The other day I consulted a medical specialist, the exact nature of whose speciality or specialisation need not detain us here. I should say in passing that I had no memory of either the doctor or his premises despite having "consulted" only three years ago, but that condition would of course require the services of another sort of specialist.
Where was I? Oh yes, at the doctor's. The consultation proceeded according to plan and, after the investigation, we returned to the doctor's desk to review the situation. After a moment, the doctor looked at me earnestly and began to speak in tones that brooked no interruption. It occurred to me that he was not really speaking to, at or with me; he was not actually looking at me either. He was looking through me. It was almost as though I had ceased to exist! And then it dawned on me that he was DICTATING TO HIS COMPUTER.
Reflecting on the incident from the relative comfort of my home, I remembered that the doctor had paused from time to time in his dictation. At the time, I thought that he was collecting his wits, but I now wonder whether he was not rather giving his computer a chance to get its breath back.
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