Dang … I missed it. National Doctor’s Day was observed on July 1 and I missed it. This annual observance, which is new to me, honors the dedication and contributions of doctors to society. I’m a supporter. As I grow older I am appreciating medical doctors more each year.

Sure they get paid for their work, some of them quite well. Frankly, it would take more money than most docs make to get me to do some of the things they have to do. Few of us have the gumption or brains necessary to endure the years of expensive education and grueling training required to become a medical doctor. Many young doctors graduate from medical school with hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt.

Fortunately, I’ve enjoyed relatively good health over the years and my need to visit doctors had been minimal. While I have great respect for the profession — some of my best friends are doctors — I have tried to keep my medical visits to a minimum. Then I got old!

My aversion to things medical, I think, goes back to my pre-kindergarten shots — a traumatic event which left an indelible memory.

About the time the doctor stuck a needle in my chubby little arm I flinched, bending the needle into a neat little crook. Dr. Heise, our family doctor, was a gentle man but his firm admonition to “don’t ever try that trick again” is remembered today.

This wasn’t the first time I embarrassed my mother and, regrettably, it wasn’t the last. Over the years I had several opportunities to prove to Dr. Heise I could take it like a man. I must admit, however, that today’s disposable needles make it much easier. Some of those old reusable needles felt like 16-penny nails.

Inoculations are tolerable but I have a tough time swallowing medicine. At one point in my youth I developed an intestinal infection for which a chalky, brown medicine was prescribed. The medicine took care of the infection but, considering the amount that stayed down, it must have been potent stuff.

About 50 years ago I was scheduled for a life insurance physical. Since the insurance company was footing the bill, this exam was conducted by a doctor of their choice. It wasn’t fun having a stranger poking around but the worst part was when he needed a sample. He handed me a miniature cup and put me in a room with an examining table and a sink but no commode. After some initial concern everything worked out fine.

A few years later a persistent sore throat brought me to an ear nose and throat specialist. He told me he needed to examine something from my nose and began stuffing gauze up one nostril. I don’t know how many yards of gauze he inserted but I swear it was enough to make a mummy. Then again, I guess I do have a large nose.

A family practitioner in Sioux City was my first doctor who was younger than me. It’s a milestone of sorts — a somber one, of course — when a man realizes his doctor and his pastor are both younger than he is. Actually, I wasn’t quite as intimidated by a younger physician and I appreciated his willingness to use common terms. On one visit he had strung together a long line of medical terms I did not understand. When I said, “Huh?” he repeated it in a language I could understand. It was the first time I heard a doctor use the word “butt.”

After a dozen years in Creston and being served by an excellent young physician we moved to Ankeny in 2000 and I had to find a new doctor. I ended up seeing a female doctor and after the initial discomfort I grew to deeply appreciate her.

After my first physical under her care, I told my wife that I was uncomfortable with a strange woman messing around “down there.” My wife said, “I got used to it; you’ll get used to it too.”

I’ve made more visits to a doctor since I turned 60 than in all the years preceding and I suppose that trend will continue.

These visits make me increasingly grateful for the men and women who devote their lives to caring for our health. Doctor Appreciation Day is a good idea. Has Hallmark picked up on the idea?

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2024 by Huisman Communications.