Dr. Mario was a dear friend with a bucket full of humorous stories. For many years, he was a practicing Pediatrician in Providence. Most of his stories related to those experiences.
One of my favorites was of the patient on the table.

“I was called to make a house call on Federal Hill one evening.”
With address in hand, Dr. Mario drove to the Hill looking for the house down an alley. As he drove slowly to be sure he was in the right place, he heard a voice from above. He looked up to the third floor window.
“Are you the doctor?”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
“Well, we are up here. Come along.”
He walked the steps and entered from the hallway directly into the kitchen.

“Thank you, thank you, Doctor. We appreciate your visit.”
“Well,” Dr. Mario said, “Can you bring the patient to the table? I like to examine patients on the kitchen table.” As a pediatrician, he found it easier.

The family looked at him with pause.
“On the table?” they replied, in chorus.
“Yes, yes, on the table.”

The son disappeared only to return in a moment carrying his mother draped in a sheet, ready to place her on the table.
“Wait, wait,” Dr. Mario said as he peered over his glasses, somewhat stunned. “Where is the baby?”
“There is no baby. My mother is the one who is sick,” the son replied.
“I am Dr. Mario. Who were you expecting?”
“Dr. D___.”
“Is this not number 3 W___ Street?”
“No, no, number 3 is the house in front. We are 31/2. When we saw your car, we thought you were for us. That’s why we called you.”
“Sorry, sorry. You have the wrong doctor. Put your mother to bed. I need to find the other house. I am sure Dr. D____ will be along shortly.”

And what of the poor mother who made a journey to the table in the arms of her son. I guess we will never know.