I have not met my doctor, but I have heard good things from my wife. Those good things are echoed on his web page by a number of other happy patients. This comes as good news, since I am now set to meet my fourth new doctor as a California resident. It doesn't help that we have just changed health care providers, and I haven't met any of the folks whose job it is to look after my physical well-being down at Kaiser.
This is not particularly troubling for me since I have spent most of my adult life in conscious avoidance of doctors. The mild irony in that stems from the fact that my father-in-law is a physician. Since I have been married, he has become my go-to medical support staff when my aches and pains veer away from the acceptable range. He's been there to answer those occasional questions about why this started to hurt after I did that, or what I could possibly do to keep from having that feeling again. He's been an excellent source of free medical advice.
But now it's time once again to greet my new flesh-and-blood doctor. This only seems appropriate since he will be dealing with my flesh and blood, both literally and figuratively. I haven't made an appointment or anything, since I feel that makes me seem to be just a little to desperate. After all, I wouldn't want to appear too needy. Or sick. Because that's my little problem. I'm not much for preventative maintenance. I tend instead to focus on maintaining my own limbs and innards until some crisis develops. I know this isn't the best plan, but it keeps me from having to get a second opinion, especially from somebody who graduated from medical school.
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