RIP, Dr. London

Some of you know this story, which started with a cold.

The cold was a persistent one, and so I went to see my doctor. I learned that she didn't work on Mondays. Taking her place that fateful Monday was a semi-retired gentleman named Dr. London.

He asked me when I last had a physical; I told him it had been several years. "Well, you are already here" he said. "Do you have 20 minutes?"

I recall that I didn't have 20 minutes but he was such a genuinely nice guy, I said sure, why not.
And that is when he detected the nodule on my neck.

"You have bronchitis," he said, "but I am really concerned about that nodule. Promise me you will get that looked at immediately."

And though he was just a "temp" working I believe one day a week, he called me regularly - for months - for status reports.

The rest, as most of you know, is history. Within a month I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, had my thyroid removed and started radiation protocols. At the risk of sounding a bit melodramatic, my life since has never been quite the same.

I've though about Dr. London a lot these past several years. I credit him with helping save my life. My sole physical interaction with the man lasted 20 minutes, but I will remember him for a lifetime.

I'm not exactly sure what kind of a man, or even what kind of doctor he was. But to me, he was Superman.

I was not entirely unsurprised, but still crushed to learn that he passed away last week.

Rest in peace, Dr. London. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.