Iatrophobe too busy to see a doctor
By
Rory Ryan-hcpress@cinci.rr.com
Iatrophobe too busy to see a doctor
Far too busy for serious thought this week...
That said, do not expect another award-winner with this journalistic offering. Instead, please let me say a few words of appreciation and offer a
word or two of sarcasm (as always).
First off, thanks to our very loyal advertisers, the month of June was the busiest one, to date, for The Highland County Press under its current
management. Since we are approaching our one-year anniversary in a few weeks, we’ll touch on this later. Suffice it to say that we are planning
something special for those advertisers who were with us last year and who have remained loyal, week after week. We are truly grateful and we are proud
to recommend your respective business(es) to everyone we meet.
* This past Saturday was proclaimed Chuck Collier Day in Highland County by the county commissioners. The Hall of Fame radio personality (who began
his career in Hillsboro at WSRW) was and is well-deserving of this honor. As Chuck, who’s now with WGAR in Cleveland, noted on stage during the Festival
of the Bells, his career has taken him from here to New York but his family ties remain in local towns like Sinking Spring and Marshall.
On the morning of July 2, as I drove into town, I was listening to the “Morning Mess,” with another Hall of Fame broadcaster in Will Parr, and a
future Hall of Famer in Herb Day. They were broadcasting live from the Festival of the Bells, situated on Governor Foraker (or Trimble?) Place just
outside the Fraternal Order of Eagles’ front door. Will mentioned, around 6 a.m., that there weren’t too many people at the festival at that hour. Since
I tend to arrive at the HCP office around 5 a.m. most days, I decided to walk on over to the radio station stage.
Even at this early hour, I was welcomed by two Hall of Fame radio broadcasters, one future Hall of Fame broadcaster, and the lovely Tasha Neal, who may be yet another Hall of Famer. Tasha had a great interview with Jason Michael Carroll. (And, yes, Chuck, Will and Herb are lovely, too!)
During a brief commercial break, Chuck Collier, Willard Parr, Herb Day and Tasha were kind enough to at least act like they were happy to see me.
(Let’s face it, no one is particularly happy to see me at 6 a.m.)
For what it’s worth, I graduated high school with Herb’s younger brother, John Day; and Will and I were next-door neighbors for several
years. I also worked for 10 years with Will Parr Jr. at Rotary Forms Press, Inc. Their support and encouragement through the years has been (and is)
appreciated.
Since we’ve published stories on Will and Chuck being inducted into their professional Hall of Fame, it only seems right that we publish one
soon on Herb Day. He’s worthy of inclusion in this noteworthy class. Let’s encourage the folks at Clear Channel to start promoting Herb’s candidacy.
Perhaps they already are.
* Thanks to being a longtime reader of the world’s best fortnightly magazine, National Review, I now know that I am an iatrophobe. I’ve always
known my condition. I just didn’t know there was such a fancy name for it. (I wonder if Charlie Brown or Lucy Van Pelt know about iatrophobes?)
As NR columnists John Derbyshire and Florence King point out, an iatrophobe is someone who avoids doctors. I avoid them like the plague. It’s
not that I don’t like doctors or respect their work. I just don’t like people poking, prodding, tapping, squeezing and eye-balling every orifice on
my person. Or creating any new ones.
To the best of my knowledge, in the last decade I have been to one medical doctor (I still hate Brian Perkins), one eye doctor (only because my
prescription was so outdated I couldn’t purchase new contacts or eyeglasses without an examination), and maybe one dentist. It’s possible it’s been more
than 10 years since I’ve been to Dr. Langston-McKenna’s office. You’ll have to ask her.
The heck of it is this. Outside of their professional duties to poke, prod, tap, squeeze and eye-ball every orifice on my person – besides
creating a few new ones – I really like my friends in the medical community. Especially nurses. They put up with an awful lot of flak – both from the top
down and the bottom up – if you know what I mean.
My issue is this: Why go to a doctor when you know going in you are not going to follow his or her orders? I enjoy things that doctors say I should
not enjoy. I like red meat. I like a good T-bone steak. I’ve seen sausage being made and I still like it. I like a good cigar. (Macanudos and Cohibas.
Partagas are great, too.) On the all-too rare occasions I golf or fish, I like to chew a bit of Levi Garrett. And, as Tom T. Hall used to say, “As a
matter of fact, I like beer.”
Doctors, even those few who may enjoy red meat or an occasional cigar, are expected to tell their customers – er, patients – that almost everything
from which they might derive an ounce or two of enjoyment, is BADDD. Thus, I found it more than a bit ironic a week or so ago when I had to take a family
member to a local medical facility. While sitting in the waiting room, I noticed the wallpaper. I’m not a fan of wallpaper, mind you. But this
wallpaper, or more accurately, its border, was Mail Pouch tobacco. No kidding. Stop by the complex on the city’s north side and see for yourself.
Treat Yourself to the Best! Indeed.
In her July 5 column in National Review, 74-year-old Florence King, who admits to drinking a shot or two of vodka, has a great quote about doctors
and physical examinations: “The doctor...in that tight-sphinctered medical prose said ‘Patient admits to heavy drinking.’
“If doctors worked on newspapers they would know what heavy drinking really is...” Ms. King said.
Another great columnist, Jan Glidewell of the St. Petersburg Times, once wrote about a Florida hospital with a less-than-stellar reputation. His
orders to the Florida paramedics: “Please let me die on the way to the hospital.” Jan identified the hospital in his column. You’ll have to look it
up for yourself.
It is my hope that my relationship with the medical professionals is limited to my daily dose of humorous e-mails from Doc Terrell. No offense to
Dr. Beery, Dr. Lesia, et al.
Rory Ryan is publisher and editor of The Highland County Press.
Far too busy for serious thought this week...
That said, do not expect another award-winner with this journalistic offering. Instead, please let me say a few words of appreciation and offer a
word or two of sarcasm (as always).
First off, thanks to our very loyal advertisers, the month of June was the busiest one, to date, for The Highland County Press under its current management. Since we are approaching our one-year anniversary in a few weeks, we’ll touch on this later. Suffice it to say that we are planning something special for those advertisers who were with us last year and who have remained loyal, week after week. We are truly grateful and we are proud to recommend your respective business(es) to everyone we meet.
* This past Saturday was proclaimed Chuck Collier Day in Highland County by the county commissioners. The Hall of Fame radio personality (who began his career in Hillsboro at WSRW) was and is well-deserving of this honor. As Chuck, who’s now with WGAR in Cleveland, noted on stage during the Festival of the Bells, his career has taken him from here to New York but his family ties remain in local towns like Sinking Spring and Marshall.
On the morning of July 2, as I drove into town, I was listening to the “Morning Mess,” with another Hall of Fame broadcaster in Will Parr, and a future Hall of Famer in Herb Day. They were broadcasting live from the Festival of the Bells, situated on Governor Foraker (or Trimble?) Place just outside the Fraternal Order of Eagles’ front door. Will mentioned, around 6 a.m., that there weren’t too many people at the festival at that hour. Since I tend to arrive at the HCP office around 5 a.m. most days, I decided to walk on over to the radio station stage.
Even at this early hour, I was welcomed by two Hall of Fame radio broadcasters, one future Hall of Fame broadcaster, and the lovely Tasha Neal, who may be yet another Hall of Famer. Tasha had a great interview with Jason Michael Carroll. (And, yes, Chuck, Will and Herb are lovely, too!)
During a brief commercial break, Chuck Collier, Willard Parr, Herb Day and Tasha were kind enough to at least act like they were happy to see me.
(Let’s face it, no one is particularly happy to see me at 6 a.m.)
For what it’s worth, I graduated high school with Herb’s younger brother, John Day; and Will and I were next-door neighbors for several years. I also worked for 10 years with Will Parr Jr. at Rotary Forms Press, Inc. Their support and encouragement through the years has been (and is) appreciated.
Since we’ve published stories on Will and Chuck being inducted into their professional Hall of Fame, it only seems right that we publish one soon on Herb Day. He’s worthy of inclusion in this noteworthy class. Let’s encourage the folks at Clear Channel to start promoting Herb’s candidacy. Perhaps they already are.
* Thanks to being a longtime reader of the world’s best fortnightly magazine, National Review, I now know that I am an iatrophobe. I’ve always known my condition. I just didn’t know there was such a fancy name for it. (I wonder if Charlie Brown or Lucy Van Pelt know about iatrophobes?)
As NR columnists John Derbyshire and Florence King point out, an iatrophobe is someone who avoids doctors. I avoid them like the plague. It’s not that I don’t like doctors or respect their work. I just don’t like people poking, prodding, tapping, squeezing and eye-balling every orifice on my person. Or creating any new ones.
To the best of my knowledge, in the last decade I have been to one medical doctor (I still hate Brian Perkins), one eye doctor (only because my prescription was so outdated I couldn’t purchase new contacts or eyeglasses without an examination), and maybe one dentist. It’s possible it’s been more than 10 years since I’ve been to Dr. Langston-McKenna’s office. You’ll have to ask her.
The heck of it is this. Outside of their professional duties to poke, prod, tap, squeeze and eye-ball every orifice on my person – besides creating a few new ones – I really like my friends in the medical community. Especially nurses. They put up with an awful lot of flak – both from the top down and the bottom up – if you know what I mean.
My issue is this: Why go to a doctor when you know going in you are not going to follow his or her orders? I enjoy things that doctors say I should not enjoy. I like red meat. I like a good T-bone steak. I’ve seen sausage being made and I still like it. I like a good cigar. (Macanudos and Cohibas. Partagas are great, too.) On the all-too rare occasions I golf or fish, I like to chew a bit of Levi Garrett. And, as Tom T. Hall used to say, “As a matter of fact, I like beer.”
Doctors, even those few who may enjoy red meat or an occasional cigar, are expected to tell their customers – er, patients – that almost everything from which they might derive an ounce or two of enjoyment, is BADDD. Thus, I found it more than a bit ironic a week or so ago when I had to take a family member to a local medical facility. While sitting in the waiting room, I noticed the wallpaper. I’m not a fan of wallpaper, mind you. But this wallpaper, or more accurately, its border, was Mail Pouch tobacco. No kidding. Stop by the complex on the city’s north side and see for yourself. Treat Yourself to the Best! Indeed.
In her July 5 column in National Review, 74-year-old Florence King, who admits to drinking a shot or two of vodka, has a great quote about doctors and physical examinations: “The doctor...in that tight-sphinctered medical prose said ‘Patient admits to heavy drinking.’
“If doctors worked on newspapers they would know what heavy drinking really is...” Ms. King said.
Another great columnist, Jan Glidewell of the St. Petersburg Times, once wrote about a Florida hospital with a less-than-stellar reputation. His orders to the Florida paramedics: “Please let me die on the way to the hospital.” Jan identified the hospital in his column. You’ll have to look it up for yourself.
It is my hope that my relationship with the medical professionals is limited to my daily dose of humorous e-mails from Doc Terrell. No offense to Dr. Beery, Dr. Lesia, et al.
Rory Ryan is publisher and editor of The Highland County Press.
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