By Les Ferguson, Jr.,

Columnist

Two weeks ago, I wrote in this space about a visit to the doctor. Last week I wrote about the indignities of growing older, specifically with the potential need for suspenders. In keeping with baseball season, I’m calling the idea of suspenders a knuckleball pitch resulting in strike one.

As mentioned, in the first piece I talked about going to the doctor, giving blood, and being thankful to have what medical care I might need from time to time.  During this visit, I showed the doctor a couple of spots and he immediately called for a dermatology consult. 

To my credit, I wasn’t worried — I’d had a few spots frozen off a time or two and expected that would be the case with these two places. No worries, no fuss, normal, typical painless stuff. Tough guy that I am, I knew I could handle this without any trouble at all.

Fortunately, neither of those spots amounted to anything concerning, but that’s when indignity chose to raise its ugly head again. With the pitcher in his wind-up, the idea of getting older was a fastball I couldn’t see coming.

The nice young medical professional took one look at the spots and said they were a nothing-burger—nothing to worry about, nothing to address. When I asked for further explanation, the answer came in medical terms that I’ll not try to spell or pronounce. But when asked for an explanation in country boy language, the answer was simply, “Old-age spots.” That was strike two.

With the potential for suspenders and the old-age spots, I’m still smiling, but with two strikes against me, I am afraid to see the next pitch. Unknown to me, that pitch was about to be delivered. 

So, before the appointment was over and this old guy was shuffled out the door, I asked about a mole on my shoulder. After a quick look, this medical professional answered with words of horror: “We’ll just slice it off.”

The word slice should never be used in conjunction with the human body. Not this day. Not any day. Therefore, I politely demurred and was ready to get on my way, but that’s when this nice young medical professional decided to take me out with a left-handed slider. These were the words said in the nicest, kindest tone, “The biggest babies I see in the office are always grown-up men.”

Translation: “You’re already an old suspender-needing guy, are you going to be a crybaby too?”

In short order, I became an old suspender-needing guy with a band-aid on his shoulder. 

Such are the small travesties of life, but thankfully, I’m still in the game!

Have a happy week and remember, the joy of the Lord is my strength! (Nehemiah 8:10)