Ode to Doctors

I could never be a medical doctor. Pastor, sure. Attorney, let's hope. Lawn mowing professional, done it.

I've always know this. My hand-eye coordination is not good enough to stitch up the gaping wound of a screaming child. I realized this after Tori had an accident as a two-year-old. She got 8 stitches in her eyebrow. You don't want me trying to stitch up your two-year old if I have to be sure to miss her eye.

I don't faint at the sight of blood, but it's not something I'd like to be faced with on a daily basis.

The doctor who delivered Lucas came in at 2 AM to do so. He looked like hell. I wanted to buy him a latte and jump out and scare him just to make sure he was awake enough to handle the delivery. I wouldn't want someone else's life hanging in the balance of my actions if you woke me up at 2AM, that's for sure.

And, during the few times when I have put something together, I have often lost my cool and thrown a screwdriver accross the room in the process. I gotta think that aint a good trait for someone doing, let's say, quadruple bypass surgery, for example.

Today, during the time I normally would be eating lunch with Jeremy, Joe, Keith, & Veech, I instead witnessed Lucas' circumcision. The tools looked more like stuff you'd see in a woodworking shop than a doctor's office. I don't think you'd want me doing that to your baby. Especially when the little guy (and I aint talking about the kid) is that small. One slip of the knife (or angry, frustrated outburst) and the family line comes to a dead end, if you know what I mean.

So doctors and nurses, God bless you. I'm staying in law school.