When I got steady access to internet 2 1/2 years ago (I know, dark ages…I won’t tell you how long it took me to start texting) my world got a whole lot bigger! If ran out of a particular ingredient: Googled it. I discovered this weird weed growing in my lawn: Googled it. My tomatoes didn’t look quite right: Googled it. I asked my husband a question he didn’t know: “Why don’t you Google it?”
Well that’s a dumb question! Your doctor is your doctor, of course! What if doctor is teacher, though…?
What if I told you that the word “doctor” comes from the Latin word meaning “teacher?”
Now, how would you answer the question, “Who is your doctor?” Now that you know doctor is teacher…
I only recently learned of this meaning myself. So in my mind I journeyed back through all my doctor visits. On most occasions I left the doctor’s office with a feeling of helplessness and no answers to the simple questions I had. Once, when I was 16 and celibate, I was berated for my choice of no birth control. Another time I saw a doctor about horrendous PMS. I was offered the Pill. That’s it. No education on hormones, imbalances, or endometriosis.
I’m pretty sure my husband was nervous about his clothes for the first few months of our marriage when I kept asking him obvious laundry questions.
It wasn’t that I’d never done laundry in an automatic washer before, it was that I’d never had to do anyone else’s laundry before. I didn’t care about sorting colors and softeners and soil level when I did my own laundry.
You see, growing up we had a wringer washer for doing laundry. Saturday was wash day because all of us kids were home from school to help. Summer was whatever day field work gave us a chance to do laundry.