This was National Doctors’ Day.
For most guys, this means little or nothing between the ages of 20 and 40. Unless you have to take a drug test to get a job. Otherwise, they just go their merry way because they are, of course, indestructible. I remember well.
I, too, was indestructible. And then, for some reason, I got a physical when I was fortyish, and one thing led to another, and one doctor led to another, and another, and another. And I’m healthy!
So on this National Doctors’ Day, nothing but the best to:
- My regular M.D. (The chief mechanic. The captain of the team.)
- My podiatrist. (Troublesome left foot.)
- My ear, nose and throat guy. (Gotta keep the ears clear, and the throat speaks for itself. **I just made a joke! What a hoot, huh?**)
- My dermatologist. (A touch of skin cancer years ago.)
- My urologist. (Because…never mind.)
- My orthopedic guy. (‘Scoped the left knee in ’06.)
- My “if you don’t stop smoking I’ll rip your lungs out” guy. (Very effective since 10/07.)
- My gastroenterologist. (Gotta get those regular colonoscopies.)
- My general surgeon. (Because you never know when you’ll need general surgery.)
- My dentist. (Because dentists are doctors, too.)
- My ophthalmologist. (For reading, not on-air. When I can’t see the teleprompter anymore, I’ll know it’s time to go.)
So there you go. 11 doctors. A football team of health. If you’re of a certain age, you can probably identify.
And if you’re not…just wait.