BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 280
Since I was then six-two, one-ninety-two, and meaner than any junkyard dog, I
believe my threats to “send every fucking one of you assholes down to the ER” were
somehow believed. It was decided they‟d install it under anesthesia and I‟d deal with it
that way. Um, that was their decision, not mine.
Next day, after the pre-op shot, groggy and goofy, I was being wheeled down the
hall on a gurney, heading for surgery. I changed my mind and refused it. Told ‟em to get
me back to my room. Discharged later that day, I went back home to my parents‟ house,
where I still sponged off them, and went to bed. Sick. Very sick.
A surprise call the next day from Ralph G.‟s office resulted in Mom setting me an
appointment. The next afternoon, I was in his office. His personal office, at the back of
the building. We sat down and he lit a cigarette.
I didn‟t, since I‟d learned early in life doctors were the only ones who could cause
God to step into the gutter when passing on the sidewalk. A gesture of well deserved
respect. I sat and listened, wondering what the hell he had in mind, and what it would
mean to me. Maybe for me.
That‟s when I received the shock of my life. Even someone you might think is an
asshole beyond salvage can, at some point, be a good guy. Have something of value to
toss into the pot. Cigarette in his left hand, leaning back in his chair, that huge mole on
his cheek fascinating me even more than usual, he began. “Bill, I think I know what‟s
wrong.”
“What, Dr. Carlson?” responded the boy who still had no idea a doctor is but an
employee of the patient. A highly educated, very knowledgeable, perhaps even gifted,
contract employee. Someone who, contrary to popular belief, actually has a first name.
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