The clinic only appeared when the tide pulled far enough back to expose the old stone steps. People said it had always been there, waiting under saltwater and patience. When the sea retreated, the door faced east, catching the morning light, and the silver spoon above the entrance chimed once—never twice.
I volunteered there during the lowest tides of the month. Not because I believed the building was alive, but because the work was steady and honest. The clinic treated ordinary conditions with extraordinary care. No miracles. No shortcuts.
Inside, everything was arranged for cleanliness. Floors tiled in pale gray, surfaces smooth and easy to wipe. Salt air can promote corrosion and microbial growth if moisture lingers, so the clinic followed strict routines. We cleaned before opening, between patients, and again before closing. Cleaning was not punishment or obsession. It was protection.
The first patient that morning was a fisherman named Cal. He spoke carefully, mouth sore, tongue coated in white patches. Oral thrush. It was not uncommon among people who spent long hours dehydrated or who had recently taken antibiotics. Antibiotics can disrupt normal oral flora, allowing Candida albicans to overgrow (Pappas et al.).
I guided Cal to the exam chair while my supervisor prepared supplies. We washed hands thoroughly, dried with clean cloths, and wiped down surfaces. Fungal organisms can persist on damp materials, increasing the risk of spread if hygiene is inconsistent (Kramer et al.).
Cal admitted he had ignored the symptoms at first. Eating hurt now. Drinking too. We explained that early treatment matters. Oral thrush is usually treatable, but untreated cases can worsen discomfort and prolong healing (Akpan and Morgan).
We started with hydration. Warm water first. Then a mild, unsweetened herbal drink. Sugar can promote yeast growth in the mouth, so we avoided it (Pappas et al.). Warm liquids can soothe irritated oral tissue and support comfort during swallowing (Akpan and Morgan).
The drink steamed gently in the cup. Cal held it with both hands, breathing in before sipping. He relaxed slightly. Sensory comfort—warmth, predictable taste, calm surroundings—can reduce stress responses that otherwise interfere with recovery (Mennella).
While he drank, we cleaned again. Used cloths discarded. Tools sanitized. Order mattered. It reassured patients as much as it protected them.
Next came treatment. A topical antifungal rinse, measured carefully. We explained how to use it at home and stressed completing the full course. Stopping treatment early can allow fungal infections to return (CDC). Cal listened closely. Being taken seriously mattered to him.
Between patients, I scrubbed the counter edges where salt air condensed. Moisture control is essential in preventing microbial persistence in coastal environments (Kramer et al.). The clinic did not rely on magic for that part. Just vigilance.
Fantasy showed itself quietly. The silver spoon above the door shifted its angle depending on who entered. When fear was high, it pointed downward, grounding the room. When calm returned, it leveled itself again. It did not heal anyone. It reminded us to slow down.
A mother arrived with her teenage daughter, early signs of thrush visible. We adjusted our approach, explaining gently and clearly. Education improves treatment adherence and reduces recurrence (CDC). The mother asked questions. The daughter listened, embarrassed but relieved. Love moved between them without needing words.
We offered water and tea, explaining why consistency mattered. Small sips throughout the day rather than long gaps. Hydration supports saliva production, which helps control oral yeast levels naturally (Humphrey and Williamson).
Cleaning followed again. Chair wiped. Sink rinsed. Floor dried. Every step closed a loop.
By afternoon, the tide began to turn. Outside, water crept slowly back toward the steps. Inside, we completed final cleaning. Nothing left damp. Nothing left uncertain.
Cal returned briefly before the door closed. He smiled carefully. The pain had eased enough to eat soft food again. Healing would continue, but the worst part had passed. He thanked us, voice steadier than before.
As the sea reclaimed the stones outside, the clinic prepared to disappear. We stored supplies in sealed cabinets, wiped every surface one last time, and washed our hands. Love here looked like consistency. Showing up. Doing it right even when no one was watching.
When the water reached the door, the silver spoon chimed once. The clinic slipped back beneath the tide, clean and quiet, ready to return when needed.
The fantasy faded, but the lessons remained real. Thrush required care, not shame. Cleaning prevented harm. Warm drinks soothed more than throats—they eased fear. And love, practiced through patience and routine, stayed long after the tide returned.
Works Cited (MLA)
Akpan, A., and R. Morgan. “Oral Candidiasis.” Postgraduate Medical Journal, vol. 78, no. 922, 2002, pp. 455–459.
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Candidiasis. CDC, 2023.
Humphrey, Susan P., and Richard T. Williamson. “A Review of Saliva: Normal Composition, Flow, and Function.” Journal of Prosthetic Dentistry, vol. 85, no. 2, 2001, pp. 162–169.
Kramer, Axel, et al. “How Long Do Nosocomial Pathogens Persist on Inanimate Surfaces?” BMC Infectious Diseases, vol. 6, 2006.
Mennella, Julie A. “The Chemical Senses and Nutrition.” Nutrition Reviews, vol. 69, suppl. 1, 2011, pp. S8–S20.
Pappas, Peter G., et al. “Clinical Practice Guideline for the Management of Candidiasis.” Clinical Infectious Diseases, vol. 62, no. 4, 2016, pp. e1–e50.
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