Periodicals; Mormons; Religious thought; Philosophy and religion
Independent national quarterly established to express Mormon culture and examine the relevance of religion to secular life. It is edited by Mormons who wish to bring their faith into dialogue with human experience as a whole and to foster artistic and scholarly achievement based on their cultural heritage. The journal encourages a variety of viewpoints; although every effort is made to insure accurate scholarship and responsible judgment, the views expressed are those of the individual authors and are not necessarily those of the Mormon Church or of the editors.
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Rees, Robert A.
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The Clinic / 151 made his appointment for Wednesday afternoon because he didn't want to be in the waiting room with a lot of other patients. Dr. Monson and Dr. Harris had Wednesday off. He didn't like people talking. One day when he had an appointment for a pre-school physical, a man had screamed from one of the rooms down the hall, "Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ!" The screaming came through the closed hall door, and for those seconds afterward no one in the waiting room moved or talked, the only other sound the bubbling from the oxy-genator in the aquarium. Mrs. Anderson put the phone back in the cradle. Twice he had seen blood trails that started out in the parking lot, led up the steps, across the tile floor, to vanish down the hall. One of the girls came out with a damp cloth to wipe up the blood. All three doctors had gone rushing out one afternoon when he sat with his mother waiting. The sound of sirens vibrated through the big window in front of the aquarium, but his mother wouldn't let him go outside. Later, when they walked up University Avenue, he saw where the accident had been, although the cars had been towed off by then. The intersection was sprinkled with headlight glass, a big stain of radiator fluid on the black asphalt, as if a large animal had been killed there. He had read that over fifty thousand Americans were killed every year in automobile accidents and millions of others injured. "Steve, this isn't serious is it?" He looked up from the magazine. Mrs. Anderson had taken his manila folder from one of the fireproof filing cabinets and held it open on her desk. "It's a skin problem. I ran out of salve the army gave me, and I need a prescription." He wanted to ask Mrs. Anderson for his folder. What had Dr. Jensen said about him since he was born? The eight fireproof filing cabinets with locks were full of medical histories in manila folders, all the things that Dr. Jensen and the other doctors knew about their patients and had forgotten they knew, diseases, accidents, operations, treatments, and prescriptions. Everybody in the stake liked to hear Dr. Jensen's sermons. He always spoke about Jesus Christ. He had a strong testimony. After his son's death at Bear Lake, he had sold his boat. "Is it something you contracted while you were in Vietnam, Steve?" "Yes." "Those jungles must be terrible places to have to fight in, and I understand that you were right out fighting the whole year you were there. My husband always says that as long as he had to fight, he was glad it was in France and Germany. He was in the war." "I fought in France in the first war." Mr. Simmons leaned forward on the green leather sofa. "It's been fifty years and I still haven't forgotten some of the things that happened over there. I don't know what I would have done all these years without the Church." A large silver safety pin held the empty pant leg to the side of his hip. "But it's so terrible when you think about all those boys still in hospitals. My sister's neighbor's boy was in Korea, and he's still in a mental ward in a veterans hospital at Denver. He was such a nice boy. Dr. Jensen was in the Pacific all during the war, Steve, and he has other skin patients. You're lucky to have a doctor with experience. Dr. Jensen is a wonderful man." "Yes."