FanStory.com - Doctorsby Terry Broxson

Next week, I have an appointment with a new doctor. She will be my new family practice physician. In the old days, she would have been known as a general practitioner or GP.

Of course, in the old days, she would have been a he, and he would have been a white man.

Thankfully, these are not the old days. This lady didn't check any of those boxes.

Some things about the old days in West Texas were good. Kids played outside till dark. Nobody worried about locking the doors. Crime happened in the newspapers, not on my street, and rarely in my town.

Where I grew up in the fifties, physicians were mostly men, and all were white. There were probably doctors of color. I just didn't know about them.

My first doctor was a woman, Jane Wyall. She took care of all the earaches, sore throats, swallowed marbles, mumps, measles, chicken pox, and annual shots.

When I turned eleven, I saw a new doctor, Henry Mast, an important man in our town. He founded the Mast Clinic. Dr. Mast gave me my first complete physical for grown-ups. At least, that's how my mother explained it.

I remember sitting in Dr. Mast's office as he discussed my examination results. One thing has remained in my memory for sixty-six years.

"Mrs. Broxson, your son's hygiene is excellent. Uncircumcised lads need to be cautious, but not a problem here."

On the ride home, I asked, "Mommy, I don't understand. What's undersized?"

"Terry, that's not what he said, but we'll talk about it later."

Later turned into never.

Like all eleven-year-old boys, I asked an enlightened thirteen-year-old what Dr. Mast meant.

Andy explained. "When some boys are born, the doctor cuts off part of their thing."

"Why would a doctor do that?"

"It's mostly for Jewish boys because their things are too big. Don't worry, it doesn't apply to Baptists."

This did mark the first inkling I had about religion being complicated.

My roommate in college and long-time good friend became a doctor. When Carl Trusler became an MD, he also became a Navy flight surgeon. He served as the base physician at McMurdo Station, the Naval Air Facility in Antarctica, among other Navy assignments.

When Carl's Navy service ended, he returned to his hometown of Abilene, Texas, and opened a medical practice as a GP. Like most GPs, he became known as a family practice doctor. He was beloved for his contributions to medicine and his hometown. Carl died four years ago.

After college, I went to work for the American Cancer Society and then the American Heart Association. During those twelve years, I worked with physicians from many disciplines with diverse backgrounds and experiences.

I left the nonprofit sector and joined an orthopedic medical practice as the manager tasked with developing new business opportunities. I told friends and associates, "I went to work for two Jewish doctors who were in search of a Gentile, but all they found was an escapee from the Baptist Church."

I can not speak for the rest of the world, but the faces I saw in medicine changed significantly from my youth to adulthood. I knew a lot of doctors as a patient, friend, colleague, and boss. The doctors' race, nationality, ethnicity, religion, and gender were never relevant.

I felt blessed, or lucky if you prefer that word, to be cared for by a competent and compassionate, highly diverse group of doctors. Here are a few memories.

Dr. Douglas specialized in Ear, Nose, and Throat. My problem involved a nosebleed, usually as winter set in.

Dr. Douglas' practice saw young kids. Setting in the treatment area made me think of a kindergarten room. The decorations were meant to entertain and accommodate a much younger and smaller clientele. Dr. Douglas did seem amused to find a forty-year-old 6' 3" fella in his exam chair.

I'd say, "Dr. Douglas, I need a miracle today."

He would take his instruments, zap a vein in my nose, and solve the problem for another year. For me, he delivered miracles.

Dr. Mata told me, "Your esophagus is bad. We call it Barrett's Esophagus. It is the forerunner of cancer. You'll need to take Nexium for the rest of your life."

That happened thirty years ago. I'm still taking Nexium and still swallowing okay.

My family practice doctor referred me to a specialist because I had a G Gobulin blood count result below normal. Dr. Barnett did additional tests. She said, "You have a condition called CVID, or Common Variable Immune Deficiency."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad, it being common and all."

She handed me a book about a half-inch thick. "This explains it. But it's not common, maybe one person in a hundred thousand or so. It means your immune system is weak. You will get sick easily. There's no cure for the condition."

Thirteen years later, I have been sick one time. Covid last year. Go figure. I credit a couple of shots of bourbon daily.

I did have a heart attack forty years ago. Surgeons tried to open an artery. One tried to add some stents. Nothing worked.

About seven years ago, I developed Afib, a rapid, irregular heartbeat. Medication fixed it for a while, but not for long. Now, I just live with it. Oh, I still see a cardiologist every few months. But I have had a candid conversation about any future surgery. Surgeons want to operate, but old patients don't.

For over forty years, I've had medical conditions, but only sick that time with Covid. I'm way ahead of the game.

The day Zoe died from a heart attack in 2018, that night, I got a call from Dr. Cooper, my GP (but not Zoe's), and two cardiologists. They all offered condolences and asked if I needed anything. I have no idea how they found out she died that day.

One last story.

Upon telling my current cardiologist I would see Dr. Goyle as my new family doctor. He remarked, "The first thing you'll notice is she's a beautiful woman."

I looked at him and replied, "I've only seen a picture, but that's not what I noticed first."

"Really, what was it?"

"She accepts medicare payment."