Doc

Levi and I took a trip down I-70 the other day.  This trip took us through Sweet Springs, Missouri.  Passing through there, I couldn't help but notice the I-70 Community Hospital and every time I see it I immediately think of Doc Lea.  I miss that man!  I don't know of any other doctors that can diagnose your illness by the answer you give to the question "what color is your snot?"  I remember a time that Brad split his forehead open at work.  We went to the local ER, but they gave us an ice pack and told us it'd be about an hour.  Not pleased with that answer, I called Doc to see if he could stitch Brad up at the office.  He told us that it would make his day!  So we headed into his office and he and Mina got to work stitching Brad up.  I sat in corner reading a magazine, which Doc could hardly stand.  At least a dozen times he said "get up here and watch this, you don't know what you're missing out on".  He was like a kid in the candy store while he closed Brad up.  While I'll always remember these things, it's the way that Doc helped me battle anxiety/depression that have left a very special place in my heart for him.  The summer after I had my tubal pregnancy, I started having horrible chest pains and often had a difficult time breathing.  I was convinced that I had some horrible illness and was on my deathbed.  After being rushed to an ER by a friend, I was told that there appeared to be nothing wrong with me and I should check in with my regular doctor.  Unfortunately, at this time Doc Lea wasn't covered by our insurance so he wasn't my PCP.  I went to my doctor and after about 15 minutes of conversation was told that I was depressed and handed a prescription for Prozac.  I threw it away on the way out the door because no part of me believed that all of my symptoms were in my head.  As soon as I got in my car, I called Doc's office and set up an appointment.  I went in furious and told him how ridiculous my visit with my PCP had been.  For the next few weeks, Doc ran every test that might possibly explain what was wrong with me - chest x-rays, blood work, stress test, etc.  Every time the tests came back showing nothing was wrong, Doc calmly told me what we could do next.  Finally, Doc called me at work one day to tell me that my latest round of tests had shown that nothing was wrong.  I was finally starting to realize that maybe it was in my head and I told him this.  His response?  "It's about God-damn time you realized that.  Come see me after work today and we'll figure this out".  He knew from Day 1 that I was suffering from panic attacks.  He also knew that I wasn't on board with that diagnosis.  Rather than force it on me, he waited very patiently for me to come around to it on my own, knowing that's what it would take to get me the help that I needed.  Doc helped me to understand that there was nothing wrong with me and that depression/panic attacks are not something to be ashamed of.  After he diagnosed me, I continued to see Doc up until he closed his practice and went to Sweet Springs.  Sadly, Doc passed away a few years ago.  I wish he was still here so he could see my Levi.  I often wonder what advice and suggestions he might have.  If nothing else, I'd like to see the look on Lorin's face when he asks "what color's your snot".  Thanks for everything Doc.  I miss you!