BY JODY WEISEL

I subscribe to a medical practice that is not endorsed by the AMA (either Medical or Motorcycle). It makes no matter to me that Jonas Salk and Michael DeBakey haven’t adopted my medical treatments, but I don’t really blame them. I have lots of experience with people doubting my acumen. My mother wanted me to be a doctor and to achieve her goal—not mine—she read “Gray’s Anatomy” to me when I was still in my crib, helped me spell Anterior Crusciate Ligament just in case it came up in an elementary school spellling bee, ponied up for tuition at the university of my choice and was positive that my nine years at college earning postgraduate degrees was worth it.

So, I went to school, studied hard and worked on my doctorate—except that it wasn’t in medicine. It was in gerontology. She wanted an MD, not a Ph.D.

But enough about breaking my mother’s heart because I have been practicing medicine whether I am licensed by the State Medical Board or not. I’m not a neurologist, gastroenternologist, gynecologist or orthopedic surgeon. Nope, I’m a doctor of motocross medicine, or more concisely an Mx.D.

I self diagnose, self administer and self heal all sorts of medical problems associated with motocross. Need examples?

Blowing it out: I prefer to be sick on Monday through Friday. That way it doesn’t interfere with racing on the weekends. But, if the effects of the flu or E. coli bacteria linger into race day, I self prescribe a medical practice commonly know by motocross racers as “blowing it out.” This cure is simple, you show up sick, don your gear and ride as hard as you can in both motos—and, by the end of the day you are no longer sick because you have blown it out. The downside of blowing it out is something called “sucking it in.” Either way, I got to race.

This Jody’s left arm after a big crash on Mount Saint Helen—broken wrist, metal plate in forearm and dislocated elbow

X-Ray vision: When I crash hard and suffer a serious leg, arm, hand, rib or foot injury. I don’t go to the doctor. That’s unnecessary. I just look at the color of the bruising, the amount of swelling and degree of difficulty in getting my boot, glove or leathers off and apply X-Ray vision. It works like this, if I want to race bad enough, I look at my leg and say, “It’s not broken. It’s just a bone bruise.” I also provide this service to my racing buddies, except then I say, “It’s not broken. It’s just a bone bruise, you big cry baby.”

Sometimes they have to make a big incision to fix some little bones.

Stitch therapy: I don’t take stitches seriously. One time I got a bunch of stitches and ask my real doctor if I could ride my bike on the weekend. He said, “I don’t see a problem with that as long as you are careful.” When I came back on Monday with all of the stitches ripped out he said, “What did you do?” I replied, “I rode my motocross bike and got fifth,” I said, “but I was careful.” To which he gasped,”Motocross bike! I thought when you ask if you could ride your bike you meant a Harley.”

You don’t always land on it, but that’s better than landing under it. I could walk to the pits from here.

Back injuries: Back in 1976 I crashed at Carlsbad Raceway when a stick got stuck in my shift lever over Devils Drop. I compressed two vertebrae (confirmed by actual X-rays, not my X-ray vision) and was prescribed bed rest. I interpreted that to mean that I should rest all week and then race on Sunday. Sometimes I couldn’t get on my bike without help, but once on I could ride like the wind. Then, one of my buddies would have to help me get off the bike. My doctor said that I extended the healing period from three months to six months with this medical strategy–to which I said, “Yeah, but I got to race.”

The “cut it off “cure: When I mangled my throttle hand thumb in Jeff Hicks’ rear sprocket back in 1984, I told the orthopedic surgeon to cut the damaged part of my thumb off. “I’m not gonna do that. I can save most of your thumb with microsurgery and a cast,” said the doctor.

“But,” I replied, “If you cut it off, I’ll be able to race by next weekend. If you try to save it, I’ll be in a cast for weeks.” Eventually, I agreed to let him do the surgery. Then, on Sunday, I cut the cast off, taped my hand to the grip and raced anyway.

I was pretty sure that I was going to save it and then it hit me—not the realization that I was wrong, but the ground.

Drugs are your friend: As a rule I don’t take drugs of any kind, but when I want to ride I’ll do whatever my doctor recommends. Back in 1981 I wanted to race the Mexican Supercross Championship in La Paz, Baja. Luckily, I was going to a famous SoCal sports doctor and when I told him that I had to race, he prescribed a host of pain killers anti inflammatories and cortisone injections. I raced and all was well. The next week I went to donate blood at the blood bank and when they asked me if I was taking any prescription drugs I told them the complete list. They refused to take my blood and asked, “What are you a race horse?”

Survival Rate: No doctor cures 100 percent of his patients. Everybody loses a patient now and then. And under the Hippocratic Oath I must reveal that my medical treatments are unsuccessful about 98 percent of the time. I vow that the next time I get sick or injured, I will pay attention to my doctor’s advice…unless it interferes with my racing.