SICK IN THE ‘ SICK MAN OF EUROPE’

This is a historical reference to Turkey’s political status in 1914. It’s 1987 and once again my beloved has succumbed to the kidney problem. This all began in England almost two years before. We’ve been on the road since July of 1985, seeing Europe, Morocco, and hanging out with fellow travelers. Every so often the kidney yells and we seek medical aid, and encounter bliss, or:

THOSE YOU MEET ALONG THE WAY

We are in Bodrum, Turkey less than a week when my Dwarf wakes up with the same old same old. We were headed for Kas to see about spending the winter there. We had been told that young European intellectuals avoided Northern European weather there and it was a wonderful village. So we headed for Kas and set up in a hotel near the harbor. Yes, we were told, there was a good doctor at the hospital. So we walk up past the ruined Ionia theater, past the sagging fishermen’s shacks to the hospital. The emergency ward is in the basement. Cellar is a better term, and the place is filled with Turkish willagers. The attendant is middle aged, poorly dressed and totally confused when I try German. Marilyn then tries Spanish, then some French. We duck Greek. I’m about ready to fly her out when the door opens and in walks this short, bulky, guy in a white coat. His English is grammatically perfect. He motions us in and we meet Doctor S . . . We will know each other for the rest of our lives.

He sends me to the pharmacy for syringes and when I get back, he injects Marilyn and leaves the needle hanging out of her arm as he walks across the room to get some gauze. The women gasp! The few men stare, and I wonder. We are told to come back twice a day, knock on his door and he will continue the treatment. We comply. Several days later the three of us weld.

Dr. S . . . speaks French, Spanish, English, German, and Italian. Self taught. He graduated from the best medical school in Turkey, and decided he had to give something back. So he went into public health which pays nothing. He has been in Kas for five years. People bow to him and kiss his hand. (One day that will also happen to me. And he will be part of it.) We walk and talk about world politics, Turkey’s poverty, and poor public everything. How he uses his money for patient's drugs when they are needed. We meet the village through him. He sends his assistant to show us a place to rent for the winter and reminds us to “ Bargain viperously.’ We take him to dinner. He educates us on which food is delicious. And we spend hours arguing philosophy. He senses Marilyn’s unique talents and smiles when she tells him about how bewildered Turkish men are when they see her driving our truck.

Twice a week, he takes a team and goes into the villages dotting the mountains along the coast. We go only once. He heads up the team which inoculates, bandages, stitches, prescribes and carries the really ill back to Kas. The poverty is abject. I won’t go there. But his presence shines a light of hope for these people, and he always returns more satisfied. We fall in love. He is stand offish. ‘ You will leave and never come back.’ We assure him we will, and we do. And each time the friendship grows and expands.

The village comes to see us as his special friends, for he does not take tea with anyone, and tries to stay out of the local politics. Yet we sit n the tea garden, laughing. Each time we return, someone has telephoned him, ‘ The Americans are back S....Bey.’ and he comes to greet us. We kiss and embrace. He wants to know about our latest adventures, and we want to hear his latest miracles, which are many. And I admit, this is not the ordinary folk you meet along the way, but we would have never been so lucky unless we traveled. GO! GO NOW! Go before all of the planet is one huge shopping mall selling only T shirts! GO! There are hundreds of Doctor S's . . . waiting to show you behind the walls of Five Star Hotels and burgers.


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