Catch Jim Reed’s Red Clay Diary podcast at https://youtu.be/V2fIoMi6IbY
or read the transcript below:
THESE LITTLE PIGGIES DON’T KNOW FROM MEDICARE
Everything I ever will need to know about doctors and hospitals, I learn as a pre-teen in 1950s Deep South America. No kidding!
As I dial the Time-O-Meter back to those days of yore, I find myself staring up at a white ceiling. I am prone on my back and there appears above me the face of Dr. Conwill.
Doc Conwill is preparing an instrument that vaguely resembles a soldering iron. As I lie here on the examination room’s white-linened gurney, I also see the face of my mother, who is hovering nearby to witness the upcoming medical procedure.
I am fully clothed except for shoes and socks. Two big toes are about to be operated on. I know that pain is about to occur, since this is the second time I will be grasping Mother’s hand while hurt is being inflicted. This little piggy and that little piggy will soon be altered just enough to make ingrown toenails behave themselves.
The only wisdom I glean from today’s medical procedure is that Pain Hurts. Yep, Pain Hurts! YEOW! is about as profound as I get.
Local anesthetics are not applied, so for the rest of my life I am sympathizing with victims of toenail torture. Only in this case, hurtfulness is for a good cause.
A few months later I am in Druid City Hospital, again face-up on an operating table. This time, Dr. Conwill has delegated my toes to the care of a surgeon who will get the the job done in a less painful and more institutional manner. The danged toes refuse to heal themselves under Dr. Conwill’s care.
This is my first time in a hospital, first time anesthesia will be administered, first time my bare buttocks will be displayed by one of those backward-fitting hospital gowns, invented by someone with a misguided sense of humor. Bare bottom in order to operate on bare toes? Hmmm…
I fade to black and re-materialize hours later in recovery, my toes fixed, my eyes unfocused. Two days later, I stop seeing double and begin to deal with the fact that I will return to school wearing sandals—most uncool in these days of Fifties protocol.
My father enters the room, ready to meet with toe surgeon Dr. Thomas and sign discharge papers to get me the heck out of here. Dr. Thomas enters, peeks under bandages, declares me ready to exit. Dad asks how much he owes for the operation.
These are innocent times.
Dr. Thomas glances at my feet, smiles, says, “Well, let’s make that $12.50 per toe. What about $25.00?”
Dad opens his leather wallet, pulls out a twenty and a five, and the deal is done.
No co-pay, no insurance filing, no Nurse Ratched to have us jump through hoops, no series of bills and lengthy legal statements arriving in the mail.
$25.00 and I’m done with hospitals for a few decades…until last week, as a matter of fact.
But last week’s hospital stay is another, more lengthy story, in these times when nothing in the field of medicine is as simple as barter or receiptless cash or a simple handshake
Jim Reed © 2021 A.D.
Weekly Podcast: REDCLAYDIARY