coming down with the sneezes?”

He chuckles lightly and says, “That doesn’t surprise me. They’re going around like crazy just now. I’m Jax, and I’m one of the community nurses in town. May I come up and see you for a minute?”

You say, “Yes, please,” and wave him over.

Jax puts on a mask and walks across the porch toward you. He says, “I would have been stopping by soon anyway. We try to visit everyone in town at least once every six months. I was heading for another appointment when I saw you sleeping there. I just wanted to make sure that you’re doing all right.”

You say, “That’s very kind of you. An hour ago, I would have said I was doing just fine. But now…” You shrug, and then you ask him, “What on earth are ‘the sneezes?’”

Jax smiles as he pulls out a stethoscope and a few other tools. He says, “It’s pretty much a cold. But for whatever reason, it seems to cause a ton of sneezing. You should be feeling much better in a few days, if you let yourself rest.”

You say, “I can’t seem to do much else for now.”

Jax takes your pulse and temperature, tapping a few notes in the pocket computer he has fished out of his backpack. Next, he listens to your heart and lungs. You watch the monarch butterflies dancing above your flower garden out front, getting themselves ready for their migration to Mexico. Jax holds the stethoscope to your back, nods to you, and you breathe deeply.

When Jax looks in your ears, he whistles like a bird. You tell him, “My doctor used to do that when I was a kid.” Jax says, “It helps me to see the eardrums move. And it makes people feel more at ease.”

You say, “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Jax says, “Of course. Now, I’d like to send a message to the Care Center and let them know you’re under the weather. They will arrange for some home cooked meals to be delivered, and they usually bring some other treats, too. Would that be all right?”

You say, “Yes. Thank you for looking after me.”

Jax says, “You’re welcome! Call or text if you need me. I’ll come back in a few days to see how you’re coming along.” He pulls a business card out of his backpack, and hands it to you. 

You say, “Thanks again,” and Jax tips an imaginary cap at you as he departs.

You make your way inside, sneezing a few more times for good measure, and you return to your bed. Even though you woke up less than two hours ago, you collapse in a heap on top of the covers, socks still on your feet. Hours later, you hear a chime from your phone. Your eyes are slow to focus as you read the screen.

One of the Jessicas has sent a message, saying, “There’s a care package for you on your porch. We made baked potato soup and some other goodies. I will walk Petra today and tomorrow. Feel better soon!”

You shuffle to your front door, and open it to find a set of three brown paper bags. One of them has containers of soup, and another has fresh baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. In the third bag, you see an array of jigsaw puzzles for kids. Jessica has left a note, saying, “These might be a little easier for now.” You catch a hint of sweetness from the still-warm cookies in the bag, feeling a deep sense of gratitude in your chest, and through your stuffy nose and tickly throat, you take a steadying breath.

You park the bags of food on your kitchen counter, returning to your dining room table, where the puzzles await. You sit down, opening the first one on the stack, and you begin sifting through the box, looking for the edges.