My doctor is the best. Every time I go in for a visit, he asks how I'm doing, and he seems to actually care about how I'll answer. This last time he had another physician with him to observe. Doctor 2 — Electric Boogaloo, M.D. — looked apologetic for barging in on our appointment.
So my doctor checks a few things out, and I am proud of myself for not asking him to look at the sliced toe. He fills Dr. Boogaloo in on my health history, including the cancer scare/dad death/broken foot unholy trinity. Boogaloo keeps a mostly stoic face but you could tell he felt uncomfortable, as though the non-doctor side of him wanted to say he was sorry about it but the professional part of him asked, "What would Trapper John do?" and decided to stay quiet. This is probably why he is making the rounds with my doctor, because my doctor has a PhD in people skills. My doctor knows how to make patients feel like he cares. Maybe a little too well...
While writing a prescription, my doctor — that sly devil! — said, "And so. Dating! Tell me how that's going." Notice how he just assumes that there's something to tell. He has been on my case for a year now to date more, and he is always encouraging me to do XYZ activity and so forth. I know he sounds yenta-ish here, but he's actually very sweet about it, like a stepfather might be.
Because I have issues with trying to please authority figures (thanks, Catholic school!) I burst out with a bunch of tiny stories of dating disaster. I tell him about the chard-inspecting Ryan Gosling lookalike at the farmer's market who interpreted my feigned interest in his panniers to be actual interest in his panniers. The bike questions, as I told the doc, are an excuse to talk with someone, but Fake Ryan Gosling seemed to think I was enthusiastically curious about the stupid panniers.
"Well, Fake Ryan Gosling is either dense or a damned fool," my doctor said. Dr. Boogaloo nodded supportively, like Oprah would.
"Maybe both," I said. Ha, ha, ugh.
Then, as always, the good doc nudged me toward putting myself out there a little bit more. I like to think that he would like to help me find twue wuv, but then again, maybe he just wants me to get knocked up before my ever-dwindling egg supply poops out completely. So, because he's that good at guilt-tripping me, I followed his advice and cobbled together an online dating profile. This in itself would be slightly awkward, but you know what's even more so? When the computer algorithm searches hundreds of profiles to suggest your absolute best pairing... and who's number one in the resulting list but an ex? As for my doctor, he's got some 'splainin' to do.
So my doctor checks a few things out, and I am proud of myself for not asking him to look at the sliced toe. He fills Dr. Boogaloo in on my health history, including the cancer scare/dad death/broken foot unholy trinity. Boogaloo keeps a mostly stoic face but you could tell he felt uncomfortable, as though the non-doctor side of him wanted to say he was sorry about it but the professional part of him asked, "What would Trapper John do?" and decided to stay quiet. This is probably why he is making the rounds with my doctor, because my doctor has a PhD in people skills. My doctor knows how to make patients feel like he cares. Maybe a little too well...
While writing a prescription, my doctor — that sly devil! — said, "And so. Dating! Tell me how that's going." Notice how he just assumes that there's something to tell. He has been on my case for a year now to date more, and he is always encouraging me to do XYZ activity and so forth. I know he sounds yenta-ish here, but he's actually very sweet about it, like a stepfather might be.
Because I have issues with trying to please authority figures (thanks, Catholic school!) I burst out with a bunch of tiny stories of dating disaster. I tell him about the chard-inspecting Ryan Gosling lookalike at the farmer's market who interpreted my feigned interest in his panniers to be actual interest in his panniers. The bike questions, as I told the doc, are an excuse to talk with someone, but Fake Ryan Gosling seemed to think I was enthusiastically curious about the stupid panniers.
"Well, Fake Ryan Gosling is either dense or a damned fool," my doctor said. Dr. Boogaloo nodded supportively, like Oprah would.
"Maybe both," I said. Ha, ha, ugh.
Then, as always, the good doc nudged me toward putting myself out there a little bit more. I like to think that he would like to help me find twue wuv, but then again, maybe he just wants me to get knocked up before my ever-dwindling egg supply poops out completely. So, because he's that good at guilt-tripping me, I followed his advice and cobbled together an online dating profile. This in itself would be slightly awkward, but you know what's even more so? When the computer algorithm searches hundreds of profiles to suggest your absolute best pairing... and who's number one in the resulting list but an ex? As for my doctor, he's got some 'splainin' to do.
Labels: neuroses
I think it's cool that your doc checks in about your lovelife. And, I think is great that it goads you into action. I am not a hippie, but I do think that taking active towards something we want is every effective. Momentum.
Thanks. He really is the best physician I've ever had. If more doctors (hell, if more people in general) were like him, things would be better.
I am also not a hippie, but I agree with you. Taking action may or may not get us what we want, but doing nothing practically guarantees that we won't.