July 1.  Day of doom.  Why, you ask?

Because, all over the country, newly-minted graduates from medical schools are in hospitals and each is called “doctor”.  Enough said.

SOB (sister of blogger) is an attending physician at a hospital and the head of the medical intensive care unit.  Each year I offer to have a talk with anyone she deems a “007” (licensed to kill) about other potential career paths.  It is my annual charitable event; I think of it as saving lives.  Every year, she demurs.  No one is quite the Austin Powers version of James Bond.

But the offer still stands.

When TLP (our son, the little prince) was born, it was July 11.  The interns were 10 days old.  POB (partner of blogger) had to have an emergency Caesarian.  In order to get to the baby in a Caesarian procedure, a lot of organs need to be taken out of the way.  So when TLP was born and I heard the OB-GYN say to the intern, “where would you put the uterus?”  I offered, “back where it belongs!!!!”

If it is July, don’t ask for just any doctor.  Ask for a REAL doctor.