Interview with Imhotep
A Doctor's Diary:
Imhotep at the Office
Monday
I have to say, it's tough being a god of medicine. Not only does everyone—and I mean everyone in the Underworld—come to see you for an instant cure, but they all expect me to know everything about medicine. How should I know how old Osiris was when he broke his pinky? Or how Hathor got that rash on her eyelid? Thanks to my patron, Djoser, I was able to establish my own doctor's office.
My psychiatrist, Thoth, has told me that writing some of this stuff down might be helpful, considering that I'm holding in a lot of tension. This doesn't violate any doctor-patient confidentiality, FYI—at least I don't think so.
First, a royal woman who shall not be named came to me asking to give her a baby. I'm known for my infertility cures, but I was loath to do anything without asking the Pharaoh for permission. Nefertiti—whoops! So much for discretion—wanted a son so badly that I felt obliged to help her out. I told her to
in her lady parts overnight; if someone could smell the onion on her breath the next morning, she could have more kids.
She then told me that she might already be preggers, so I told her to do what I told every woman to do: lie down naked and let one of her friends rub new oil on her, then sleep overnight with that stuff on her; if, in the morning, her blood vessels looked good to the doctor's eye, she'd be all set to go.
Nefertiti then wanted to know how to tell if any resulting child would be male or female. She had to pee on a pile of barley and a pile of emmer daily; if all of them grow, she's definitely going to have a baby. The barley sprouting means it's a boy; the emmer means it's a girl. She skipped on out of here—probably off to the palace kitchens for onions or oil or wheat of all kinds.
After that, Ramesses III came to see me. He thinks he's been killed by his rebel son and one of his wives. I told him we were in the Underworld, so he's already dead, but he still wanted a cure for the gash in his throat. I shoved a bunch of sugar and honey in there as a disinfectant. He went on his way, but I'm afraid some people might now think his neck is a lollipop.
Horus next popped by with a scorpion bite. It didn't look too good, but Thoth helped cure him with a spell. If that hadn't worked, I might have used a knife to let some of the poisonous swelling out, or bandaged it with salt and natron, but that wouldn't get the nasty gunk out. My foolproof cure, however, is another concoction with an onion: a mixture of onion, beer, salt, and sam-plant, which would make him vomit up the nasty stuff.
Well, that was it for today. I wonder who will stop by tomorrow.
Tuesday
Thutmose I was my first patient this morning. He broke a bone in his leg while on campaign in Nubia. I first made a mixture of various fruits and honey, but that didn't do the trick. Adding a splint helped a lot, though, and made sure the pharaoh won't walk crookedly once the bone eventually heals.
My next royal visitor was Psusennes I arrived in my office. He suffered from awful arthritis, which made it hard for him to walk, let alone run around like a pharaoh should be able to. He also had terrible toothaches. For his aches and annoying pains, I recommended bathing in sand in Aswan. What's wrong with taking a nice, hot dip in the desert?
As for his teeth, I stuck a sort of filling in his mouth. I took linen pieces, doused them in fig or cedar oil, and then packed them into the many cavities in his mouth. I also put dough, honey, and more on there, just to help him a bit.
Talk about a real headache—Seqenenre Tae came in with a skull-splitting wound. Literally. His head was split open, likely from axe wounds. There are a thousand ways to cure a head wound:, but this one was too far gone for me to do anything useful. I thought I would be able to fix his fractured jaw, but after testing it out, I realized it was too far broken for me to do much.
Today was pretty exhausting. I don't know how I'm going to keep up my practice for so long. I might have to bring in another doctor--possibly Amenhotep. He and I have been getting lunch together in the hospital cafeteria for a few weeks; I think he's a competent physician. He's dead, too, which is good, since we're all stuck here in the Underworld.
You'd think that dead people wouldn't need surgery or doctors, but who knew? They like to look and feel perfect while they're enjoying their afterlives. I should be enjoying mine, too, but instead I spend my time running around, gathering herbs, performing surgeries, and providing cures. There's no rest for the weary, I guess, even after they're dead.
At least I don't have to worry about building pyramids, praying to deities, or stargazing while I'm hanging out in the Underworld. I only have so much time—wait, actually I have an infinite amount of time, but that's not the point.
I think I need a vacation.