Local Doc Lays Down Stethoscope

by Woody

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Longtime Doc Lays

Down His Stethoscope

In 1922, when my grandfather began his career as a country doctor, newfangled X-ray machines were found only in large hospitals. Ultrasound, CAT and MRI scans, meanwhile, would remain the stuff of science fiction for another half-century.

All the same, Dr. Ansel Woodburn had access to a state-of-the-art medical technology that could “see” inside the human body: his magical index and middle fingers and thumb. With the delicate touch of a safecracker, or sometimes employing less-than-gentle prodding, he could determine everything from broken bones to a breech fetus.

Under the headline “Fond Memories of Doc Prevail” in The Urbana (Ohio) Daily Citizen many years ago, Marilyn Johnson recalled being treated by my grandfather: “When I was small, I was always breaking a bone. Dr. Ansel Woodburn would first of all use his trusty (and hated) thumb to locate the fracture. He would then set the bone and cast it.”

She specifically recalled one fracture – and treatment: “After he casted my arm, he asked how my favorite doll was doing. Before I could say ‘Jack Robinson,’ he had fashioned a doll cradle with Plaster of Paris and wires on which to rock.”

Another memory was when her father had a finger nearly torn off in a farming accident.

“Dad wrapped it quickly in his handkerchief,” she wrote. “We had about seven miles to go and even though I didn’t have a driver’s permit, I drove. Dr. Woodburn sewed the finger back on because he thought the tip was getting blood – the finger did at last turn pink and became useful – and then sent us home with the admonition that if I got stopped by a policeman, ‘Send him to me!’

“Dr. Woodburn,” Marilyn Johnson concluded in print, in thanks, and in memoriam two decades after his death, “I reckon I’ll have to say you were A-OK – except for that mean thumb!”

Dr. Geoff Loman, my family’s “Dr. Ansel”…

I bring up these recollections because a half-century after Ansel made his final house call, another “A-OK” family doctor who could diagnose broken bones and more with his fingers and mean thumb retired earlier this week.

I saw Dr. Geoff Loman do exactly that for a leg fracture when my son was three and similarly for a broken wrist when my daughter was seven. The ensuing X-rays were simply formalities before he set the their breaks in fiberglass casts.

Over the years, from cradle to college and beyond, he also sutured their cuts and healed their illnesses. Indeed, for more than 30 years he was my family’s Dr. Ansel and I can offer no higher compliment.

My further prevailing fond memories of Doc Loman are of him always coming into the examining room smiling like he just heard a terrific joke; his soft baritone voice warm as an analgesic balm; his bedside manner as reassuring as a doll cradle crafted from Plaster of Paris for a tearful little girl.

In honor of Dr. Loman’s four decades as a family practitioner in the Ventura community, it seems fitting to share an original poem my grandfather penned inside his copy of “Modern Surgery” and dated Oct. 1, 1919:

“The worker dies, but the work lives on / Whether a picture, a book, or a clock

“Ticking the minutes of life away / For another worker in metal or rock

“My work is with children and women and men – Not iron, not brass, not wood

“And I hope when I lay my stethoscope down / That my Chief will call it good”

Dr. Loman has retired his stethoscope, but without question his Chief will call his work good.

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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. Follow him on Twitter and Instagram at @woodywoodburn. His books are available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com.

Check out my memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece” and my essay collection “Strawberries in Wintertime: Essays on Life, Love, and Laughter” …