The Country Doctor

We have leather furniture in our family room.
A sofa, a love seat, and an over-sized chair turned at interesting angles for conversation.
The kind of furniture with the rolled arms and the metal studs down the side.
Every time I look at it, I am reminded of something from my childhood.

When I was a little girl, our doctor was just that.
Our doctor, plain and simple.
He was not a man with a title that specialized; one that set him apart.
He was just a Doctor, our doctor.

Looking back now through my adult eyes and memory, he was the quintessential doctor.
The doctor right out of the well-known Norman Rockwell painting.
The man with the white coat and the stethoscope around his neck.
The doctor that sat behind a large wooden desk with a roll top, in a chair on wheels.

The doctor with the black leather bag never far from reach.
The doctor who wrote out prescriptions on a small notepad of paper.
The doctor who handed the prescription directly to you to fill at a drug store.
A doctor with a small office that consisted of a waiting room and an examination room.

I can still see the old scale, in my mind’s eye.
I can still hear the creak in the floorboards that were warped in spots.
I can still see the glass jars filled with cotton balls and tongue depressors.
I can still remember the eye chart with the big E that I would stare at across the room.

So different from today’s streamlined offices with an office staff and a billing department.
Back then, the office was small but efficient.
One nurse, who handled everything else for the doctor who already handled everything.
One small office that served the entire community well.

The old rotary phone sat on the desk with no answering machine and no secretary.
The appointment book had illegible handwriting that struggled to stay in the margins.
No computer.
No data stored and backed up.

Just a tall file cabinet with drawers slightly ajar.
Manila folders protruding here and there.
Names of patients written in ink across the top.
Alphabetized and, if truth be told, memorized and easily accessible.

Such was medical care back in the 1960’s.
Personal yet antiquated by today’s standards.
Doctors who made house calls.
Doctors without any beepers, who answered their own phones.

Doctors who knew you and knew your family.
Doctors who served the small community in their charge.
Doctors who were paid in cash, if they were paid at all.
Doctors with a small, metal cash box, who made change for you if necessary.

I can remember the small blue bottle with the dropper for ear infections.
I can remember the leather examining table with the rolled edges.
I remember his strong hand helping you jump on and off.
I remember large books on shelves going this way and that; his own medical library.

Those days of country doctors are long gone in our current maze of healthcare.
Today, only a patient number sets you apart from someone else.
Today, there are large practices with multiple doctors on duty.
Billing offices, front desks with an office staff, referrals, and long wait times.

Doctors that set broken bones as easily as they gave out lollipops.
Doctors that lived in the community they served.
Doctors that you saw at church, at home and school meetings and at the grocery store.
Doctors who were always affectionately called Doc.

Luke, the Gentile who wrote the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts, was a doctor.
Our dear friend Luke, the doctor, and Demas send greetings. (Colossians 4:14)

The fact that Luke was a doctor came through his words as he wrote.
Medical terms that are not found in the other Gospels are unmistakable in Luke.

Jesus left the synagogue and went to the home of Simon. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was suffering from a high fever, and they asked Jesus to help her. So he bent over and rebuked the fever and it left her. She got up at once and began to wait on them. (Luke 4:38,39)

Only Luke describes the type of fever: high.

A certain ruler asked Him, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “Why do you call Me good?” Jesus answered. “No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: Do not commit adultery, do not murder, do not steal, do not give false testimony, honor your father and mother.” “All these I have kept since I was a boy,” he said. When Jesus heard this, He said to him, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow Me.” When he heard this, he became very sad because he was a man of great wealth. Jesus looked at him and said, “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed it is easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” Those who heard this asked, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus replied, “What is impossible with men is possible with God.” (Luke 18:18-27)

Only Luke, the doctor, uses the term for a surgical needle.

When Jesus was praying in the Garden, He laid down His will for His Father’s will.
And being in anguish, He prayed more earnestly, and His sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. (Luke 22:44)

Only Luke, the doctor would know and accurately describe, Hematidrosis.

Luke was a companion to the apostle Paul and traveled with him on missionary journeys.
As Paul was in prison, many others had left him.
We have another glimpse into the man who was Luke.
Only Luke is with me. (2 Timothy 4:11)

God doesn’t waste anything.
He gifts us uniquely and uses those gifts for His Glory.
God did that with Luke.
God does that with us.