The year was 1946. It was a cold Saturday in February. Those years they had snow and cold was below zero. My life was about to change forever. This day would begin in horror. It would create memories that would last even today in the year 2020. Around 5 am things began to happen. I was being pushed out of my most comfortable spot. I was very warm and comfortable and did not want to leave. The more I fought, the more determined they seemed to be. I was happy, so leave me alone. But it was not to be. I was being pushed and some one grabbed my feet and began to gently pull. About 5:30 am they grabbed me by my ankles and held me high in the air. I was not happy and silent with determination. But this big giant began to slap me on my buns. After the second slap, I hollered my displeasure of being held in the air by my ankles. And to top it all off, they took advantage of my being so small and weak. If I could see just what was going on, I might have reached out to slap back. But I just could not see what was happening. So, I just voiced my displeasure. This was to be my way of life from here on out. If I was not happy with something, I would absolutely voice my opinion. From this moment on, I would not allow someone to hold me up by my ankles and slap my bare buns. This also began the journey of not liking doctors. They were after all the ones who began all of this. They slapped me first. Throughout the next 74 years I would have many unpleasant moments with doctors. I must say here, though, it was only the male doctors that seemed to present the worst situations. A lot began when I was having problems with my sugar level. If I was not careful, I would find myself passed out and laying on the ground. Now, this was not a desirable way to be. I was getting a bit concerned that this could happen while I was on some staging. It could happen even if I was on a roof or in the lake moving floats. I reasoned best that I find out the problem. I half suspected it was my sugar going low, but every time I went to the doctors, it was normal. So, they did one of those brain scan thingies and determined I actually had a brain. Then they made me wear quite a harness and determined I had a heart. So, I had a brain and a heart. One doctor decided to have me take those pills called beta blockers. Before I started this plan, I was a slim trim fighting machine. You see being anxious that I just might fall off a roof or something not so great, I was becoming concerned. The anxiety and seeing all those nice cute nurses continued to raise the heart rate and blood pressure. But there were still times that summer that I sort of fell down and was carried away. I didn’t really mind helpers carrying me home, but that darn ambulance ride cost me money. When we got to Phillips, I argued to let me out, but they would not. When the doctor finally saw me, he suggested I had passed out and had a seizure. It was ahh, tell me something I don’t know. But no answer was forthcoming. About the only thing the doctor commented on was the size of my belly. It was indeed becoming rounder. I so wanted to tell this fella it was because of those pills he suggested I take. There were two nice nurses there, so I held my peace. I never went back to that fella. When I went back home, I began a program to wean myself off those beta blockers. My next visit to my regular doctor, she commented how my numbers looked much better. It was then I informed her I had stopped taking those pills four months ago. Because my heart was making more noises then normal folks, I began a yearly routine of people poking and prodding me. This also began quite a slew of male doctors that I saw only once. They would ask a foolish question with words “did I ever”? Well now, I have been around the barn more than once and I did a lot of things once or twice. Once I started walking and was outside, I did just about anything a young fella could think about. There were plenty of us youngsters and we thought of a lot of things to do. If one brought a pipe, we made sure to try smoking just about anything we could put in the pipe. Just because we were only 5 or 6 years old meant nothing. So, when he asked, “did I ever”, I would walk back through my memories and have to say “ya”. They would get upset when I tell the year. But there were other doctors that would act all snooty and of course, I would have to retaliate to that attitude. Again, this was usually a male doctor acting such as this. As luck and life would have it, I finally got paired up with some nice lady doctors. Normally, I am nice to the ladies until they become similar to the uppity male doctors. Usually their manners were a cut above the rest though. The majority of these professionals suggested I do yearly tests to see if I was getting old and decrepit. Well all ya had to do was ask. I know I am getting old when the joints make noises. They just don’t like my self-assessments. This program started out with them insisting I take three different tests each year. After a bit of “no changes,” I insisted we do only one test a year and they can pick which one. I also informed them that if they change doctors one more time, they
would lose me. For quite a few years they had a very nice lady doctor. Now, they have a male doctor and are suggesting quite strongly I go talk to him. Well, here is the problem. I just might tell them what I think, and this would not work well for me. One day he may be standing over my silent body with a knife in his hand. This is scary even for an ole timer such as I am. I started my life journey with someone slapping me when I could not slap back. Even today, I do not like people slapping my bare buns to make me cry or being cold. The last time someone came at me with a knife I was standing tall. I guess I am going to have to learn how to be gentle and nice again. Man, oh man the things one has to do to survive in this world. Maybe, I have a book here to study on how to be nice again.
Have a nice day now folks. Ken W
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