Doctors
I want to tell you right now that I have little respect for doctors. The only doctor that I ever respected was the doctor who delivered me into this world in 1949 but who died back in 1968. The last time I spoke to Dr. Couch was in the spring of 1968 when I was getting my medical forms filled out for going to Auburn.
“Let me know when you’re ready, Freddy, and I’ll get you into medical school,” Dr. Couch told me.
Unfortunately Dr. Couch died at age 57 that Fall and so I did not have the opportunity to become Dr. Hudson. Too bad for me, but there was a doctor! He delivered me. He made house calls. He knew and kept up with everybody in my family. He knew things other than medicine.
The problem is that ever since I’ve wanted my doctor to be a knowledgable all-around person, somebody I can talk to about anything. Ain’t gonna happen! Medical doctors today are just technicians like your plumber or your electrician. They don’t know any more about subjects other than medicine than you or me.
I’ll go even further. Most doctors are hacks. The only reason they got into medical school was because their daddies were doctors or because they had some connection. Hey, I had an “in” until he up and died. Doctors aren’t any smarter than you or me.
My family doctor, Dr. Smitherman JUNIOR, is an OK family doctor, but he has NO sense of humor or personality. In the 10 years I’ve been seeing him, he has yet to crack a smile. I’d switch but the next one might be dumber. Last time I told him this joke, and he just looked at me dumbfounded. He didn’t get it, and there’s not much to get.
Four doctors went on a duck-hunting trip together: a family practioner, a gynecologist, a surgeon and a pathologist. As a bird flew overhead, the family doctor started to shoot, but held off because he wasn’t absolutely sure it was a duck. The gynecologist started to shoot, but lowered his gun when he realized he couldn’t be sure if it were a male or a female duck. The surgeon, meanwhile, blew the bird away, turned to the pathologist, and said, “Go see if that was a duck.”
Come to think of it, I had told him another joke once.
Dr. Smitherman, the next time you fly, for safety’s sake, take a bomb with you. . . . because the odds are astronomical that there won’t be two guys on the same plane with a bomb.
Not even a smile from my doctor either time. As Bugs Bunny would say, what a maroon!
“Let me know when you’re ready, Freddy, and I’ll get you into medical school,” Dr. Couch told me.
Unfortunately Dr. Couch died at age 57 that Fall and so I did not have the opportunity to become Dr. Hudson. Too bad for me, but there was a doctor! He delivered me. He made house calls. He knew and kept up with everybody in my family. He knew things other than medicine.
The problem is that ever since I’ve wanted my doctor to be a knowledgable all-around person, somebody I can talk to about anything. Ain’t gonna happen! Medical doctors today are just technicians like your plumber or your electrician. They don’t know any more about subjects other than medicine than you or me.
I’ll go even further. Most doctors are hacks. The only reason they got into medical school was because their daddies were doctors or because they had some connection. Hey, I had an “in” until he up and died. Doctors aren’t any smarter than you or me.
My family doctor, Dr. Smitherman JUNIOR, is an OK family doctor, but he has NO sense of humor or personality. In the 10 years I’ve been seeing him, he has yet to crack a smile. I’d switch but the next one might be dumber. Last time I told him this joke, and he just looked at me dumbfounded. He didn’t get it, and there’s not much to get.
Four doctors went on a duck-hunting trip together: a family practioner, a gynecologist, a surgeon and a pathologist. As a bird flew overhead, the family doctor started to shoot, but held off because he wasn’t absolutely sure it was a duck. The gynecologist started to shoot, but lowered his gun when he realized he couldn’t be sure if it were a male or a female duck. The surgeon, meanwhile, blew the bird away, turned to the pathologist, and said, “Go see if that was a duck.”
Come to think of it, I had told him another joke once.
Dr. Smitherman, the next time you fly, for safety’s sake, take a bomb with you. . . . because the odds are astronomical that there won’t be two guys on the same plane with a bomb.
Not even a smile from my doctor either time. As Bugs Bunny would say, what a maroon!
posted by Fred Hudson at 8:28 PM
1 Comments:
Reminds me of the time I was sick for a while. I went to the doctor four or five times and got a different diagnosis each time!
P.S. Do you think you could get me into medical school?
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