Doc - Divorce

After a bit, Chipper asked, “So Doc, what ever happened to you and Sandy?  I only met her a couple times, but you two seemed great together.”

“Yeah, we were great.  At least parts of it were great.  We were good friends before we got married, and the friendship stayed good.  We threw great parties together, and had a lot of laughs.  People loved coming and being part of them.  Even when our marriage was falling apart, nobody knew.  We’re both pretty open sharing happiness, but more private with pain. 

When we finally decided to pull the plug, we took some dear friends out to dinner to let them know we were divorcing – so they’d hear it directly from us.  When we told them, they both burst into tears.  My God!  We were reaching across the table to touch them, and reassure them that everything was going to be alright.  It was kind of comical, in a truly loving, bittersweet way. 

“As much as we loved one another—and we did love each other—I was never much of a husband to her, and she was not what I would have hoped for in a wife.  It should have been obvious from the start—in a way it was—but when we met, we were both about as old as you’d want to be to become a parent, and we each liked that the other was ready for that.  Over time, though, our differences drove a wedge between us.  Once you’re close to forty, you’re already pretty set in your habits; you have rigid expectations about what you’ll offer a mate, and what you expect in one.  Our shared love of our daughter kept us together for quite a while, and helped us ignore the inevitable for as long as we could, but we never really got past the differences, and finally decided we each deserved the chance to find a better fit”

“Did it get ugly?” Buck asked, “Because most of my divorces involved flying dishes, loud swearing, and usually at least one 911 call.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Bucky.”  Doc replied, “Rarely even a raised voice – and no real blame either.  Just the kind of deep hurt that sits in your gut, and wakes you up in the middle of the night, wondering if you’ll ever be happy again.

“Sandy has found a great guy.  And I haven’t lost hope there might be somebody out here for me too. 

 “But we’re not kids anymore; hell, we’re not even forty. We’re not looking for somebody to share our transition into adulthood, or to build a family together.  That’s all behind me  The malleability of youth has all been pounded out, and we have become rigid – and overly protective of our wounds. 

In a way we’re like old toys at the bottom of the toybox; some with an arm or a leg missing, hair fallen out and ragged, or a stray spring popping out.  What I’m getting at is we’ve got a lot of miles on us, and we seem to be looking for a mate who can protect us where we’re broken, and maybe needs help where we have help to offer.  It’s a weird-ass way to start out a relationship, but you hear about it working out sometimes.  But for people who are slow to bond—or maybe were hard to fit, even when they were young—the prospects aren’t that bright.”   

Doc - Career Reveal - WFW

They all sat around the campfire, easing into the mountain evening; staring at the flames, sipping on their beers and straight-shots, passing around a pipe, and generally letting dinner settle in.  The light rain earlier woke up the smells of the old-growth forest – fresh sap, and decaying fir and pine needles all along the floor.  It was a magical time of silent pleasures, until the flatulence began.  You might think men in their sixties would be past the humor and novelty of farts – but you would be wrong.  What began as a simple release of pressure soon devolved into a competition, with evaluations in categories ranging from loudness, duration, resonance, and occasional new categories.   You could see the faces of some of the less-prepared guys turning red from exertion, as they tried to advertise a product they just couldn’t release – vaporware, I suppose you could call it.  

After things quieted down a bit, Chipper asked, “So Rip, what’s this about you being a doctor?”

“I’m not”, Rip replied.

“What about that couple we saw in town last weekend, who called you ‘Doc’, and were telling you all about their little girl?  

“Well, I’m not a doctor anymore.  I retired last year.”

Nero jumped in, “Well how the fuck long WERE you a doctor without telling us – your lifelong friends?”

“Look, I’m sorry if you all thought I was concealing something from you.  I just didn’t think it mattered.  I don’t know what half of you do for a living.  It’s not like I could treat any of you – or would want to if I could.  You don’t have the right plumbing.”

“Oh man, oh man!”, began Fogie, “A lady doctor!  That’s even worse!  All the stories you could have shared.  Any one of us would kill to have a job working with bare pussies all day long.  You’re going to have to make up for lost time with stories from the office!”  

“Shit man!  Are any of you starting to see why I kept this to myself?  Do you think my job was a parade of girly models trooping through my office in lingerie each day for my pleasure?”

Red responded, “Dude, if that’s not the case, you have to let us down easy.  Remember the dreams you might be destroying.  And, when you do share, just tell us about the healthy ones … you know, routine checkups.”  

Rip said, “Okay, I know you guys are just fucking with me, but for the record, there’s something called HIPAA.  There’s a lot to it, but the relevant section for tonight is ‘When you treat a patient, you keep your fucking mouth shut about it’.  If you violate that, they don’t let you see patients anymore.”

“But you’re retired, who cares?” Fogey interjected, earning him a laugh from everybody.  

“I think I’d still be in trouble, guys.  Besides, old habits die hard.  When you spend a couple decades respecting people’s privacy, the idea kind of grows on you.”  Rip was ready to change the subject, but added, “Besides, there is nothing titillating about helping people stay healthy—or get better—no matter who, or what parts of their bodies.  You’re there to help people, and you kind of dissociate the patient you see in front of you from anything sexual.  If you guys really need something to stimulate your imagination, I’m sure there are plenty of videos online that will be a lot more effective than any stories I could share—even if I were willing—without violating anybody’s privacy.”

Little Debbie stood up – all six-feet, five of him, and started to unbuckle his pants, “Since you’re a doc, Doc, I wonder if you could take a look at this boil.  It’s right here between my balls and my bunghole.”  

“Fuck you, Deb!” Rip interrupted, “it’s nighttime, in the middle of the Oregon Cascades.  Do you think I brought up exam instruments, just in case one of you wanted to play Show and Tell?  I’m not going to look at whatever the hell kind of infection or infestation you’ve managed to get yourself into.  Besides, I said before, you all don’t have the plumbing for what I practiced – WHEN I practiced.  When you get to town, I can recommend a competent large-animal veterinarian.

“And Chipper, I can’t hardly thank you enough for bringing this up tonight.  Fuck, man!  Will I ever hear the end of this?”

“Fuck you, Doc”, Chipper responded, “You aren’t getting this ration of shit because you’re a doctor (or WERE a doctor).  We’ve been your best friends since grade school, and you kept this from us for … what?  twenty years?  Thirty years?  Yeah, you’ll hear the end of this, but not tonight … maybe not this year.  Honest to God, man!  How fucking arrogant are you.”

“So it’s ‘Doc’ now?  You’re going to start calling me Doc?  Shit!  I’m sorry, guys – seriously sorry.  I really never kept this to myself to keep you all out of the loop, or disrespect you.  It just never felt like something I wanted, or needed, to share.  I had my ‘at work’ life, and my life with my boyhood buddies.  It just never made sense to mush them together.

“I’m going to hit the sack now.  I’ll see you all in the morning.  And, Deb, I’ll see if I can find the name of the veterinarian for you.”