It’s so easy to take your health for granted, until you don’t have it. A doctor raised me so, from my first years, I understood the importance of staying heathy. This was reinforced by real life stories about the consequences otherwise. Moreover, Dad did all of our healthcare.
I recall the sick feeling in my stomach when I went near a refrigerator where he stored his brews—for libation—but then detected the aroma of rubbing alcohol. Shot night. Yuck. My little sister and I would hope, “Well, if we don’t ask, we won’t get stuck.” Silly thought. We may have been anti-vaxxers in our hearts, but our dad was a physician in his, and we were headed for the pointed end of a required vaccination.
Our father was a general practitioner for many years during which he was a soup-to-nuts doctor. Need your baby delivered? Dr. Carl S. Lingamfelter probably did 2,000 in a dozen years. Need to have your broken arm set? Just a snap away. And that flu, cold, or infection? He had a plan for you. And, of course, if you fell off the tractor and tore your leg open, he was there with medicine, stitches, and a surgical needle to sew you up. He was every bit the “country doctor” and he was beloved in Henrico County, Virginia when it was a sparce community of truck farmers and everyday skilled laborers.
When I was born, he had made the shift to become a dermatologist. I would ask him years later why? He was to the point. “Son, farmers don’t call you at two in the morning to have a wart removed.” Even at a young age, I understood. Yet the country sawbones in him never quite left his persona. I recall he would even make house calls years later to look at skin disorders among those he had sewn up, set, cared for, and sometimes just listened to. It’s what he cared about.
Once when we were at the river at a marina where we kept a boat near Kinsale, Virginia. While we were refueling, a lady slipped on the dock and fell in the water. In the process she managed to pick up a six-inch splinter from a piling. My Dad set the pump aside and said, “Son, go below and grab my doctor’s bag.” As I did, he leapt into action helping others position the lady on her back. In no time he had a surgical towel laid out, cleaning material, anesthetic administered, and there before God and country he sewed that lady up. In all of my life, I was never prouder of him and that I was his son. The old dermatologist was always the surgeon, and it taught me a lot about how to respond when your duty is in front of you.
My application of that would be as a soldier. Something my Dad never saw. He was taken from me when I was 18 years old. Ironically, his health failed him, the very thing he sought to sustain in others. I miss him to this day and wish he could have seen his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He would have fourteen in all.
This past week I had my own serious bout with health. A Cellulitis infection that put me in the hospital for a weekend and now a diet of antibiotics to chase the redness and swelling away. In the quiet hours as I lay in my hospital bed grateful to God that there were so many professionals surrounding and caring for me, I was sure my father would approve. Yet, I’m also sure he would fuss a bit about stepping barefooted on a rock in a warm river filled with infectious organisms. “Son, you should know better. Let me get my bag.”
Watching out for your health is really an important part of life. That includes what you eat, drink, and smoke. It also means doing exercise. That’s harder for me with three hip replacements, but possible. I can still walk and exercise. But to the point, there is much to stay healthy about.
In my case it’s to be with Shelley, and to author articles and books. It’s about enjoying the blessings God has granted me, none of which I deserve. And among those are our five healthy grandchildren, Isaac, Millie, Abby, Arthur, and George. Watching them grow is every reason in the world to stay healthy. And in all honesty, they need me around as their granddaddy as much as I need them to fill me with ineffable joy and awe.
I don’t know what the future holds for them. I pray the best. But maybe one of them someday will have occasion to say to their child “Hey, grab my doctor’s bag.”
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