Friday, April 10, 2020

I’m almost at the clinic when I see someone wearing a mask and realize that I forgot mine. I’ve been having a problem with the skin on my hands, something like a bad sunburn. Two days ago, I spoke to a doctor. He said he was filing a prescription. I headed straight to the pharmacy, but they had no record of it. Today, a friend from work phones me first thing in the morning and nudges me to call my health plan. I do. It takes several tries to get someone who speaks English. She tells me to call my clinic, which is open today. I do. They tell me that they don’t have anyone who can help, but to go to the central clinic in my city, where there is a dermatologist on duty. I do. (I realize now that the problem started soon after that strange man accosted me on the street and kept saying “der-ma-to-lo-gist”.) I arrive at the clinic only to find that the dermatologist didn’t show up today. The nurse at the entrance takes my temperature then hands me a mask and a pair of gloves. I go to the fourth floor, as she suggests. No one there can do anything, but they make me an appointment for Sunday morning. I ask a pharmacist downstairs for a suggestion. He sells me some ointment and a box of gloves. Another customer butts in with a recommendation. She’s speaking English, but I don’t know what she means. I thank her for the information. I stop at a produce shop on the way home and get some peppers and persimmons. The persimmons are a bit overripe, but I can eat them with a spoon. The cashier looks at them critically. “These are very soft. You are sure that you want them?” I nod. “Then I will only charge you half price.” Little else is open. One shop is selling cosmetics and handbags. An ice cream joint that stays open on Shabbat is selling desserts through the doorway, without letting customers enter. A handwritten sign on another small market offers KN95 masks for over eight dollars apiece, with ten for almost seventy. The simpler masks that I have are sufficient. A line snakes out from another larger market. Seven people stand two meters apart. I think of stopping in there, then walk away. I have what I need.