The Shady Milkman

Before July 23rd, I knew that there was one person in this world, other than my own mother, that cared more for my health and well-being more than his golf game or vacation time.

Before July 23rd, I don’t think I’ve ever been shocked by the results of a Google search. I usually know what I’m looking for, or have a general idea of what I might find.

Before July 23rd, the Greeks had their gods, and I had mine: a pediatrician named Dr. George J. Kouskoulas.

Miracle Worker

I’ve been a habitual nail-biter ever since I can remember. Years ago, around the time I was in Jr. High, I had a terrible case of warts on my fingers. I’m not talking about a little bump here or there. I’m talking about cracking, cauliflower-looking skin deformities:

I get sick just looking at that

It started on my right index finger, and spread to nearly every other finger, as well as my lips, because I couldn’t stop biting my nails and tearing at my skin. Even the bitter tasting nail paint couldn’t stop me.

My pediatrician, Dr. Kouskoulas (Dr. K as we affectionately called him), sent me to a dermatologist, as he would obviously be better-suited to tackle this skin atrocity. The dermatologist prescribed a barrage of standard methods to attack my warts: salicylic acid topical liquid, liquid nitrogen cryofreeze sessions, laser burn treatments and even experimental, highly-concentrated salicylic acid patches. Nothing seemed to work.

On a check-up visit back with Dr. K, my mom updated him on the progress made, or lack thereof, with my warts. Seeming a bit baffled, he offered to try something that he’d never really tried before: hypnosis. You see, the “M.D.” after Dr. K’s name wasn’t satisfying enough for him. He was always looking for new and innovative ways to improve his practice and help him treat the kids he cared for, such as hypnosis. Though he was relatively new to the field, still reading up on the subject and all, he said if I was OK with it, he’d give it a go. I figured, after all I’d been through, it couldn’t hurt to try.

As I sat on the butcher-paper that stretched across the exam room table, he had me close my eyes, breathe deeply and hold out my hands. His voice, which was already incredibly soothing, could have pacified a bull at a rodeo. I found myself listening to his pronunciation of every word as he explained that my body was an elite fighting force, and the warts were its enemy. He had me envision my body deploying thousands of soldiers (white blood cells) to attack and destroy the invaders, and told me to continue to view my body that way, even after he was done. Maybe he knew I had a fascination with war.

After Dr. K told me to open my eyes, both he and my mom asked me how I felt. “Relaxed,” I said, but in all actuality I wasn’t sure if I was really hypnotized, and I certainly knew that I didn’t feel any different. I thought it was a fruitless attempt. My mom and I went on our way, and for the next couple weeks, I continued with the experimental acid pads, but to no avail. And then, on a trip to Tennessee with a friend from school, the warts just started to fall off—literally.

There was no picking, cutting or freezing necessary. They just began to peel off, like sunburned skin, revealing fresh, unblemished fingertips beneath. I had never felt such relief and amazement in my life. It was at that moment that I knew Dr. K was a more than just a pediatrician. And to this day, I still gnaw on my fingers, yet they have never seen another wart. Like I said—miracle worker.

A Google of Life and Death

So here I am, some 10 to 15 years later, working on an “About Me” section of a website I want to create for myself, because, you know, us creatives have to put on a dog and pony show everywhere we go, just to get a whiff of an ad agency’s flatulence. During the writing of said bio, I begin to explain how I don’t really trust doctors or the health care industry. I go on to say that, if I could, I’d return to my pediatrician, the only doctor I’ve ever really trusted. This is where Google comes into play.

Since I couldn’t remember how to spell Dr. K’s name, I began to type it, or at least how I thought it was spelled, into the Google search bar. I type in the following characters: “D r . K o u s k”, and after I hit the letter “k”, Google had only one suggestion for me:

Now I love Google, even though I know they are slowly and methodically becoming Big Brother, but even I had to pause and think to myself, “how in the hell could they know the exact doctor I was looking for, when I had never searched for him before?” Well, I quickly got my answer:

An obituary.

“No way,” I blindly thought to myself, “There’s no way that’s my pediatrician. There has to be two Dr. Kouskoulas’ in the metro Detroit area.”

I knew that there was only one Dr. K, but I just couldn’t believe my eyes. A quick click through the links proved that it was indeed my trusted pediatrician. The god-like man that cured my seemingly incurable wart infestation, with nothing but the power of suggestion, and kept me in good health from birth until the age of 18, was proven to be a mere mortal in November of 2009. Eight months ago.

His impact on families throughout the community was evident, with over one hundred comments on the memorial site and only 4/5-star reviews on different medical websites. That tells me that there are a lot more “kids” out there who thought of Dr. K as more than just a doctor. They have their own personal stories of how a larger-than-life, gentle giant helped them triumph over an invasive illness. 

What turned out to be the Achilles Heel of the last living Greek god? Aortic dissection—the tearing of the wall of the largest artery in the body, which causes massive internal bleeding and can cause death within minutes. Though emergency surgery can prevent death, aortic dissection has an 80% mortality rate.

Fitting, I guess, that only an incident as devastating as aortic dissection could take such an infallible man away from this Earth. So, rest in peace, Dr. K. Hopefully, I won’t be seeing you for a check-up for another 60+ years.