Where's the Village Doctor

Where the hell is the Village Doctor? In the words of Wyclef Jean “Someone Please call 911!” The village Doctor has gone missing. You know the village doctor, that kindly old dude with the hut that smelled a little funny and kept really odd hours? Or maybe he was friendly old Dr Foster who had delivered damn near everyone in the town dating back to your Mom and Dad. Who ever he was in your hometown, parish, or city you knew him. You trusted him. You told him your secrets and he bandaged your wounds. He administered leeches when they were needed and stuck pins in stress points in your body. Sure there was a time in our past when he might crack your skull open to release “dark spirits” but this was our guy. And our guy is MIA , replaced by modern medical mercenaries. The new breed of doctor motivated not by the oath he takes but the checks he cashes. Look, in all our history the caregivers have and should be well rewarded, whether by a grateful farmer who brings over his best pig, or the loyal client who refers every friend and family member to your practice. And doctors deserve the salary and respect that comes from holding that title. But in light the recent death of Donda West we are forced to confront an ugly situation, the cosmetic surgeon. Yeah that guy, you can find that everywhere, from posh Beverly Hills medical complexes to strips malls in Reseda, that guy is everywhere. Oh you know him well, you’ve seen him on Oprah and the reality shows peddling their suspect cures. Now the first thing that ran through my mind was that Ms West must be a narcissistic, self absorbed elitist caught up by her own vanity, no more desired of our sympathy that the Goth kid next door who sticks pins in his face then complains when they get infected. But Donda West was not this person. She was a professor, an author, and a true academia. She was a pillar of strength to not only her son but countless other as the Chair of the Kayne West Foundation. She was the best of us, someone who gave to others. The problem is not with West it is with our culture and our relationship with our caregivers. Now instead of diagnosing our ailments Doctors look for things to fix. Your nose is too big, your breasts are too small, your uni-brow is not attractive. This I tell you is just an extension of the change in the medical profession. Pharmaceutical reps line up to meet with Doctor to peddle their cures; commercials bombard us day and night. Can’t sleep? Feel depressed? Penis too small? Talk to your doctor about our cure. Bad medicine no matter how you slice it. We used to see our doctors twice a year for checks up and maybe during flu season and again in spring when pollen filled that air and clogged my sinus. We used to live by mottos like “An apple a day keeps the Doctor away.” And my doctor still owned a big house and drove a Benz. And I was fine with that, he was trusted professional and I was paying in part for the degree on his office wall and the confidence that he was looking out for me. The medical industry is not like the rap game. I don’t want a doctor “gettin his hustle on”. What was fine for 50 is not okay for my family Doc. My grandfather used to always tell me “just because someone wrote it down it doesn’t make it true.” And he has right. Challenge authority, ask the tough questions, and demand the honest answers. The people we used to trust have turned on us. They see us not as friends and neighbors but as customers and clients. They see us as the means to fuel lavish rock star lifestyle. Surgery is a risk, no matter what the procedure and we must take pre-caution to protect ourselves. Know your Doctor, his certifications, and his history. Learn about your procedure, the risk and weigh the benefits. Do the work that old Dr. Foster used to do for you cause trust me brother he aint on the job any more.