REVISITING THE PARK | The wonders of modern medicine

Recently, I was in need of a tune-up on my spine. After checking into Swedish Medical Center around 5 a.m., I was wheeled to the O.R. for three hours, then did a couple of laps in recovery, followed by a trip to a private room.

Several attendants accompanied me with an IV in tow, just in time for visitor hour, dinner and a one-night sleepover. I was home by 2 p.m. the next day. In and out in 36 hours! Not too long ago, it would have been a three- to four-day stay.

Our good friend, a nurse, wheeled me down the hall, and I saw three gurneys I’m sure were waiting for my room.

Beware the all-white rooms

Some will remember having tonsils and adenoids taken out in the olden days. “All the ice cream you can eat,” our parents promised. Who wouldn’t sign up for that? But like “Colombo” would say, “There’s just one small thing!”

An hour later, the overly friendly, smiling doctor and nurse walked you to the all-white, alcohol-smelling room. Even more offensive was ether! The oh-so-cheery nurse held your hands down, while the doctor placed a strainer with gauze soaked in ether over your face.

Tonsillectomies were a common surgery back then, and kids would oftentimes bring their tonsils in a jar of alcohol for show-and-tell.

Another experience in the medical field needing improvement in the 1930s was dentistry. One morning, my parents told me we were going for a drive. Oh, boy! I loved my dad’s ‘34 Buick. The too-short ride ended not far from home, where we entered a side door to a basement and found again a smiling duo: a dentist and his nurse. Oh, brother, another small white room.

I sat in a big chair, with a series of cables running here and there, ending in a rather large drill. By my feet was an electric motor that turned the drill at amazing speed (about the same RPMs as the second hand of a clock).

This time, the gleeful nurse held my hands down, and her expression changed as the dentist, in a manly voice, said, “Be a big boy now!”

No fear of needles, though — it was the days before Novocain. I’ll spare the details, but it left an impression difficult-to-forget.

Months later, my parents told me I bit the dentist, and in front of my parents, he slapped me. On the way out, the nurse gave me a huge Hershey’s candy bar; I threw it down.

Experiences like this help us grow up and grasp that the little pains in life mean nothing.

Around 1940, a group of kids in my neighborhood in Riverton Heights walked to Shoalwater Grade School, laughing, joking around and reliving the comedy of “The Jack Kirkwood Show” the night before on the radio. As we walked through the school door, our moods changed — something was amiss.

There before us was a table with nurses behind it. It was to be a little injection to prevent measles. The needles were smaller than a six-penny nail, but not by much. We tried to make humor about it and pretend it was just a small thing.

The people dressed in white laughed in a kind of loud, superficial way so we couldn’t hear the word, “Ouch!” As kids lined up behind the portable canvas screen, we heard the comments, “What a nice, little girl/boy!” One at a time, after the prescribed injection at rapid speed, we were out the door.

If these times spent at the doctor and dentist didn’t teach us about the reality of growing up, the effects of World War II certainly did.

Doc Harris

At one time, we had our very own doctor on the Ave. Doc Harris had an office just west of Pharmaca (then Broadmoor Drugs). He tended to our every little scrape, bruise and yearly injections.

During the summer, an area west of Edgewater was quite the habitat, with cattails, lily pads and very warm, shallow water — home to the Neanderthal mosquito. The aftermath of an attack of the mosquito left one with open sores from the nonstop itching. Some of us still have battle scars today. Even dogs and cats ran away when they heard the whine of the bug hovering near.

Doc Harris came to the rescue. With a new product, Campho Phenique, the itching stopped, but it was discovered it wasn’t to be used in certain areas of the body.

The mosquito infestation was so bad the city started spraying. Every year, three men in white suits and facemasks sprayed our streets from a huge tank on a Jeep; two of them ran between houses, spraying yards and gardens.

This took care of the problem after several years, but as is common knowledge, there’s always just one pesky mosquito with a design flaw — no muffler system. That buzzing at full throttle 1 inch from the ear lets you know its dinnertime is imminent — the epitome of annoyance.

It would be handy to have a medical facility in our neighborhood again, although our local pharmacy does a great job. We need an ER, however, for the near-misses happening in our crosswalks. Shame the jerk who is late for work and doesn’t seem to notice the bright-white lines and people within them. Life doesn’t need to be that busy, does it? After all, we are in paradise!