This time it's changing doctors. I've had the same doctor for thirty-five years. He's an internal medicine guy acting as my general practitioner. I liked him and respected him a lot.
But he got on my butt, insisting I begin dating a woman he likes. She's been a great friend of his for years. I never saw her. I suppose I've passed up some latter-day Julia Roberts. But at the time this happened, I wasn't ready to date, and especially not the best friend of someone I once thought of as a valued friend. Blow that: and you lose the friend you thought you had. Besides: the arrogance of his insistence angered me. So I may have lost Julia Roberts. But I certainly lost an old friend. Or someone I thought was a friend!?
Tough-scheidt! This decade -- probably my last -- is turning out to be a challenging time of letting-go of valued relationships. But especially NOW, I won't be told who to love. Nor, at this late period in my life will I permit anyone to push me around. Never did before. Won't start now.
I may be old. But I'm still my own man.
So! I have a new doctor. She's my daughter's doctor. And I really like her. She's wonderful. Bright and competent. Prob'ly mid-fifties, broadly practiced, insightful and thorough. And while I transferred my records. . .hand-carried them, in fact. . .she's running a wide variety of targeted tests to develop her own baseline understanding of my current health. She's studied my most-recent tests, is speculative, and wishes to determine a more thorough course of ongoing treatment for me. I like that.
She does something no other doctor has ever done before. She teaches me what all my tests mean. For instance: we got back this two-page, double-column set of numbers on my latest and most-thorough blood-test I've ever had. And she sat down with me, knee-to-knee, nose-to-nose, and taught me what all the numbers mean. Turns out my sugar's a little high. My father was a diabetic, so we need a retest and a diet-change -- at least. My doctor of the past thirty years must've known that. Why did he never tell me?
She did that also with my recent radiological stress test. Turns out I have some blockage and an abnormality I have been hearing all my life, but never understood. For years I've run long-slow-distance and have been a devotee of vigorous exercise. Why was I never told the risk I was taking? Thank goodness I've now become a long-distance walker.
I suspect this change in doctors is long overdue. I mean: I'm aging. I've lasted a long time. But had I known these things -- and other things my new doctor has taught me already -- I'd have made some changes long ago. Must be true: long-familiar, friend-type doctors get sloppy and over-confident after awhile. Might be why they outlive their friends.
Of course, the second reason I like this new doctor so much is she's so good-looking. Wonderful face, great eyes, perfect teeth. Nice-trim, well-conditioned body. Could be a runner, the way she looks. Smells good, too. She works close-up, face-to-face. I have to discipline myself to listen to what-all she's explaining to me. Because I have this (slight) crush on her, my listening mind shuts down. I like her expressive voice, her facial and body mannerisms, the thoroughness of her explanations, the way she answers questions. . .the way she listens intently and answers my questions with great clarity. She's so bright. At heart, she's a teacher. I see that in her manner. She mesmerizes me. While I know I need to listen to her carefully, my mind wanders.
She stands close to me when we speak. I keep wanting to take her into my arms and dance with her. Or something. . . .
The truth? I'm an incurable Romantic. Hard as I try to focus on our exchanges, my mind strays. I have to try NOT to flirt with her. I don't want her to throw me out of her office.
I keep confusing her interested and interesting bedside manner, which in my drifting mind I deftly convert to an inaccurate and inappropriate let's-get-into-bed-right-now-manner. Could be, I make one misstep, she'll chuck me out the door and I'll be without a doctor again. Worse, she may dump my daughter, too. Then I'll have TWO much-valued and lovely women angry with me and out of my life.
This new life is not easy!
Trouble is, my wife knew me so well. She told me over and over again, during those terrible final weeks of her life: "Find a woman you can love who loves you. It's the best thing you do. . . ." She released me with that project in her mind. Nancy's gone four years now. Notwithstanding I've been unable to get her out of my mind, in the past year, I find myself always searching, always hoping I'll find someone to love. Unattached, attractive women in my age-range are rare. Most are dead. Nor am I George Clooney!
My erratic woman-search is problematical in many ways. I've found a couple of women I really like. But then I can't keep Nancy out of my mind. I don't mean I actively compare them, though they share many of Nancy's wonderful qualities. Of course they do, or I wouldn't find them attractive. But then I get confused. . .WHO am I actually spending time with, actually loving: Nancy or this new woman? Makes me feel confused and stupid! And more than a little manipulative and RUDE. Makes me feel dishonest, whether I mean to be or not.
Makes me angry with myself. Who do I think I am to treat a nice person this way? If a woman chooses to spend time with me, she deserves my unqualified attention. I find myself drifting into seclusion, avoiding situations where I am apt to practice such inappropriate behavior.
Don't tell me I need counseling. I already AM counseling with a brilliant professional. And I sense at times I am causing her a level of exasperation that sends HER to her own counselor.
Counselors DO have counselors, don't they?
Likely they do, if they're dealing with me.
So, anyway, I've in love with my new doctor. But I think she's getting even with me. . .because tomorrow I 'm going to the dread Endoscopy Center for a colonoscopy.
Won't be the most fun I've ever had. But I've earned it. 'Swhat I get for getting a crush on my new doctor. Can't help it though. Since when has a prostate exam felt vaguely like a romantic interlude? Believe me. . .it did.
One more minor detail: my new doctor's married.
Never mind! This noon I'll consume the first of a series of two explosive concoctions designed to clear my lower bowel of unsightly debris. I'll be on the stool all day and into the night.
Tomorrow will be the one day in a long time I haven't been fulla scheidt.
That's why I'm writing today.
Tomorrow I'll have nothing to say!
Tomorrow I'll have nothing to say!
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