A teaspoon of cure
By Clif Knight
A common practice at medical offices nowadays is to have newcomer patients arrive 30 minutes before their doctor’s appointment. They are asked to fill out and sign a handful of personal health history forms, certify their authenticity with a signature and show proof of insurance coverage along with a picture ID card.
This step can easily require 30 minutes of memory searching and speedwriting. Some offices require the use of a computer to sign in even though you’re a repeat patient, while others use forms on an iPad. Unless you have a photographic memory, keeping a list of your prescription medications inside your pocketbook or handbag is a good idea.
What a big difference between where medicine is today and where it was when I was a kid 75 years ago.
Because family practice medical doctors were few and far between, you didn’t visit one unless you had a broken limb or were suffering from excruciating pain. If you were bedridden, a home visit was an option.
While I was too young to remember, I was taken to a doctor for examination and treatment twice before I was 4 years old.
I fell from a moving wagon loaded with corn when I was 2. One of the rear wheels ran over my chest and knocked me unconscious.
A year later, I was rushed to the doctor’s office after I fell under the rear wheels of a school bus. Fortunately, I escaped with only bruises to my legs.
Even though there were no permanent injuries, my health was a concern voiced repeatedly by several of my aunts during their infrequent visits. They would look me over from head to foot and question my parents: “What’s wrong with Clifton? He looks puny. You ought to give him some medicine.”
I resented their unqualified opinion because I knew I was just as healthy as my siblings and cousins. I could hold my own with them no matter what we were doing – running, jumping, climbing or wrestling.
In keeping with their opinion, my parents decided a daily dose of mineral oil was what I needed. I hated the stuff and still get no pleasure in taking medicine of any kind.
To make matters worse, my daily dose of medicine was compounded when my siblings and me were lined up in front of the fireplace and given a portion of home remedies before bedtime. Our teaspoon of cure was sugar saturated with kerosene for croup, a swallow of honey for cough and a whiff of heated Vicks salve for a stuffy nose.
