On the Wisdom of Self Taught Medical Professionals

Hello folks, let’s chat…They say laughter is the best medicine. I concur, especially if you’re around my immediate family when you need urgent medical attention. Other than my oldest sister, Cyndie, who earned a bona-fide nursing degree, we’re largely self-taught. That includes Mama who considers reading Cyndie’s used nursing magazines to be continuing education, despite her lack of any previous training. You could say we’re naturals.

Or you could say we’re crazy. A certain doctor sure did the time I admitted to him that I’d allowed my dearly beloved to try and remove surgical staples from my shin with a pair of farm plyers. It’s not like we didn’t have a legitimate explanation. Neither or us realized we needed a special instrument to disengage those things from my flesh. At least not until Phil tested a couple and had to peel me off the ceiling.

And there was that time when my then teenage son mashed his finger. The pressure intensified daily, along with the pain until it looked like he might lose a nail if we didn’t act. Apparently, being an interior decorator with a working drill gun qualified me as head surgeon. I remember nervously attempting to drill a shallow pressure-relieving hole in Phillip’s fingernail. Peeling my offspring from the ceiling was a deja vu’ moment and a good indicator that I may have drilled too deep.

Which brings me to last week. Beloved Hubby and I were in the laundry room when I yanked open the freezer door of our old upright refrigerator and sent a two-ton rock solid roll of frozen deer sausage flying. Fortunately, the big toe of my left foot broke its fall. I fell to the floor and began writing in pain. Dr. Phil was up to bat. Think fast, Phil.

As I looked up at him through a flood of tears my beloved offered the following line with total sincerity, “You know I’m gonna have to drill that.”

I started laughing and the endorphins began flowing, just as he had hoped. Seriously, I felt better immediately, but I still hid the drill gun.

Hugs, Shellie