RaisingDad: Two for the Show

The thing of it is ...



The thing about getting older is that you find yourself going to the doctor more often,

Blood tests, mammograms if you're female, colonoscopies.

Since we live in the future, wasn’t all this medical nonsense supposed to be taken care of by now with the taking of a pill? And where are our flying cars?

One thing that annoys me are referrals. Whatever little complaint I might mention, my doctor is quick to refer me to ANOTHER doctor.

Heck, even I can do that. In fact, when I was deciding on a career, I should have just legally changed my first name to "Doctor" and made a living referring sick people to REAL doctors. You know, the ones who had the bad judgement to get in debt going to medical school.

Well, the good news is my health is fine, but my bad cholesterol levels are not, so in addition to losing weight I have to change my diet. More fish, less fried foods, cut out sugar and bread. You know, the things that make life worth living. I'm a man who has spent his life avoiding bad habits, so I consider this God's cruel joke.

Speaking of jokes:

A man goes to the doctor.

“Doc,” he says, “I don't drink or smoke or do drugs or gamble or chase women. Will I live to be a hundred?”

“Sure,” the doctor says, “but why would you want to?” 


"What did the doctor say?" my father asked me when I walked back into the waiting area where he was.

It's funny, but we spent my growing up years avoiding each other. My father was of the Children-Should-Be-Seen-Not-Heard generation. Me? I saw enough police procedurals on TV to know not to incriminate myself.

Having said all that, the funny part I'm referring to (See? I AM good at referrals.) is that we now spend a lot of our time together. I take him to HIS doctor appointments, and he comes with me to mine. I take him to lunch when we're done, or at least I try to take him to lunch. After my father vetoes every one of my suggestions, sometimes the only suggestion left is to go home.

"I have to go on a diet," I told him. "My cholesterol's too high."

My father snorted in disgust, enthusiastically rubbing his nose in contempt. He's familiar with the tyranny of the medical profession. Fortunately, my wife is an excellent cook and can accommodate our culinary requirements. Not only is she beautiful, but she can make it taste delicious as well.

"I guess we can be diet buddies," I told him. "You can be my sponsor, like in AA. Whenever I'm in the mood for some fried chicken, I'll give you a call."

"You bet," he agreed, "and we’ll sneak off to KFC."


I told you last month how my wife and I ran into a buddy of mine at Costco.

It was sad news.

Even sadder than usual.

He was recently diagnosed pre-Alzheimer's. He's retired and spends a lot of his time searching the internet for a cure. It gives him hope, I guess.

As inappropriate as it is, that reminds me of another joke:

A man goes to the doctor to get his test results.

"I'm sorry," the doctor says, "but it’s bad news. You've got cancer."

"Oh, no," the man says. "That's terrible news."

"It's worse than that," the doctor continues. "You also have Alzheimer's."

"I have Alzheimer’s? That’s awful," the man exclaims. “Well," he says after a while, "at least I don't have cancer."

Anyway, his wife started explaining the sad situation to us.

"But I've got a great doctor," my friend cut in. There was never a conversation he didn't want to dominate.

"You do?" my wife asked, being polite. "What's his name?"

"Aw, jeez," my friend said, "his name. You know, with this Alzheimer's, sometimes I forget things."

My wife and I nodded our heads in sympathy, and here I exaggerate our conversation, but not by much.

"His name... his name..." he said, trying to remember. And then, out of the blue, he asked me, "What's that TV show I like?”

"Which TV show?" I asked back.

"The one about nothing.”


"Yeah, Seinfeld. Didn't he make a movie? A cartoon?"

"Yeah," I said, wondering where he was going with all this.

"What was it called?"

"The Bee Movie," I answered.

"That's right, The Bee Movie. What's that thing that bees make that's sweet?"

"Honey?" I guessed.

"That's right," my friend said, and then turned to his wife. "Honey, what's my doctor's name?"


May your troubles last as long as your New Year resolutions. theduchenebrothers@gmail.com; @JimDuchene

Doctors, dad