Rockdale Citizen

Health care. Doctors. Nurses. Insurance benefits. Pre-existing conditions. The national conversation has swirled around these issues for over a year now and has given me pause, on more than one occasion, to ponder the people who have taken such good care of me over the course of my lifetime, and especially during my childhood. I don't know who paid for my health care when I was a child, but I do know that I was well taken care of.

There was Annie Lee Day, for instance. Mrs. Annie, as we called her, was the nurse in Porterdale when I was little. She was huge in stature with a heart that was twice as large as her quite ample body. Mrs. Annie was the shot-giver when it was time for all us little linthead children to be immunized. Once a year or so our teachers would line us up and march us across the street and up the stairs to the doctor's office. One at a time we would inch past Mrs. Annie with our sleeves rolled up. She would have a kind word for everyone -- and then she would stick that hateful needle in our arms.

I hated getting shots -- and still do -- but never complained or whimpered when it was Annie Lee Day injecting me because she was so sweet and gentle that I knew she wouldn't hurt me any more than was absolutely necessary.

Once in a great while someone would come to school with a case of lice and then we would all march back across to the doctor's office and let Mrs. Annie go through our hair, looking for those pesky little creatures. Thankfully she never found any in my closely cropped hair, but if the day after a lice check a boy came in with a fresh buzz cut or a girl came to school with salve and a rain bonnet on her head, we all knew why.

I also remember Dr. Palmer. Tootsie Irwin was his nurse, and I can still recall her strolling through his waiting room giving out "glass cigarettes," which is what she called the thermometers. That's right. Back in those days they would take everybody's temperature at the same time -- right there in the waiting room. Hippa Laws? What are Hippa Laws?

Dr. Mitchell was the doctor in Porterdale for most of my childhood. His son Bob was one of the best basketball players I ever saw in person and his daughter, Jane, was a good friend. All of Scout Troop 226 would gather at Dr. Mitchell's office when it was about time to head for summer camp at Bert Adams. He would give us corporate physicals. We would line up and he would have us drop our trousers, turn our heads and cough -- one after the other. Porterdale in the 1950s was no place for modest adolescents.

Dr. Mitchell seldom said a word during these examinations, but I do remember one exchange he had with Garry Sears. When it was Garry's turn to be checked Dr. Mitchell commented, "That's a mighty weak cough," to which Garry responded, "Those are mighty cold hands."

Tit for tat.

Another doctor I remember from my childhood was an Atlanta physician -- an ophthalmologist -- named Dr. Calhoun. I suffered a severe eye injury when I was 5 years old and was referred to Dr. Calhoun for treatment. For several weeks we made the trip to Atlanta four times a week. Eventually we only went twice a week and then once a week and then every other week. This went on for months and months.

I still remember those long drives into the city. Some days my mama would take me and some days my daddy would. Dr. Calhoun's office was in the old doctor's building downtown and I thought the hustle and bustle of downtown Atlanta was every bit as exciting as having to wear bandages over my eye for a solid year was aggravating. Every time we went I would beg to eat at the cafeteria we passed on Peachtree Street -- the S&W. We never did, though. Mama would pack sandwiches and we would eat those in the car on the way home.

Whenever Daddy took me for my appointment he would question the doctor about the bill. Thinking back, he was probably worried to death about how he would ever pay it. Usually, Dr. Calhoun just muttered, "We'll talk about that later," but one day I remember him speaking very sharply to my father. "I'm not worried about the bill right now. I'm worried about saving this boy's eye!"

Daddy didn't ask him about the bill so often after that, but I will never forget the day that Dr. Calhoun pronounced me healed. He said that we wouldn't have to come back for six months, and Daddy said, "That's great news. Now tell me how much I owe you."

Keep in mind that we had made probably 40 visits for treatment and observation -- and my eyesight had been saved. Dr. Calhoun looked my father in the eye and said, "Would $25 be fair?"

My mama started crying, and we stopped at the S&W on the way home. Daddy had a steak.

I don't know the answer to the health care problem, but I do know that I am thankful I had a Dr. Mitchell, a Dr. Calhoun and an Annie Lee Day in my life.

Darrell Huckaby is a local educator and author. E-mail him at dhuck08@bellsouth.net.