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Listen to Walt’s story as you read it (below).
Brenda had the laptop propped up on the kitchen counter, its camera staring out into the room like a blank eye. “Are you ready for your virtual visit, Walt?” she asked, a playful note in her voice.
Walt sat at the kitchen table, a half-empty glass of orange juice in front of him. “I don’t know if this is going to work,” he admitted, straightening his shoulders. “I still don’t see why we can’t just go to the office. It’s not that far.”
But Walt also remembered the last time he had been to the doctor’s office.The waiting room was packed with people coughing, sneezing, and looking miserable. The receptionist was stressed, and he and Brenda had to wait for nearly an hour past their appointment time.
Their doctor, Dr. Wilson, was a kind man, but the whole process was exhausting. So, when he suggested their next routine check-up for his persistent cough be a “telehealth visit,” Brenda was all for it.
Walt, however, was a man of tradition. He believed in face-to-face “doctoring.” .
He thought back to a different kind of house call. He must have been about seven years old, sick with whooping cough. He could still remember the doctor’s name: Dr. Jewel. He was a tall man with a gentle face and a worn leather bag.
Dr. Jewel had a soothing voice as he checked Walt’s chest and looked at his throat. He even gave Walt a sticker of a cartoon dog. The whole visit, a quiet, reassuring presence in his own bedroom, was a feeling Walt had never forgotten. It was the epitome of care.
Brenda, sensing his unease, came over and squeezed his shoulder. “Think of it this way, honey. No waiting room. No germs. And you don’t have to get out of your pajamas.”
Just then, the screen lit up with Dr. Wilson’s face. He smiled. His background was a blur of bookshelves. “Good morning, Walt. Good morning, Brenda. Thanks for logging on. How are we doing today?”
Walt was surprised. He hadn’t expected the doctor to be so … present. He had a sense of calm that was missing at the clinic. He wasn’t distracted by other patients or a busy staff. He was simply there, in their home, for them.
“Feeling okay, Doc,” Walt said, a little bit of his old self-assurance returning. “My cough is down some, but I’m not sure I’m using this inhaler the right way.”
Dr. Wilson nodded. “I understand. I want you to show me how you’re using the inhaler.”
Walt did, making sure he was in full view of the camera. Dr. Wilson suggested some adjustments, and Walt, after several pumps on the inhaler, felt more confident using it.
Dr. Wilson asked about Walt’s appetite and his sleep, and he suggested Walt keep track of his coughing patterns over the next week, noting that Walt’s comment that his cough was less frequent than a week ago was a good sign.
He then gave Walt links to two videos: one about potential causes of persistent coughing and one about using an inhaler correctly.
The call went on for 15 minutes, and it was so efficient that Walt felt a little off-balance. He was used to the long, drawn-out process of a typical doctor’s visit. He was used to waiting, to feeling like a number.
But this was personal. It was a one-on-one, eye-to-eye conversation, a true consultation. It felt more like Dr. Jewel’s visit all those years ago.
When the call ended, Walt leaned back in his chair, a look of quiet wonder on his face. “Well,” he said, turning to Brenda. “That was … easy.”
Brenda laughed. “I told you. It’s the house call of today.”
Walt nodded slowly. “You know, it reminded me of something,” he said, his mind drifting back to his childhood. He told her about being sick with whooping cough and Dr. Jewel coming to his room. “He came right to the house. Just like that.”
Brenda smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “See?” she said. “Some things don’t change. The care is still the same. The methods just get a little different.”
He thought about that as he sat in the kitchen, the laptop screen now dark. He had been so worried about losing the personal touch with Dr. Wilson, who they had known for years. But he hadn’t. Dr. Wilson was still there – just through a new medium.
‘He and Brenda were no longer waiting in a sterile office, watching the clock tick by. They were at home, in their own space, with the doctor just a screen away.
And, for Walt, that was a kind of care that felt just as familiar as Dr. Jewel’s gentle hand on his forehead, all those years ago.
Also hear and read this “parent story” from 2024:
Go to “How Eric Grew Beyond Ego.”
Age: Our greatest asset!
Jim Hasse, ABC, GCDF retired, author of “52 Shades of Graying”
Weekly Stories About Aging Well
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It was 1962 when Dr Garrity, whose office was in the next town of Fairfield Connecticut, drove over to our old wooden tenement for my last ever house call. We lived in the industrial South End of Bridgeport on the third floor. Nonetheless, he was there one morning early, came in with the traditional black bag , and did determine, in fact, that I had pneumonia. True, my mother was a nurse in his practice, but I think he was still doing those visits on a regular basis.
Email and texting are remarkable upgrades for anyone who has difficulty hearing or speaking. As someone with cerebral palsy, I fall into the “difficulty speaking and hand writing” category.
I had one of the first “consumer-styled” electric typewriters in my college dorm during the 1960s, but I really could have used email and texting.
Yes, I made it through college answering essay questions in blue books for classes of 200 or more students – thanks to understanding teaching assistants who would give me 15 minutes of extra time after class to complete my thoughts in long hand.
Then, those same TA’s had to decipher my garbled penmanship – all long before DEI.
At the time, I felt guilty about receiving such an unfair advantage compared to my fellow students.
* When has new technology enhanced instead of stifled personal touch in your life?”