Varmint County has always been an isolated, backward and pretty much self-contained place. Varmint County folk don't have much truck with outsiders and that feeling runs both ways. With the exception of occasional movie producers and state and federal law enforcement agencies, the outside world generally wants little to do with our humble little county.
One recent exception has been the field of health care. Varmint County, like everywhere else, is seeing its baby boom generation turn into the "Diovan and Depends generation," as Doc Filstrup so colorfully put it.
This aging of the county finally attracted the attention of big city hospitals and medical specialists, who are always on the lookout for an opportunity to establish a clinic somewhere. Everywhere you look anymore there's a Presbyterian Hospital North, a Baptist Southwest or an Our Lady of Inclement Weather Memorial Hospital Annex.
For a time these satellite operations clustered in the suburbs of big cities but more and more, as the aging boomer generation has provided opportunity, they have moved practices into rural communities. In this neck of the woods Varmint County, as one might expect, was among the last.
Earlier this year, Methodist Memorial established a Varmint County Clinic, featuring visits every week or two by specialists in orthopedics, pediatrics, urology, hematology and various other ologies. Imagine the excitement in Lower Primroy when various wives learned that there was a doctor in town who could perform vivisections.
"Finally," Henrietta Pennywell proclaimed at Belle's Beauty Salon, "I kin get Silas fixed and maybe we can stop at baby number eleven." This was, of course, one service that our own beloved Doc Filstrup refused to perform. "I'll patch their gunshot wounds, medicate their high blood pressure, bring 'em into this world and ease their pain as they go out, but I draw the line when it comes to monkeying around with an old boy's manhood," Doc always insisted, a wise move considering that 90% of the county's male population toted a gun.
So Doc finally had some competition for his services, which suited him just fine. "I'll still get more business than I want," Doc told Colonel Hugh and Judge Hard Time Harwell at their weekly poker game. "But now maybe there's someone else they can see in emergencies when I'm in the middle of playing to an inside straight."
Truth is, Doc Filstrup could retire today, never work another day in his life and still draw a hefty income. For 56 years he delivered every baby born in Varmint County except for a few delivered by midwives and those born on the front porch with only a grandma or two in attendance.
Most of those deliveries were performed on credit, Doc agreeing to take his fee in regular payments that range from a dollar to five or ten dollars a month. At last count, somewhere in the neighborhood of 2,000 Varmint Countians are still making regular payments every month. Some, like Henrietta and Silas Pennywell, are still paying for their last six children.
Needless to say, the appearance of a whole bevy of new physicians in town caused quite a stir. Doc Filstrup wasn't stirred in the least, nor were the numerous patients who declined to see Doc about minor things like broken limbs because they still owe him for their appendectomy or the last two babies.
Cloretta Hornsapple was in fact delighted to learn that no fewer than eight specialists would be practicing their arts at the new clinic. Cloretta had long ago run through every ailment known to modern medicine, to the point where Doc Filstrup simply prescribed another bottle of sugar pills without bothering to examine the patient.
The county's resident hypochondriac wasn't pleased with that situation at all. She wanted some young doctor to listen patiently as she described her myriad of symptoms, and she found her man in Dr. Nahrullah Mekabi-Salim.
"Mrs Hornsapple," Doctor Nahrullah said in his thick Sikh accent, "It is my duty to inform you that the symptoms you describe, if accurate, would mean that you have been clinically dead for the past 29 years."
"That's what I've been trying to tell that old goat Filstrup," Cloretta snorted. "But he just gives me some pills and sends me home. I tell ya, doc, I'm a sick woman."
If the appearance of a clinic full of new doctors caused a stir among locals, the locals caused even more of a stir among the visiting physicians and nurses.
Henrietta Pennywell was one of the first to book an appointment with Dr. Harold Plumb, of Plumb, Puller and Piles, specialists in urology, internal and intestinal medicine.
"I want my man Silas fixed. Can you schedule an operation?"
"Ahem. Well, certainly, Mrs. Pennywell. But your husband needs to be willing. He should schedule the procedure himself."
"You don't worry none about that. Go ahead and set up the operation and I'll have him here ready to go."
What Cloretta failed to tell the doctor was that she had informed her husband that they had a new doctor in town who specialized in, shall we say, "performance enhancement," and she had made an appointment or him. Poor Silas showed up expecting to come out a stud, only to learn that he was instead about to become a steer. Predictably, he bolted for the door, and he hasn't been seen for a week. The current rumor making the rounds is that he'll camp out over in Skunk Holler until Henrietta cools down.
Elijah Haig even graced the doors of the new clinic. Elijah would normally take all his business to his old friend Doc Filstrup, but the scion of the Haig clan began feeling chest pains one day while in town for a haircut and Doc was off on a house call in Stinking Creek.
Elijah was pinched, probed, pulled, CCTscanned and X-rayed until he nearly collapsed from exhaustion. The result: quick action to put in some stints was needed or the old man could kiss his heart goodbye.
Elijah agreed to the surgery by Cardiologist Dr. Hiram Ticker. First, however, the old man had to fill out all the medical and financial forms. Doc Ticker, as one might expect, did a double-take when he reviewed the chart.
Age: 92. Previous surgeries: "none" Medications: "none." Do you smoke, drink or take recreational drugs? "Ain't none of yer business, Mr. Sawbones."
"We'll take that as a yes," Doc Ticker observed.
What really concerned the doctor was the financial information.
"You have no insurance, Mr. Haig?"
"Nope."
"But you are on Medicare, surely.You're nearly three decades past retirement age."
"No Medicare. As far as I know, the guv'mint don't even know I exist and I aims to keep it that way."
"Then you're, uh, private pay. We'll need to make some arrangements up front. This is an expensive procedure."
"Doc, see that fellow out in the waiting room in overalls?"
"Uh, the one carrying the shotgun?"
"Yeah, that one. That's my son. They call him Little Poison. Well, I'm Big Poison. He has $20,000 cash money in his pocket. Soon as I walk through that door he'll pay your girls the whole shebang."
"That's, uh, fine Mr. Haig. O.K.! Let's prep you for surgery. By the way, just out of curiosity, what happens if you don't walk out through that door?"
"That's the reason he's carrying the shotgun, Doc. You see, if I'm going to have my chest cut open, I want the fellow doing the cuttin' to have as much to lose as I do."
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