For the past twenty years, my visit to the sterile white-jacket clinic has been, well, bearable and if I must admit, enjoyable.  When I met my doctor, Bradley Harris, whom I fondly called Dr. H, I immediately loved his bedside manner.  He was not an alarmist and always found a way to allay my pseudo hypochondriac mind.  (Picture Woody Allen in Hannah and Her Sisters).

With his fashionable bow tie, a glimmer in his eye and always an optimistic take, I found him to be truly a partner in my health.  Soon, I had my entire family (even Tracie on visits from Germany) seeing this great doctor.  I always felt special, as if I was the most important patient on the planet.  

On Wednesday evening, I discovered that I along with literally a few thousand others had the same special sentiment of feeling "special" to Dr. H.  When my mother and I arrived for a farewell reception honoring his 33 years of service, we were informed the party was too large for the hospital to accommodate, so we were moved across the street to a hotel.

The reception line weaved like a snake as Dr. H's patients patiently waited in excess of 3 hours to get and give a hug.

As a parting gift, he gave us each a final prescription and it's a prescription for life... Enjoy!