Rain Songs

We started with forty patients on the books and by the end of the day had seen just over twenty - the balance being frightened into staying home because of the rain.  Disagreeable weather has that effect on our elderly patients - they're dependent upon family members or government run vans for transportation, both tend to be reliably unreliable in the best of times and a good rain sends them all into hiding.  With time on our hands in between patients, we were restless and the doctor took on his bear persona - muttering and grumbling under his breath, hovering over us, interrupting and interfering and generally getting in the way.  The call from one patient's granddaughter broke the tension..... Can I bring her next week, Ms B?  She be so slow walkin' I's a feared she might drown.

Absolutely, I said, trying hard to be quick and not break out laughing, Next week will be fine.

The rain continued all the rest of the day, into the night and the next morning.  Gutters overflowed, streets flooded and the level of water in the drainage ditches reached alarming levels.  And still it came.  Driving home in the near dark every innocent puddle produced a blinding, torrential spray - I thought of Dylan singing If it keeps on rainin', the levee's gonna break.  And still it came, steady, strong, unrelenting and unstoppable.
The thought of spring flowers didn't bring much comfort and once home, the battle with the dogs made me short tempered and irritable - standing in water up to my ankles with a broken umbrella and waiting for them to pee brewed resentment on both sides.

She be so slow walkin', I's a feared she might drown, I remembered and smiled in spite of it all as an image of Gene Kelly from Singin' in the Rain came into my mind, a legendary song and dance man with his collar turned up and his umbrella at his side, singing and dancing his way from one side of the street to the other, landing victoriously in every available patch of water.  And smiling.  I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that it had taken two to three days to shoot that particular bit of film, that he'd been cold, sick with fever, drenched to the skin, likely exhausted.  And that his wool suit had shrunk during the process.  But still he was smiling.

The dogs return to the deck - the little dachshund wet and muddy all the way to his belly - and they scramble for the door and the warmth and dryness of the kitchen.  I follow, dry them off and reward each with a biscuit and a "Good Dog!".  It seems wiser not to remind them that there will have to be one more outing before bed.