Specialists

Maybe all the specialists have always been out there.  Maybe there is simply too much medical information to be contained in the head of a simple family doctor.  Maybe I am nostalgic for the good old days. Maybe it*s my child memory remembering something that never was.  Or maybe I*m 56 and it*s simply the time for specialists.  But I miss the time when the family doctor stitched up cuts on the bottom of my feet from going barefoot.  I miss being seen as an entire human being, and a doctor who knew when I would make a break for it down the hall.

By the time I am done

I will have seen all the specialists

There are.

No simple family doctor anymore,

The one who stitched us up

When we cut our feet on clamshells

In the sand bottom of the lake

Up at the cabin.

The one who said

Let*s take a look at this

Here*s what we*ll do

The one who knew us

Inside and out

From the soles of our feet

To the lip we bit through

When we fell running to catch

The ball;

The one who knew how to catch my brother,

Make him sit still for shots,

The one who somehow made penicillin shots

In the kiester

Tolerable.

Now there are specialists

Upon specialists,

No one doctor

Who chases anyone down the hall;

No one doctor who says

Let*s take a look at this

Here*s what we*ll do

No one doctor who knows us

From our head to our soles;

No one doctor

Who knows that the person

Who stands before them

Might make a run for it

Down the hall.

Now there are specialists

Upon specialists.

We are eyes or bladders,

Feet or brains.

They have no idea

When we might take off

Running.