Published on April 22nd, 2014 | by Richard Black0
“First, Do No Harm”, a Career in Podiatry and My Upcoming Nobel Peace Prize
First and foremost I must apologize. It’s been some time since I’ve kept you all up to date on my thoughts and adventures as of late. I know that many of you stake your mental well being upon my posts and I beg you to please understand that it’s nothing personal. I’ve been on vacation and while I look forward to regaling you about my adventures that is for another time.
That said let’s get started.
Many, many years ago, shortly after college as I was floating through life and a pool, a friend of the family gave me some advice.
“Podiatry,” he said in that slightly condescending manner the privileged and wealthy have when imparting some bit of wisdom to a member of the younger generation. I smiled politely and later seduced his daughter, after of course, his wife seduced me.
Then again he may have said, “Plastics”. It was altogether a confusing time for me and the nation at large. Some blamed President Johnson, others the hippies, I myself blame Simon and Garfunkel for the affair.
Anywho some fifty years later I’ve been thinking about a new career or, let’s be honest, a career period and I think podiatry might be the way to go. It’s not that I have a particular affinity for feet. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor and as I was mulling around one of the tenets of the profession “First do no harm” I landed on podiatry. After all whats the worst that can happen?
Sure there are some hurdles to overcome. There is the small matter of my grade point average as an undergraduate, specifically the fact that it is so low I couldn’t get into a cooking school in Korea. Even if I gave them with a pack of sled dogs.
Fortunately we live in a global economy andI can purchase a top notch education for a few hundred thousand dollars at one of the finer medical schools in South America! The wife is on the fence on the subject but I’m sure her concerns about blowing our life savings on a dubious degree from a third world country will fade once I’m able to present myself to society as a bonafide MD.
In my vast experience it’s not where the degree is from so much as the fact that I’d have one that matters. That’s what they told me when I received a BA in English Composition almost 20 years ago and look at where I am now!
Aside from the significant bump in social standing my attraction to the field of podiatry is threefold.
First and foremost I have a raging foot fetish. I lied earlier. After handling peoples’ feet all day and my motor will be ramped and ready to take my wife into an orgiastic level of pleasure that has, so far, been unknown.
Secondly, coming from a family of overweight German and Irish descent, I think that I’ve seen the worst that feet have to offer. I’ve taken a belt sander to quite a few yellowed talons and massaged many a bunion in my youth with nary a complaint and perhaps most importantly, minimal gagging.
Of course I’ve spent a goodly amount of time in therapy but I choose to believe that it had nothing to do with the time aunt Agnes had a toe curling orgasm as I shaved the mountainous callouses on her massive right foot.
Thirdly, and finally, I’ve always wanted a career where I can help people, command some measure of respect and not screw things up so terribly for anyone other than myself. A bad day as a podiatrist beats the living hell out of a nasty time at the NICU or an “oopsie” as a neurologist any day of the week and twice on Sundays.
Put another way I’d much rather be on the receiving end of the phrase “Holy shit I’ve never seen that before,” from a podiatrist than just about anyone else in the medical profession.
The only catch is selling the wife on the project and, in my own subtle way, I’ve started my campaign. When Laura complains about the price of groceries I tactfully mention that the cost of living in the Dominican Republic has got be two thirds less than where we are now. “Maybe even three thirds,” I say knowingly
To date these comments have yet to elicit the desired response. I can talk about how great the citrus is in the Bahamas or how great the climate is in Puerto Rico for people our age until I’m blue in the face. Usually I get a look from my wife like she’s sizing me up for a straight jacket and while an offer to check out a life in Jamaica has yet to be forthcoming Laura has purchased a crate of grapefruit and a vat of skin cream so I’ve got that going for me…which is nice.
Clearly however more overt means are required. Just what those might be I’m not sure. I hear that a license to practice medicine and a full background can be had for around $50,000 on the open market. Unfortunately I’ve got my scruples and lack the imagination necessary to explain to my wife as to how or why I’ve kept my degree from Stanford a secret for over a decade.
I could always, of course, rise to a level importance in society and have a degree bestowed upon me. Compared to the challenges I’m facing going the standard route it might be easier to reconcile the issues facing Israel and Palestine than finding a way into a, or really any, medical school.
I can see it already. After I’ve accepted the award for the Nobel Peace Prize I’ll be bombarded with offers to impart my wisdom from almost every institution of higher learning in the country in return for substantial monetary compensation and an honorary degree.
Of course I’ll only accept invitations from the finest. Yale, Harvard, Michigan, and the University of Santa Cruz. Just imagine the look on the president’s face at Dartmouth as I receive my degree, lean over and mention “I hear you’ve got a great medical school. What can you tell me about podiatry.”