There are a thousand little moments in life that connect us all like a thread pulled through the fabric of time. I know this because some of you have said so. It’s one of the pay offs for writing these stories. It may be just one line, or one picture in a story that is mine, but suddenly it becomes your story because there is a connection that you understand.
Norman Rockwell did it with paintings. You can’t see his image of a little boy pulling down his pants for a shot at the doctor’s office and not think about all the times you went to see the doc when you were a kid. He’s up standing in a chair with the look of panic on his face. The good doc is holding the needle about to apply his trade. We embrace that image because it is us.
Mama took us to Griffin to see Dr. Black. He wrapped my head like a mummy after my face got burned from grease on the stove. He burned a wart off my finger. He dug objects out of my ears that didn’t belong there. He pushed and poked and gave out nasty medicines. And he gave shots. But he always gave every kid a balloon and sucker.
“Sorry I almost tortured you to death. Here’s a balloon. Now, don’t stick that in your ear again, okay?”
Dr. Black was a hero one time. It was a Sunday afternoon. A buddy had come home from church with me to play for the afternoon. We tussled around in the yard. Shot BB guns. Built a fort in the hay bales down at the barn. Just a typical goof off kind of day.
When it came time to go back to church for evening services, I didn’t feel good. Mama wasn’t buying it. I moaned sincerely. She got stern.
“I just can’t believe it. You’ve been running around here all day and all of a sudden you’re sick? I know what you’re up to. You just want to stay home so you can watch the Wonderful World of Disney on TV. I tell you what, when I get home you had better still be sick. Now, get on that couch and don’t move.”
I did get on the couch. I did watch the Wonderful World of Disney. And I didn’t move.
When Mama got home, I was still there. She touched my forehead and got blisters on her hand. She apologized for not believing me, and she called Dr. Black. On a Sunday night. After dark. He sent us to the hospital. Sometime after midnight my appendix came out.
“It’s a good thing we got it when we did,” the doc said. “That appendix was about to bust.” What I heard was, “Any longer and we might have had to amputate below the waist.”
I always felt bad that Mama felt bad about fussing at me. We relived that story for years. I think I was 30 and she was still apologizing. But at the time it was kind of satisfying to think, “I told you I was sick.” Plus I got a really cool scar to show off.
There are not many doctors these days you could call after dark on a Sunday night. Dr. Mack and Dr. Martha are still that way here in Pine Mountain. It’s almost unbelievable. They are the best. But their kind is a vanishing breed. I’m guessing that corporate medicine has ruined the kind of things that good doctors love to do.
I think the last time I saw Dr. Black was right before I got married. It’s a little embarrassing to tell you that my Mama made me go. She wanted me to get a checkup before I went out into the world on my own. He checked my ears. All clear. I had learned my lesson. Infant to skinny adult. He was the doc who took care of us. I think he even offered me a balloon.
6 thoughts on “Dr. Black”
BaHaHa… “Sorry I almost tortured you to death. Here’s a balloon. Now, don’t stick that in your ear again, okay?” Old doc’s were the best!!
Remember Marjorie Ford from ACC? I was so sick that I needed to see her and I promise what I remember is her walking to the other side of the room and then running toward me to give me a shot in my backside. Amazing how we remember! Thanks for so many memories and for sharing with us. What we need next is a Podcast so we can hear you tell these great stories with your Georgia accent. Blessings my friend!
Dr. Black helped me raise my three boys, even being kind when I called him once after hours concerned that my sons knees looked too big. Turned out he was just skinny, but he didn’t berate me about my mistake when I saw him the next day. And more than once, he realized I was also sick when I brought my puny one in. He would check us both out, and write prescriptions for Mana and baby. You sometimes get to meet a hero in your life. He was o e of mine.
Only thing that needs to be added to this is the wonderful waiting room with the aquarium and the Highlights magazines.
I thought about those. I also thought about the two separate waiting rooms.
My Dr. Black was Dr. Richard Smith, or Dr. Richard as we called him. He was my doc from early childhood through my early 20’s. He had the handshake grip of a brick mason, the sharp, biting wit of Don Rickles and the compassion to balance the deal. Late nights, early morning it didn’t matter he was there. He put three layers of stitches in my foot one Sunday afternoon sewing things back together that are better left uncut. Over 100 total sutures. He was soaking wet with perspiration after he finished what was essentially a surgery. He loved to hunt and fish and would always love to share tales. My last visit with him was after having a Baker climbing deer stand fold up on me, something they were famous for. During the fall I collected a stick through my left ear and landed thankfully in a pile of soft river bottom sand, thankfully because I hit head first! His first comment was it’s a good thing you didn’t land on your a$$ or you would have been dead. He got me cleaned up, stitched up and gave me good advice, “You throw that blankety, blank Baker Suicide seat in the dumpster before you kill yourself.” I retired it.
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