Fifty years ago, or perhaps longer, a good friend of mine broke his arm. Not having any medical insurance at this time, Jeff made a cast out of plaster of Paris.
Several weeks later, bumping into a physician at his church, the medical doctor asked my pal which doctor he had seen. Telling him, “Doctor Yourself,” it took only a few seconds for the wise man to figure things out. They both got a good laugh out of it.
With Jeff telling him the whole story, this doctor asked Jeff to come by his office, and he’d take a look at things. Removing the makeshift cast, an X-ray was taken, which showed that the bone was healing quite nicely.
“You did a good job for an intern!” this medical professional told my friend. “Next time, though, go to the emergency room. Had that bone not already been in place, it would’ve needed to be broken and reset. You don’t want to go through that painful experience!”
I doubt Jeff has set any more bones, but he has successfully cleansed numerous wounds and bandaged them up, even stitching a couple with thread. I’ve done the same, and have a few scars on my head from cuts that should’ve been stitched but weren’t.
A couple of friends in Lake Havasu City and Prescott claim the title of Dr. Yourself. For the longest time, they received good medical help, but something happened along the way. I hear story after story of people not being able to get into their primary doctor for weeks when they’re ill. They’re advised to go to a walk-in clinic or the ER.
I’ve had to do this a few times, often wondering if I’d come out with something worse than the illness I walked in with. There was one occasion where a young girl was heaving her guts out in the lobby restroom.
I sat right across from the restroom door listening to such. Everyone in the waiting room, including the receptionist sitting behind a sliding glass window, could hear her moans. When this poor gal exited, I held my breath and walked out. Thankfully, a friend had a full bottle of amoxicillin at home to take care of my ailment. I knew the correct dosage from having used it many times.
Mom was a Dr. Yourself. She worked as a nurse and knew what to do when my brother and I were sick. Don’t ask me how many enemas she gave us from eating too much Wonder Bread dough. Jim and I would take the white center and roll it into little balls. That’s how it finally came out seven days later.
Mother had a stethoscope and would listen to our lungs for pneumonia, thankfully, never finding any until I was around 30. She immediately sent me to the ER that day, where her diagnosis was verified. That pneumonia was a horrible experience even for a healthy guy!
Several friends go to Mexico for their dental work and to pick up Azithromycin and penicillin pills. No prescription is needed for these. Those are the two meds I’ve been using for my bronchitis episodes, going on 50 years. A few people have told me that my body will eventually develop a resistance, and these drugs will stop working. They’ve only been saying that for 40 years.
It’s gotten lame these last few years to get fast help, especially when the weekend or holidays roll around. I’ve begun to rely on my friends for their medical assistance.
When I hear someone is driving to the Mexican border near Yuma, I hand them a list of what I need picked up. Having the right medicine on hand has saved me at least three times. The last thing I want at this age is another bout of pneumonia. It could be a life-changer and not in a good way.
Sadly, if medical care keeps getting worse in this country, state, and city, there may be a convoy of Americans heading to the border, with me in that group. The risk from cartel members is worth it, in my opinion.
I hear it’s quite easy to legally get across as long as you have proper identification and a passport. I have both just in case they’re needed!
I like to write junk... 