call the doctor

i am in the process of procuring myself a new primary care physician. that's right, i've finally grown tired of the man down in ghettoville and am currently seeking someone new with which to discuss my girly bits.

wanted: hip young (or old) gunslinger for intimate acquaintance. you will respect me intellectually and know my body intimately. must be located in downtown manhattan or park slope proper. men need not apply.

basically, now that a prescription of mine is running out and the winter season is creeping up (unlike autumn, which did not so much fall as crash land), i figured that the time has come to go in for a tune up. particularly because i've been feeling madly under the weather for several weeks now. but, every time i've drawn near to actually picking up the phone and making an appointment, i remember how very much i hate my doctor. how he snipes about my weight and my smoking (with far more gusto than doctors are supposed to do), how he looks at me disapprovingly whenever i answer his questions about my reproductive health/sexual history. this is not a man that i feel i could openly discuss my digestive issues with. this is not a man to whom i could confess that my nether bits seem to be going awry. none of these things. and, as a generally hale and hardy individual, these are the complaints that make up the bulk of my doctor's visits.

for heaven's sake, i feel weird whenever i go in there with a UTI, looking for antibiotics. though, as any girl will tell you, a UTI is punishment enough fo any transgression, my doctor has a remarkable habit of making me feel like a dirty little girl whenever i put that affliction on the table.

"so, what's the trouble?"

"i've...got...a...um. a UTI."

"i see. have you been having sex recently?"

"um..."

"did you use a condom?"

"um..."

"mmm-hm. i see."

generally speaking, the answer to these questions is yes, and as a consenting adult, i know that there's no reason for me to feel delinquent of dirty about it.

particularly because, as most people will tell you, i don't have much trouble talking about these things. i've got a mouth like a trucker and the conversational guttermind to match. it comes with living somewhere between combat boots and high heels.

but something in the tone of his voice and the look in his eye makes me want to don a few petticoats and go hide beneath the linoleum.

anyway. the moral of the story is that i loathe my doctor, and the time has come to find a new one. the question is, who do i pick this time, and what are the odds that i hate them, as well?