We Had Our Own Doogie Howser

Looks don’t matter in the hospital.

My husband was comatose in a trauma hospital. He had a severe traumatic brain injury and needed a CT scan.

Every time the hospital staff tried to get him downstairs to the CT machine, they would get as far as the elevator. The staff had to bring him back to his room and hook him back up to the machines that were keeping him alive. They were baffled, then someone suggested a new doctor on staff for an answer.

I watched this young doctor examine my husband. When he finished, he said he wanted to speak to me. After he explained the medication he wanted to prescribe for my husband and why it was needed, he asked me if I had any questions.

I sure did have questions.

Me: “How old are you?”

Doctor: “How old do you think I am?”

Me: “Younger than my kids.”

Doctor (with a big grin on his face): “You’re probably right.”

The medication worked and my husband had a CT scan with no complications. From that day forward, I called that doctor “Doogie Howser.”