Today is the seven year anniversary of my abandonment by my doctor for a career as a famous author and activist (selfish bastard). It seemed like a good time to get a new primary care physician.
I approached this choice with a great deal of trepidation. Over the last few years, I had Kaiser Permanente as an HMO and they gave me few choices in doctors, but they were all solid. When I’ve had more options, I’ve made some terrible choices.
There was the doctor who, shaved my chest and glued rubber post-it notes to me, tried to give me a pelvic exam, and after a week-long bout of the flu when I could barely move or eat, insisted I had had an allergy attack. Then there was the chain-smoking doctor with the shaking hands, the dentist who didn’t think flossing was “all that important,” the nurse at the blood drive who sent me home after saying “Giving blood isn’t for everyone, honey.” I just seem to find the quacks.
|"You need more pain, fool!"|
In any case, my bad doctor karma weighed heavily on my mind as I looked for doctors who could see me. I went to my medical network and chose “internal medicine,” narrowed the search by who was available to take new patients, and hit the search button. I was greeted by a list of surprisingly hot women in white lab coats. Realizing that, during my first physical, I’d have to explain I wasn’t having Viagra side-effects, I narrowed the search again to men.
|"A lot of my patients have three-hour long erections."|
The first result was perfect. He had interned at Stanford. He gave an “evidence-based approach.” Best of all, his picture showed him with a sneer of contemptuous confidence. I dialed his number and, as it was ringing, I noticed something I had missed: “Professional Interests: Alternative Medicine.”
I instantly hung up. Quackery still haunts me.
My new doctor (and all the others available) can't see me for five months. I miss Kaiser.