Doctors and Certificates of Deposit

The setting: the pool at Kings Point, the condo in Delray where my parents retired.  The time:  probably Fall of 1979.  The participants:  my newly retired, 60 year old Dad, and me, an 18 year old college freshman.

I remember it well.  I was happily living in my dorm tower in Coral Gables, and would visit once per month or so.  My Dad and I were talking -- he mostly wanted to know about my life.  He was a self taught intellectual who always regretted never attending college.  He lived vicariously through me -- he even took a first time ever interest in college football, and would watch the Canes when they were on TV.  But this day I asked about his life at Kings Point, and whether he was making any friends.  His reply "Ah -- all the guys want to talk about is doctors and CD rates.  It gets boring quickly."

And indeed, during my Dad's brief retirement of three years, before he left this mortal coil, he made precious few friends.  He'd socialize with my Mom's family, and liked one fellow, Harold.  Harold was a retired NYC cop.  I recently learned he's still alive -- nearing 100, I guess.  Dad also liked Sam, a retired Mathematics Professor.  Sam and my Dad used to signal each other from down the condo hall -- alerting each other when the mail had come.

Well, this week I thought of Dad -- and not for CD rates.  Those are all very low -- much to my chagrin, as I would LOVE to have the option of guaranteed savings vehicles that pay close to 20%!  No -- for me, this week was about doctors -- I had two back to back (actually back to front) appointments.

First was Dr. Neal -- my GI fellow.  His office texted I needed to come in, and so I did.  The cheerful, diminutive Neal greeted me -- and asked why I had come in.  I was asked, I said. Well -- he looked at my records and said that since my last colonoscopy was clear, and I am under 60 -- I wasn't due for another screening one until 2023.  I told Neal that was great -- I might well get run over by a truck before then, and not even need one.  "God forbid," he said.  We caught up about his three kids and my two, and I was happily out the door.

Yesterday was Dr. Robert -- the urologist.  I last saw him January of '17.  5 years before, a high PSA reading sent me to Dr. Robert, and although his DRE (don't ask) was normal, he set me up for a biopsy.  Thankfully, it was negative.  But Dr. Robert is very careful -- and gave me some kind of DNA urine test. Also negative.  A few years later, he ordered a MRI.  I made it through 30 minutes when I got very claustrophobic, and asked out.  Fortunately, the radiologist my friend Kenny knew said all was ok. 

Still, Dr. Robert tells me there is a new arrow in the prostate quiver -- a so-called "4K" test, which tells you if you are prone to the BAD prostate cancer -- the one that spreads and kills you -- or just the regular kind that most men will die WITH, not OF.  He told me to have my regular doc order it next time I got a blood test.  If I have a high 4K, he'll aggressively check me.  If it's low, I can be pretty confident of dying of something else -- maybe the truck I mentioned to Neal.

But the point was -- I spent too much time with doctors.  I am become my Dad.  But thankfully I don't hang around the Kings Point pool -- I still darken the door of a Brickell Law firm...

And, to make things come full circle -- one of my financial folks called today.  CD rates are up -- you can get 2% interest.  The more things change...