Well, my cold is almost gone, no more runny nose, just a cough now and then. My sister Diane sent me a card with my picture on the front of it, about five years old, wearing toy glasses, with a stethoscope around my neck . It was all part of my Doctor's Kit, a Christmas present from Santa. The kit came with an apron to wear, watch, device to check you ears, the little hammer to hit your knee for reflexes, pill containers, and a small bag of candies to fill the pill bottles. There was also an eye chart and prescription pad and a plastic needle to give pretend shots with. It came with bandaids, but these were used up on my dolls and were replaced with bandaids from our medicine cabinet. This was from an era when doctors made house visits and needed to carry a kit.

I remember Doctor Supple coming to our Washington Avenue apartment in Grandma's house. You could hear him climbing the stairs, I think I was probably screaming, No, no, but up he came trudging up the stairs. I had been sick, maybe with whooping cough and coughed until I threw up, which Bucky has saved in one of my father's photography trays (ugh). Dr. Supple was a heavy man, and a heavy smoker, his office desk had a full ashtray on it. But he, like the other Beacon doctors would come to your house. He checked the tray, pulled out some medicine and I was on the way to mend.

The doctors of that time were heroes, everyone had a story of being saved. Bucky told of a friend who couldn't breath and the doctor asked for a fountain pen, used the ink well portion, and performed a tracheometry in the house, putting the pen piece in her throat to open the airway. I think Liz Taylor had that done, but not with a pen part. My kids' father at age ten had cut off the tip of his finger with a sharp shovel and his father put it in a coffee can and took him with the finger piece to Dr. Astone, who sewed the finger tip back on. "Let's try this", he said, and it worked.

Toy doctor kits are probably not even made anymore. If they did make them today, they would have to have MRI and EKG machines with them and all the equipment used today to determine what the ailment is and what to do about it. The doctors in the past did pretty darn good with just that stethoscope and little hammer.

I've always believed in prayer, and especially since Ria died I have prayed even more. I have a whole list of relatives and friends that I pray for and lately I have even added two dogs to the list. The dogs are my neighbors' dogs, Irene's old dog Stray and Tony across the street dog whose name I never can remember. Stray appeared more than 15 years ago, running through the neighborhood with a dog catcher in pursuit. Irene hid the dog until the dog catcher must have decided to look elsewhere. Stray, as they named her, was in tough shape. Mal nourished, yet full of milk with swollen teats, she must have just given birth. Anyway, Irene nursed her back to health and has had her all these years. A few months ago it didn't look good for Stray, in fact so bad, they dug a hole for her burial in the front yard, next to the other dog buried there. I told them I would pray for the dog and I started that night. The same with Tony's dog...he said I thought we would have to put her down she can barely walk. Tony sadly built a ramp going up the front steps so the dog could hobble in and out. I said I would prayer for his dog and added him to the list.

Tony's Mom had a rough year, broken hip, medication problems, confusion, etc, the doctor's told the family she might not make it to Thanksgiving. She went on my list. Now here is where it gets good. The empty hole is still in the front yard. Stray got stronger and is no longer on death row. Tony's dog also is doing better, walks freely around the house with the frisbee in her mouth, looking pretty good. And Tony's Mom - Sabra recently said, "Ma, you can stop praying for Sybil - she looks wonderful and even has a new boyfriend." When she visited Sabra's house over the holiday, Tony later remarked "Did you see that ring on my mother's finger? It looked like an engagement ring."

Last week I got Timmy's cold, a real dinger, the kind with a cough that doesn't even sound human, like a dog or a trapped animal. Sore, sore throat, grocery bag full of used kleenex, the works. So here's the ticket. Aunt Lillian and Uncle Phil always said you can never pray for yourself, it must always be for others.

So here I am, with this powerful prayer stuff and I am trying to see if I can sneak around the rule. Please God, help me find a way to stop coughing. It doesn't work. Too bad dogs can't pray - I would ask those two dogs across the street to give me a hand.