Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Doctor Is In

Measles, chicken pox, pneumonia, strep throat, a knock at the door and the doctor was in. He sat by the bed opening the black bag checking out the ill child. The doctor was in.

I remember going to Pitsburg to see Doc as a little child. He always gave me shots in my butt cheek. Quickly, I learned not to turn my back on him and to sit tight. I came to believe that penicillin had a direct path from my backside to my illness.

Doc saw the Loxley girls through many illnesses and our parents through their rough times. He came to the house day or night, whenever the call came. Mom gave him something to eat and drink as she did with everyone who came through the door. But most times he was in a rush to go to the next house. Shots given, pills dispensed and off he would go on his calls. The doctor was in.

When in high school, a friend of mine developed 'a problem'. She refused to go to the doctor for months. My best friend and I loaded her into the car and drove to Arcanum (the doc's new office). All three of us went into see Doc. We stood on each side of her as she told him her problem. He asked us to wait in the waiting room while he examined her. Then he called us in congratulating us on being such good friends by bringing her to see him and asked that we make sure she followed through with his instructions. Again, the doctor was in.

I miss that black bag that journeyed house to house. I marvel that this man had time to have a large family. I miss that relationship that developed by his visits, one of trust and comfort.

A time has passed when the ill received treatment at home. No more does the doctor bring his black bag. Gone is a time when there was a knock at the door and the doctor was in.

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