A Tincture of Time

My father, who would have been 96 this past Sunday, was a pillar of Cleveland’s medical community. The director of medicine for many decades at Mt. Sinai Hospital and a professor of medicine at Case Western Reserve University, he could seemingly solve any problem -- medical or otherwise. He had seen it all. 

Once, an elderly and quite prominent patient called Joe insisted on coming to our home for a weekend medical consultation. My father told him to wait in our family room while he finished a phone call. When Dad eventually entered the room, there was Joe, completely nude, waiting for him on the sofa. Apparently, he expected a thorough physical examination.

For the most part, Dad reserved his expertise for his patients. Colds, cases of flu, even broken bones – these commanded only a modicum of sympathy when contracted by us. Known for his manner and skill with patients, even the one who shed all his clothing in our family room, my dad was nevertheless impatient with family patients. 

Hindsight reveals that he had life-and-death matters to attend to at work, and when he was off duty, retained little tolerance for whining. Combine this with his “get out of bed and go to school” ethic, and our routine maladies did not stand a chance. 

One of Dr. Vertes’ favorite plays, when we would ask him for medical interventions or want him to throw an entire pharmacy’s worth of medications at a problem, was to prescribe “a tincture of time.” This was maddening to me, even when he said it with compassion and wisdom. Like prescribing aspirin, every sickness under the sun was treatable with “a tincture of time.”

Today, I recognize the wisdom of giving my medical and other woes “a tincture of time.”

Last fall, my Achilles was so riddled with tendonitis that I limped my way through a trip to London. Sure that I would never walk without pain again, I kvetched, hobbled, and made medical appointments.

After about 5 sessions with a physical therapist, and with me doing none of my recommended at-home exercises, I miraculously started to improve. 

Around this same time, I got a case of the flu. When I learned there was a national flu medication shortage, I panic-shopped and ended up with 6 bottles of Dayquil. It was a reasonably mild flu; but impatient, infantile, and self-pitying, I took to the sofa and whined with all my might.

In the back of my mind, I could hear my father’s voice reminding me that all I really needed was a tincture of time.

Today, I can walk without a limp, and I am flu-free. Dry needling played a role in my Achilles’ recovery, and the flu meds offered symptomatic relief. But even my physical therapist admitted it was probably a combination of factors that contributed to my recovery, especially “time.” I could see my father grinning.

Today, Joe and I apply the “tincture of time” wisdom to all manner of issues, medical and non-medical. If you’re feeling ill, I advise you to take my father’s advice. 

Even if you have a financial issue, a familial one, or a work one, I have also found that a “tincture of time” can do wonders in all kinds of situations.

Patience has a way of working things out.