Last week I gave a wistful goodbye to my young, handsome Dave before climbing into Electra along with the other passengers. We settled into our seats. Electra’s cabin grew quiet. Each passenger withdrew into a space of private thoughts. As for me, I reflected on the impending departure from the carefree days of 1965 where spine chilling events were but amusement park rides. 

Electra’s next destination heightened my growing anxiety. However this moment of fear was diminished by a brief view of the sun, large and red, melting into the waters of Lake Erie. Then, after a sudden flash we landed in 1996 to an ominous sunrise veiled by foul skies. 

Dave was sitting beside me in a neurologist’s waiting room. We were holding hands while the passengers inside Electra were also waiting, but on a tarmac. Electra, parked next to a blue police box introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Electra and you are …?” The odd blue structure responded with strange whirring and tweeting further accented with staccato sounds which Electra quickly translated into, “My name is TARDIS. I’m British and that’s why I sound funny.” TARDIS continued, “Like you, I too am a time traveler.” 

Electra and TARDIS were just outside the building where Dave and I sat awaiting our appointment. We were in the medical office of Dr. Who … who, in due time, would answer all the “Ws” and one “H” of my many questions:

“WHAT is wrong with Dave?” 

“WHEN did this wrongness begin?” 

“WHO can fix the wrongness?”

“WHY has this wrongness happened?”

“HOW can I deal with the wrongness?”

With my heart beating and the clock ticking I waited for what seemed like over an hour. Finally a white uniformed nurse ushered us into Dr. Who’s inner sanctum … a chilly private office. The gold framed degrees prominently displayed on the wall behind a large important looking desk assured me that Dr. Who could diagnose Dave’s wrongness.

We waited another long while, how long I couldn’t tell you, until Dr. Who finally opened the door, strode in, wearing a dark suit covered over by a white lab coat, stethoscope dangling around his neck. Although a small man, Dr. Who seemed larger than life. After the usual introductions and “Tell me about yourselves,” Dr. Who listened as I answered questions, even the ones directed to Dave. 

“I read on your chart that your PCP referred you because your husband, (gestures towards Dave) is having difficulty communicating.” 

“Yes,” I answer. 

Stay tuned to learn more …