The damned compressor just went off and woke me.

I left it plugged in and it went off and woke me.

Why is it that I get about 37 ideas a day of things to write about and can't even remember one of them when I sit down to post? 

The other day I had to visit a doctor to get something taken care of. My old doctor I can't have anymore thanks to that liar in the White house. So I now have a new doctor, a skinny little wisp of a woman. Frankly she worried me at first.

I had a little talk with her and decided to set her straight right up front.

"Look," I said. "I am Old School. I don't care about your bedside manner. I don't care about doing anything but getting cured as quickly as possible. If if causes me pain and discomfort to get well, fine by me. My favorite docs were Army medics that could get me back up and running fast. I had one knock out an upper respiratory infection in about 24 hours once. He turned my ass into a pincushion and I was good to go the next day. So let's not fool around. " 

I have to give her credit. She simply went to work and took care of me. I am now good to go.

She looked at a scar I have and asked about it. She seemed to be mildly surprised when I told her I had gotten cut 35 years ago and had it sewn up by some kid that never finished high school but had been a Navy corpsman during the Vietnam war.

"An awful lot of the things I have had done to me were done by people that never went to medical school," I said. "In Alaska we generally did what we had to do. In the service I had a medic fix a hemorrhoid. He cut me and stitched me up while I was bent over a table."

She seemed mildly surprised and asked me why I didn't use the Army hospital. I told her the real doctors had just given me silver bullets and sent me on my way. When I got back to my outfit the senior medic opined that I would wind up with more problems down the line.

We both went to see the First Sergeant who said he had suffered problems like that years ago and finally found someone that would cut him and fix it right.

That afternoon Doc laid his stripes on the line. He could have faced a court-martial if he got caught. He worked on me, Top covered for me for a few days while I healed and I haven't had problems since.

The skinny little woman doctor turned out OK. She got in there and did what she had to do.

For years I have believed that if you just let doctors get in there and do their job you'd be miles ahead. Truth be known, the biggest thing I see doctors do is deal with a bunch of sissies that want the thorn removed but don't want to feel the pain of it being yanked.

Most people don't want a damned doctor, they want a magic wand waver.

She's gonna be OK.








To find out why the blog is pink just cut and paste this: http://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-feminine-side-blog-stays-pink.html NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE WRITING OF TODAY'S ESSAY