Physicians

When our family arrived on the coast many years ago, one of our first items on tap was to discover a physician who would begin the process of referring my late husband to the specialty fields his physical maladies required. The task proved to be an easy one, as our first visit became our last.

The soft spoken doctor was both pleasant and knowledgeable. Over the years, he would prove to be conservative in his measures, revealing that he was in the medical field for the love of health, not for quick or dishonest gain. I grew to trust him implicitly.

Years later, my husband having had died, I met my soon-to-be husband and found that the physician I'd grown to trust was a direct family connection to this gent of a man. We continued in the trusted doctors' care, the GilGuy in tow.

Changes take place, things shift, and policies reword themselves.

When Keeton and Keller were born, I was aghast to discover that our babes were no longer able to be cared for under the wisdom of our family physician.

No. They were required to be tended by a pediatrician.

Egads.

None of my children had ever graced the door of a pediatrician's office.

Charts and comparisons were now before me. "Measuring up" was now the decided goal, unpretentiously, unwillingly placed upon my child.

As referrals would have it, the pediatrician that took up the boys' care was young, and graceful, and exuberant towards her profession. I liked her immediately ~ but there were concerns. I, a mom of five children, intelligent and educated, seemed to have lost all of those credentials the moment I sat in the tiny examining room. It was subtle, the shift of assumed authority, but present nonetheless.

I let maturity cover the indiscretion on her part, and carried on.

An unexplained persistent rash landed me in her office a few weeks ago. A quick diagnosis was given. Just as quickly, however, the focus became my diminutive sons' size.

Deflecting her concerns, I discussed the 'issue' with my husband upon arriving home. We determined her musings about Keller's size were unwarranted.

Fast forward, then, to the follow-up 'rash' appointment. Pressing me once again about the failure of my little boy to meet the median standard size-per-age depicted on the growth chart, my experiential education was dashed aside, overwritten by a 'dangerous' situation.

I went toe to toe with the physician. "What is dangerous about it? Translate that term into a practical, day to day rendering for me . . ."

Finally, at a sort of gridlock amongst ourselves, a solution came: "I'll order blood work on the little guy. If it comes back clean, I'll stand with you, in agreement that he is simply small for his age."

I didn't even hesitate. I *knew* beyond knowing that my son is healthy, happy, and absolutely fine.

The arduous process of waiting in line for lab work, the obtaining a urine sample from a 14 month old (egads!), and the reading of the results thereof began.

Speaking with Gil, we both heartily agreed that our sons' health was the epitome of wellness.

The phone call came in shortly after 5:30 pm last night. A clean bill of health, minus one test that takes a week to complete. I know that even that test shall return clean.

Why such confidence? Nothing short of the acknowledgement that our health is a direct result of the Greatest Physician of all time. It is upon His promises we stand, an acknowledgement of His truth that overrides the wisdom of earthly scholars.

Three physicians.
Three bedside manners.

I will be very grateful for the day when, if medical care is deemed necessary, I can shuttle my youngsters to the office of our trustworthy, long term care provider with the conservative ways.

Regardless, the One who gets the glory for the health of our home is the One who shed His blood to redeem us from the curse of sickness and disease.

Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed. 1 Peter 2:24