06 – 28 – 1999 | SOUTH SIAM | WEEK 1

Your last patient fidgets on the exam table, sun-weathered hands thumbing through a chain of jaap maala prayer beads with practiced dexterity. Her daughter watches you with eyes that are a measure too sharp for her age. Dark pupils scan across your face for traces of ill-intent – an instinct that has barely mellowed over their past few visits.

“Red. Skip days….and the blue, take daily?”

She runs her finger down the page as she translates for her mother – speaking in a south Asian language you cannot easily identify.

“Yes. Remember to finish the entire pack. Macrolide with a modified bacteriophage booster. Reds and blues.”

She nods.

“…her cough?” she asks.

You consider your answer carefully. “It’s a new strain, but she should still improve with time. If your mother isn’t doing better within a week, come back as soon as you can.”

“You will be here.” She phrases it as a statement more than a question, reaching into her bag to retrieve your usual payment.

You smile, accepting the proffered item.

“Of course. Where else would I go?”

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