We’ve all heard horror stories of medical care gone awry. Then there’s the occasional antidote ”“ the feel-good scenario that transports one to an earlier time. Here’s one such story.

Last week, I was fighting off a head cold, when a cough settled firmly in my chest. Although I was out and about, I was becoming wheezy and short of breath, and thought I’d give my doctor a call. It was early evening, after hours, and my own doc was unavailable; the person who phoned me back was the on-call physician for the practice, a man I’d never met.

I described my symptoms, he asked some questions, we quickly got to the issue at hand: I have asthma and wanted to avert complications. Uncertain as to which drug would best supplement my usual regimen, he offered to open the office the next morning to see me.

“On a Saturday?” I asked, obviously taken aback.

He suggested a time, and we agreed to meet.

When I arrived for the appointment, he greeted me at the door, looking for all the world as if it were a workday, bowtie and all. This small, dapper man, well into his 70s, moved briskly, with authority. We walked down several corridors to his office.

Sitting on the couch, yellow pad in hand, he asked a host of questions. Fever? Appetite? Any unusual rash or joint pain?

After a thorough exam, he transmitted a prescription to my local pharmacy. He then asked how I got to the appointment. Looking at my address, he offered to drive me to CVS to pick up the new prescription, on his way home.

Let’s put this in perspective: At a time when the health care system is all but broken, I’m sitting with a doctor who has never met me before, on a Saturday when the office is closed, and he’ll double as transportation, if needed, so I can pick up new meds.

Maybe he missed the memo that physicians don’t conduct themselves this way in the new millennium ”“ and that those who did, gave it up in the second half of the last century. Nor is he a country doctor, schooled in the old, rustic ways. His office is downtown in a city hospital.

The good news is that this doctor is also an educator, who teaches medical residents. One can only hope that some of the future docs in his charge will emulate his rare breed of dedication.

I thank the doctor for his time, his kindness and, unbeknownst to him, for the full-blown strangeness of the whole encounter. I then drive to CVS, pick up the medicine, go home and go to bed.

Next morning, Sunday, I check my voicemail and find that the doctor has left a message: “Hi, Ms. Silverman. I just wanted to make sure you’re OK. If you’re worried or things aren’t going well, just page me.”

— Joan Silverman’s work has appeared in The Christian Science Monitor, Chicago Tribune, and Dallas Morning News. She lives in Kennebunk.