Today I went for my six-week (?) or is it eight? I can't remember... anyway, it was a followup on George, that pesky SOB. Which meant I had to drag my butt out of bed at 7:30, no coffee or breakfast, and fight the rain-impaired drivers of Nashville. I was in such a foul mood I had a pop a Xanax before I crashed into someone, yanked them out of their car and beat them to death with my shoe.
I complain here a lot, about many things, and I thought that today I should mention something I do like, my primary care doctor, John E. Anderson at the Frist Clinic.
When I first went to him -- good grief, was it 15 years ago? Or twenty? He looked more like Doogie Howser than Marcus Welby, and I was a little skeptical. I don't know how young he was, maybe he just has one of those faces who looks much younger than he actually is, but I was tempted to ask to see his license, just to be sure he had actually graduated.
(Hey, I once changed OB/GYNs because the guy was just too good looking; I know it's crazy, but I just didn't want him seeing me naked with my feet in the stirrups. That's not a situation where you want to be thinking how sexy your doctor is. Makes the breast exam really awkward. For me, that is. I'm sure that for him, it's just another pair of hooters in a day of female genitalia. But I digress.)
Over the years, Dr. Anderson has grown into a more "doctorly" appearance. (Rather attractive, actually, which is why even though he's offered to do my yearly pap smear to save me time and money, I just say, uh, no thanks. That's okay. Really.)
But in all these years, what hasn't changed is the care he shows. He's personable, but not in the superficial way of many doctors I've seen over the years. He never makes you feel like he's in a hurry -- and THAT is truly remarkable, in my experience. The last other doctor I saw, a dermatologist, diagnosed me before he'd taken two steps into the room, and was gone faster than you could say "tylenol."
Anderson asks a lot of questions and listens when you ramble through a litany of symptoms and dumb questions. He doesn't sneer derisively when you mention you read something on WebMD and just want to make sure you don't have mesothelioma or malaria.
He doesn't seem to overbook as ridiculously as most other doctors do, because I never spend an inordinate amount of time waiting. (I am, however, mourning the departure of his head blood-sucker. I can't remember her name, only that she was a superstar, the Tiger Woods of blood-drawing. I never ever even felt the needle. The new girl's not bad, but she ain't Tiger.)
True, he's still lecturing me on my smoking and aversion to exercise, but nobody's perfect. I think he took an oath or something that makes him legally bound to oppose the one and promote the other. Go figure.
When I told him about my recent calamities, he told me I could get my Metaformin at WalMart for $4 a month. He cleaned out his Cymbalta samples for me. And he assured me that his office would work with me to make sure I continued to deal effectively with George. Having just been dumped by my shrink, and obsessively worrying about my lack of insurance, it was good to feel like someone was in my corner.
He's proud of me for doing so well, and I am giddy as a schoolgirl getting a gold star. (Maybe bringing him my BS levels for the past two months on an Excel spreadsheet tickled him. ) I've lost a total of 16 pounds -- not miraculous, but a good steady downward.
Anyway.... all this rambling to say thanks, Dr. Anderson. You're a good guy, and I'm glad you're my doctor.
I complain here a lot, about many things, and I thought that today I should mention something I do like, my primary care doctor, John E. Anderson at the Frist Clinic.
When I first went to him -- good grief, was it 15 years ago? Or twenty? He looked more like Doogie Howser than Marcus Welby, and I was a little skeptical. I don't know how young he was, maybe he just has one of those faces who looks much younger than he actually is, but I was tempted to ask to see his license, just to be sure he had actually graduated.
(Hey, I once changed OB/GYNs because the guy was just too good looking; I know it's crazy, but I just didn't want him seeing me naked with my feet in the stirrups. That's not a situation where you want to be thinking how sexy your doctor is. Makes the breast exam really awkward. For me, that is. I'm sure that for him, it's just another pair of hooters in a day of female genitalia. But I digress.)
Over the years, Dr. Anderson has grown into a more "doctorly" appearance. (Rather attractive, actually, which is why even though he's offered to do my yearly pap smear to save me time and money, I just say, uh, no thanks. That's okay. Really.)
But in all these years, what hasn't changed is the care he shows. He's personable, but not in the superficial way of many doctors I've seen over the years. He never makes you feel like he's in a hurry -- and THAT is truly remarkable, in my experience. The last other doctor I saw, a dermatologist, diagnosed me before he'd taken two steps into the room, and was gone faster than you could say "tylenol."
Anderson asks a lot of questions and listens when you ramble through a litany of symptoms and dumb questions. He doesn't sneer derisively when you mention you read something on WebMD and just want to make sure you don't have mesothelioma or malaria.
He doesn't seem to overbook as ridiculously as most other doctors do, because I never spend an inordinate amount of time waiting. (I am, however, mourning the departure of his head blood-sucker. I can't remember her name, only that she was a superstar, the Tiger Woods of blood-drawing. I never ever even felt the needle. The new girl's not bad, but she ain't Tiger.)
True, he's still lecturing me on my smoking and aversion to exercise, but nobody's perfect. I think he took an oath or something that makes him legally bound to oppose the one and promote the other. Go figure.
When I told him about my recent calamities, he told me I could get my Metaformin at WalMart for $4 a month. He cleaned out his Cymbalta samples for me. And he assured me that his office would work with me to make sure I continued to deal effectively with George. Having just been dumped by my shrink, and obsessively worrying about my lack of insurance, it was good to feel like someone was in my corner.
He's proud of me for doing so well, and I am giddy as a schoolgirl getting a gold star. (Maybe bringing him my BS levels for the past two months on an Excel spreadsheet tickled him. ) I've lost a total of 16 pounds -- not miraculous, but a good steady downward.
Anyway.... all this rambling to say thanks, Dr. Anderson. You're a good guy, and I'm glad you're my doctor.
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