Sometimes You Just Need A Little Something Extra

First, you have to understand that Morocco gained its independence from France in 1956 and most French Nationals left in or around that year.  There is an enormous French Catholic cathedral in town that, from what I understand, remains almost entirely empty - no benches, no nothing - because services stopped when the French went home.  It now functions as a community center instead of the Catholic church it was intended to be.   The Cathedral, like many other things around town, have a kind of "frozen in time" feel to them.  My new doctor, I found out last week, has a similarly "frozen in time" aura to him.

Not that I didn't receive great care - I did - but when I sat down in front of his lovely antique wooden desk and bookshelves full of almost antique medical books I thought "He's either a collector...or..."  Just then an older French man walked into the room smiling and ready to shake my hand almost right off.  He was very friendly but spoke hardly any English.  However, other than a slight miscommunication between my name being "Brooke" and not "Brookie" (which I never really mind) language didn't turn out to be a barrier.

When he pulled back the little curtain in his office to reveal a small examination table and its accouterments 1950's medical scenes came to mind.  And, don't take this the wrong way because again, he was lovely and I had a positive experience, the room seemed a bit like those white tiled depictions of insane asylums from the 50's.  You know the ones?  Well, I climbed up a rickety step ladder to the table covered in a green and white checked cloth and the doctor proceeded to smile as he checked out my blood pressure, ears, stomach etc.

When he reached the end of the examination, after looking inside my open mouth, he gave a hearty chuckle and slapped me on the cheek.

"It's nothing serious" he beamed in a heavily accented English, helping me down from the precarious table.

A slap on the face.  That was a first for me.  I gathered my things and tried not to laugh about the unusual ending to this exam.  It wasn't mean or anything, like you tap a toddler's bum as he waddles past you just because he's so stinkin' cute.  Not that I think that was the reason this doctor gave me a chuck on the cheek, but the level of playful friendliness was about the same.

He wrote me a prescription and walked me to the front door of the building with his hand on my shoulder assuring in springy french that I would be fine and that I should come and see him if I had any more problems.

To date, I haven't.  What a slight slap on the face won't do for you, eh?