A visit to the doctor in North America is sort of like a nightmare. You have spoken to a medical type person earlier on the phone but when you get to the office, they require you to fill out a long form on why you are visiting the doctor. It seems like nobody can remember anything anymore.

And it seems like whatever your illness (or syndromn as they call it today) you will have to get some tests! And the tests are on the other side of town!

There was a simpler time in America. A time when doctor's would come to you home to treat you. A time when many things were different when the "doctor was in." Let's go for a visit to the Doctor in the 1950s.

Your wife called the doctor and he said he couldn't see you at your home until 8:30 this evening. You decided to wait it out at the doctor's office uptown.

You enter the waiting room. There are about fifteen people waiting for the doctor. You sign in with the nurse. You notice that there is only a nurse and the doctor running the whole thing.

You have a seat with the other complaining of being ill, the worried well and childhood headcold ill children. Of the 15 people in the room, about eight are smoking.Several of the other patients are using snuff or chewing tobacco. The room is filled with a blue haze. Some guy with emphazema is coughing just a little more in the corner.

You see a patient preparing to depart. The nurse gives him his pills. There's no need to go the the drug store. The nurse despenses the stuff from behind the counter. Cost of office visit-$3.00.

There's one or two perpetually ill in the room. These patients seem to be in the doctor's office every night for some subjective or imagined illness. I heard the doc dispenses sugar pills to these folks to pacify them.

Some people preferring not to join in the roar of conversation, are reading outdated magazines. Some of the reading material is about ten years old. I guess some things never change.

After about an hour or an hour and a half (who's counting?), your name is called. You go in the back to see the doctor. As you enter the room, the doctor is finishing up on the paperwork of the last patient. He puts his cigar down in the ashtray to check your breathing. After a few more perfunctory evolutions, the doc comes to the conclusion that you just have a headcold. He recommends Tincture of Opium.

Two bucks worth of dope and you are on your way.

Gene Smith is an writer from West Virginia. Has has written many articles on the web and has published one book. He lives near Charles Town.