Snow-ish day

It snowed today. The fat flakes didn't accumulate, but they fell for quite a while and the sky took on that grey, ethereal tone that you only ever see on a snowy day. I tried unsuccessfully to capture the falling snow on film.

I woke this morning with terrible stomach pain. I called off work; I couldn't even pick Lucy up without feeling like knives were in my gut. I finally gave in to my husband's insistance and called my doctor, feeling like an ass saying "I have a stomach ache." But since the pain was persistent, she did want to see me. Though, she said, her office was closed for the day so would I mind coming to her house? Amazing. When was the last time that happened, ever, in the world of today?

I took a car service to her apartment. The light was fading into that sad violet of winter evenings and the snow had thinned to a drizzle (if snow can drizzle) as we drove through Hasidic Williamsburg. Which has got to go down as one of the strangest and most fascinatingly alien places in all of New York City. Hasidic Jews are to New York what the Amish are to Pennsylvania and Ohio. They are so insular, so orthodox, so weirdly dressed and so steeped in traditions of the ages that I can't help but want to know all their creepy secrets.

Once inside my doctor's warm and welcoming apartment (where the walls were painted all manner of jewel tones that I am scared to commit to) she went to work on my belly and in 5 short minutes determined I was not dying. Nor did I have an ulcer. Probably damaged the lining a bit from taking too much pain medication, she said. She prescribed Prilosec, thanked me for visiting, refused my attempts to give her my $10 co-pay, and sent me back into evening.

Standing on the front steps of her apartment building, I realized for the first time in 12 hours, my belly didn't hurt anymore. Psychosomatic? Maybe. Or maybe I just needed to get out of my house.