I meant to blog sooner, but after Saturday’s post, I was so motivated to clean myself up. I just now finished shaving.
Today was my annual doctor’s visit. It is a bit disturbing how the more you read my blog, the more sordid details you find out about me. But you’ve come this far, no sense in turning back now.
With each new year comes a new job, Steve jokes. But it’s true. Which means new insurance. And much to my dismay, my old gynecologist is not in my new network. Not that I was particularly fond of him: anyone who shoves cold metal objects inside of me and makes cervix jokes is no friend of mine. But I was fond of his age.
I’ve shopped around for ob-gyns. When I was pregnant with Gracie, I went to the women’s center which meant whoever was around popped in to have a look. I quickly learned how to sum up doctors in a stereotyped nanosecond.
I don’t like the women. They talk to you forever like since they have the same equipment we should be buddies. Also, I am uncomfortable when I am asked too many times how I feel or if everything is OK. I always assume the young men got into the practice for the wrong reasons. I like the old men. Hopefully old enough that they’re going blind but are not yet senile.
Have you seen the Sex and the City episode where Charlotte gets back from the doctor and her vagina is depressed? She says: “I don’t want to look. I think it’s ugly.” Then Miranda says, “Well maybe, that’s why it’s depressed!” I agree with Charlotte: if it’s out of eyesight, it’s for a reason. Since I’m not looking closely, I’m hoping no one else is, either.
Shopping for an older doctor is not an easy task. You can search by location and accepted insurance and specialties and licenses, but not date of birth. Luckily for me, I am very good at stereotyping based on names, too (Seriously: ask me what I think about Bruces and Ursulas: you’ll get an earful). Stereotyping is a skill I have not only acquired, but also finely tuned.
When I found a doctor named “Terrance,” I knew I had hit the jackpot. Terrance is the name of a boss, not an intern. Have you seen “Entourage”? Ari’s boss was named “Terrance” and he’s old. (Secret to stereotyping: word/name association). But even the mostly finely tuned skills can go awry. Stereotyping is based on generalized rules, but every now and again, there’s an exception.
The true test came today. I waited in the waiting room. I waited in the examination room. I was weighed, gave a urine sample, got my finger poked and my blood pressure taken. I stripped out of my clothes and waited to see who I had selected. The door opened. I smiled in spite of myself at the sight of a bald head and white sides, George Costanza style. I’ve still got it: I know how to pick ’em.