A Mother’s Day Prescription from Dr. Mom

Your mother may not be the first caretaker you met upon entering this world, but let’s face facts -- her bedside manner far exceeded that of the doctor who yanked you from between her womb, held you up by your ankles and then slapped your butt.

It’s no wonder then that many adults still seek the counsel of Dr. Mom. We do this even though, if she is like The Mother of All Uncoolness, her knowledge of surgical breakthroughs is limited to those procedures performed on Hollywood starlets as reported by the National Enquirer.
Why do we always come back to mama's advice?

Because we figure the lady must onto something. She spent the majority of her life without using seat belts, hand sanitizer or soy milk! She survived despite our childhood attempts at giving her heart failure! She’s Robo-Mom!

Therefore, in honor of Mother's Day this weekend, let's reflect on some medical wit and wisdom that my mom, and probably yours, has dispensed through the years with neither a prescription nor a malpractice suit.

"Don't go out in this freezing weather with wet hair! You'll get pneumonia!"
In recent years, science – in the form of people with white coats and clipboards paid for by the cough syrup industry – has discredited this theory linking human rhinovirus to damp manes and chilly temperatures. Turns out, moms were right to warn us for a different reason. The icicles that can form in your follicles during these conditions can snap off and hasten the development of the hairline malady called "isolated widow's peak" or, more commonly, "the David Letterman floating isle of hair." Watch for this theory to be debunked soon in a major clinical trial underwritten by the makers of Rogaine.

"Don't forget your rubbers!"
Oh, Mother! Who knew your reminder to use those stretchy overshoes to protect my Buster Browns from the mud and puddles was really a way to ingrain the need for me, in my randier moments later in life, to protect my boy parts from the clap! On the other hand, maybe you were protecting yourself from prematurely being called "Grandma." Either way – well played!

"Dab some Mercurochrome on it."
For you youngsters, Mercurochrome was the antiseptic of choice for families throughout much of the 20^th century. It didn't burn like hydrogen peroxide and it dyed your skin a brilliant orangey red for days. This made even the most minor of scrapes appear bloody and life threatening which totally impressed friends at school. The effect also made Mercurochrome an essential ingredient for any kid's Halloween makeup. Zillions of tiny brown bottles sold later, someone realized the "Mercur" in the name stood for "mercury" and that slathering a toxic metal on an open wound may not be "good." The U.S. Food and Drug Administration snuck in the ban on the domestic sale of Mercurochrome while the nation was obsessed with the intimate revelations about President Clinton's affair with intern Monica Lewinsky. In a further insult to American moms (and wives), around the same time the FDA approved the use of Viagra.

"Sometimes you have to be your own doctor."
My mom loves this one. Not for me, but for herself. She uses it to justify occasionally skipping a few handfuls of the 477 medications she's on for high blood pressure, a condition caused by raising my sister and me. "If I take all those pills, I'm running to pee every six-and-half minutes!" she says. Which raises the question: What's more disturbing – the image of one's mom going to the bathroom or the image of her breaking out a stopwatch, calculator and spreadsheet to determine the exact intervals between her goings to the bathroom?

"Let me kiss it and make it better."
No comment. I don't mess with what still works.

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