Dr. Quack

From as far back as I can remember, my parents used to drag my brother and I  (kicking and screaming) to a doctor who they swore by all the way up through high school. We'll call him "Dr. Quack" for that's what he was.

He was also a "baby doctor," meaning he specialized in toddlers, or so it seemed (I had this theory verified one day when I was about fifteen. I was stuck next to my mom in the waiting room and to my surprise, in strolled a notorious, chain-smoking, fully-bearded stoner, led by his mother. He groused loudly, "Mom, why do I have to go to a baby doctor?" I never thought of him as so notorious after that.).

Anyway, no matter my ailment, this quack's response was always the same: "Hmmm, I'm going to prescribe Singlets. If you're not better in two weeks, come back in." These "Singlets" never did a damn thing. Dr. Quack clearly had a special deal going on with the Big Pharma manufacturer of these sugar-coated placebos. He made a fortune off of Singlets just through my family alone.

Oh, he had one other thing he kept threatening to do to me. "Hmmm, if he keeps getting stuffed up ears," Dr. Quack said solemnly to my mom, "We'll have to put tubes in his ears."

Whaaaaaaaat? The thought of tubes in my ears terrified me. Not only would it be painful and torturous, but I easily imagined the bullies lined up at school waiting to pummel the unfortunate kid with tubes sticking out of his ears. Barbaric, worse than electro-shock treatment to my grade school stuffed up ears.

One day, Dr. Quack had convinced my mother that my brother and I had allergies. So off to another quack we flew. This guy decided I was allergic to peanut butter (absolutely not true), milk (ditto), and a slew of ordinary things that I constantly indulged in without any problem whatsoever. Regardless, we had to get painful shots each week. And even though we knew it was coming, we tried to block the tragic day out, utilizing a child's ability to believe that what you don't think about won't hurt you. And every Friday, there was a stubborn, tear-filled fit with my mom always winning. I don't even remember getting lollipops.

Finally, once I hit college, I escaped the menace of Dr. Quack, choosing instead to just power through the illness or go to the campus clinic. Until one day I was talking to my friend and things came around to Dr. Quack.

"Dr. Quack!" exclaimed my buddy. "He was a terrible doctor! Everybody knew that he was the guy to go to if you wanted to get out of gym or play football or whatever. I can't believe you guys went to him! HA HA HA HA HA HA..."

So, it seemed that even though I'd put distance between myself and the notorious Dr. Quack, his long shadow still loomed over me with a handful of Singlets and plastic tubing.

Years later, as an adult I went to a nearby walk-in clinic due to bronchitis. I nearly shrieked when I found out the doctor on call was...Dr. Quack Junior! My past still haunted me.

Speaking of haunts, visit beautiful Gannaway, Kansas. A cozy little mining town originating in the '20's, Gannaway offers plentiful jobs and beautiful country living and murders and ghosts and scares and ancient curses...and...and...wait! Okay, maybe you shouldn't visit Gannaway. Instead, why not read about it in my historical ghost tale Ghosts of Gannaway, the perfect book to cozy up to on these cold winter nights.