O Doctor...

I take great pride in my ability to find amazing doctors. Every man or woman who has inserted a gag stick in my mouth or a stone cold speculum in my girly parts has been hand selected. They have passed a rigorous roster of tests in an effort to earn my loyalty. In no particular order my doctors must: Make me feel as if I am THE most important patient they have; spend time with me; answer my well-researched questions; listen; know who I am and remember my history; return my phone calls; schedule me quickly; have pleasant office staff; apologize if I've waited too long in the waiting room find value in a woman who is aging; have a rocking sense of humor and; be the kind of person I would enjoy having coffee with if I drank coffee. If the doc is male, it helps if he is pleasant to look at - but that's not a real requirement.

I thank all of these medical professionals by referring friends. It's been a nice give and take relationship for many years. Until now. Things are changing and I am not happy.

For example, there was my Dermatologist

I have scalp, neck and ear problems after I dye my hair. They are growing alarmingly worse. I explained this to my dermatologist who declared that, "No -it's not an allergy. If you had an allergy your face would swell up and your eyes would swell shut...your scalp would be full of blisters." He declared, instead, that I was suffering from scalp acne, gave me a prescription, and sent me on my way. Oh - and he also told me to keep dyeing because I would be so much happier that way... HE WAS WRONG...the allergy, as he described it, is almost the "end stage" - it's the reaction you can look forward to if you keep dyeing and reacting. The stuff I am experiencing IS an allergy - just not deadly yet. He had a fixed idea and he wasn't budging. Or listening. After two more visits (post-dye jobs). And two more prescriptions (one was an anti-anxiety pill!!) that didn't work , he has admitted that I was right. Well, not really. The last thing he said was."You look like you're having an allergic reaction. Better stop dyeing before it gets worse.

I should also say that I constantly reminded him that I had a high (really high) deductible insurance and no drug coverage. This kind of information did not seem to register. After the last prescription I reminded him (again), ""I don't have drug insurance, " And his response? "Well,will your insurance pay for a generic?" WHAT!! 'I have NO drug insurance'! Is he that out of touch? How could I have been so wrong about him (asks the woman who has been married 3 times).

(If you're wondering why I didn't just stop dyeing my hair...ask yourself what it would take for YOU to go grey?)

Then there was my Gynocologist...

I could live with my Dermatologist failing me - but I've also been let down by my GYNO. Dr. Hottie. Most women feel comfortable with a woman doctor. I don't. I'm used to men fooling around in my underworld and I would be creeped out to have a woman go there. My gyno is olive skinned, dark eyed, soft spoken, gentle, caring, a great listener...everything I could want. Over the years he has met and exceeded my requirements. All of his patients love him - but, of course, I am his favorite. (ahem)

I've had two heart-to-heart talks with him about some physically based sexual issues that I figured he might be able to address. The first time we talked about it he comiserated with me and then loaded me up with free samples of prescription "inserts" all while holding my hand and staring into my eyes, encouraging me to be patient. Sigh.

This year he gave me more inserts and then suggested that "Maybe you should see a sex therapist." Huh? We're talking about a physical problem and his response is basically, 'go back to school'. I felt abandoned. I wanted him to at least commiserate. But nothing...I got none of that wonderful compassion. I, again, had to help myself. I went to a very upscale woman's "sex shop" downtown and got an amazing lubricant. I did not go to a sex therapist...because, well, Dr. Ruth is retired and who else would I go to?

How about the gorgeous Gastroenterologist in the perfect Armani suit and the crisp white shirt, gold cufflinks, manicured hands, and BIG brown eyes...a man who over two years of helping me fight a digestive issue never once examined or touched me. I think he was afraid of getting something on that shirt. I ended up diagnosing myself here too. Cause he didn't listen or hear....it was so easy to figure out that my problem was viral...but when its viral you can't order tests as easily. I should have been a doctor. A diagnostician.

My Family doc is great. He almost never knows what's wrong with me - but he admits it and we joke about my mysterious aliments. Never a flu or a cold…always something exotic. I'd like to think that when I see him (which is rare) he enjoys it because I almost always bring him a challenge. I'm not medically dull And he's not medically sharp. But I still like him. And he gives me free samples cause he understand what "NO drug insurance" means.

I don't know why any of this is happening. Perhaps, as I get older, I am harder to see. Older women have to fight to get noticed. And once my hair goes gray - I will probably be invisible. So, I've lowered my expectations. I'm shopping for a new dermatologist. And Dr Hottie - well he's worth another try because we've been together for so long. Maybe that was just a bad day. I will save my bottles of potions, lotions, inserts to offer to friends who come to me for a diagnosis...and there are many of those people. And may be I will reconsider that anti-anxiety pill so I can cope with the pressure of my new calling.

The IMAGINARY DOCTOR IS IN.