In honor of the newest member to this site: I recall the years growing up. My dad doctor was named John Gardener and had his office in the Goodhue Building. Anytime I was sick, dad would take me up to see the doctor. Dr. Gardener was about 6 ft. and was beginning to loose his hair on the front leaving some blond strands of hair in the back. On day while playing barefoot in the yard, I got too close to the trash pile and stepped on a broken glass bottle. Dad picked my up and took me to Dr. Gardeners office where they placed me on a table. The nurse stood by with the monkey blood and swabs. Dr. Gardener, began digging into the center of my right foot to extract the glass. No pain killer. I was so interested in the procedure that I remember the doctor asking if I planned on becoming a doctor when I grew up. Then there was another time I was playing to close to a trash fire where old roofing was being burned. I was enjoying watching the thick black smoke curling upwards. I had just stood up to go in the house when I stepped into a puddle of hot melted tar from the shingles I was burning. I jumped on one foot for almost 50 feet to the nearest water spout, up on reaching this I began to run the nice cold water on my foot and began to peel of the melted tar from my foot. My parents again took me to the doctors office when he cleaned the swollen foot and wrapped it so I could go to school the next day. Just thinking of the time differences, now days we either go to the doctors office, or to a neighborhood emergency clinic. I is just not as personal as it use to be.
Posted on: Sun, 31 Aug 2014 18:01:37 +0000
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