I didn’t say the word doctor
for years. Childhood doctor
was Uncle Jack. He and his wife Fayette
played bridge with my parents twice a week.
He often said Take Robitussen.
Connie and David were our adult doctors.
Good friends too. Once I called Connie
and said Do You Think I Could Have a Brain Tumor?
No she said. But I’ll look and she did.
I didn’t.
Now we often talk about specialty doctors.
Sonia has a hematology oncologist.
Randy sees a rheumatoid arthritis maven.
Carol goes to an A-Fib cardio.
Harry has a neurologist.
I go to an endocrinologist. (He dislikes poems.)
Two doctors in my Greenwich House
writing class: Barry 88 year old cardiologist
and Jerry gastroenterologist in his 90’s.
They’re both consulting and we ask them
questions in Tuesday’s class.
Always take a chance on love says Barry. He did.
The jury’s out on probiotics says Jerry.
He offers to read an excerpt from a recent medical journal.
We all say no.
At age 75, I have 9 local specialists that run the alphabet. But my favorite of all time was Doc Renehan. He delivered me and charged $30 (I have the bill). His good friend, Doc Blumenthal, attending, threw the bris in for free.
When Renehan examined us, he would depress our tongues and say "Say ahh!" , with a gush of exhaled cigarette smoke......a delicious taste of adulthood to a ten year old.
This made me smile. Recognizably and regrettably.