End Notes
The Art of Medicine
By Mary Illions Wilde, M.D.
The aroma of sweat, of dirt, of cotton shirts on a clothesline, and garlic cooked in oil meet me as soon as I crack open the door. I enter and feel overdressed. Dad’s in dreadlocks and dusty jeans. Mom wears a heather-blue T-shirt with the words “Gas is Natural” printed above her freely sagging chest. Baby boy with golden curls crawls in a diaper on the clinic floor. His knees and hands are bare against the cool linoleum, and he pats the floor with an open hand. Mom says the baby nurses and eats oats, quinoa, and organic blueberries. They are sincere, innocent, gentle. No one is ashamed.
Reverently, I acknowledge that the art of medicine is not the physician choosing the right words or coming across in the right way; it is they—Man, Woman, and Child. They are the art of medicine, and I a patron going through the gallery to see what is behind each door. MM
Mary Illions Wilde is a pediatrician in Crystal.