Second Opinion

Or, Why I Love My Doctor

I saw my regular doctor today. He's a family practitioner, so, in fact, Adam and I both saw him. Adam was there for his fifteen-month stab in the thigh, referred to in polite circles as DTaP. I was there to follow up after my appointment from yesterday, which, frankly, is pretty hazy. The documentation the clinic sent over was sparse, and when Dr. Teddy Bear (not his real name. I know, shocker, huh?) asked me for details, I was a little embarrassed to realise I couldn't give them. I guess I was loopier than I thought yesterday.

In any case the verdict is that Adam has a garden-variety cold, and so received his stab as planned, which he accompanied with gusty wails, and promptly forgot about as soon as it was over. Then he went back to flirting with the nurses.

I, on the other hand, have been deemed to have, not bronchitis, but pneumonia. Umm, yay? The treatment is the same either way, though Dr. Teddy Bear doesn't love the particular antibiotic the clinic put me on; he says it doesn't always work. The upside is that pneumonia is far less communicable, so my visions of Adam in the hospital on a ventilator are much quiter and less frequent.

DTB is keeping a close eye on me, since he doesn't trust my antibiotic. He told me to call him Saturday morning anf let him know how I'm doing, and to page him if I start feeling worse. You see why I love this guy? Oh, I know, we had that period of estrangement when I was flirting with the high-risk perinatal doctors, but really, I think we both knew that it was temporary. It was a growth experience for both of us, and I really think we're better people, and able to connect more--

I mean, I really like my doctor.