The Endocrinologists

I’ve had three endocrinologists since my diagnosis. I really get around.

My first endocrinologist was Dr. H. He came to see me the second day in the hospital. He was a tall, rather handsome guy in his late 30s. I totally looked for a ring. And he was totally married. This came as surprising after I met with him the for the first time as an outpatient. He was a bonafide science project. Dr. H had a distant, awkward, embarrassingly terrible bedside manner. He told me on various occasions that I had to wait until the end of the appointment to ask any questions. He would line all of his papers and my papers on the desk in a wildly obsessive way, and made eye contact with me about twice in two years.

I ditched him when I moved to Pittsburgh for graduate school. There I was matched with Dr. R. She was a tall, leggy blonde in her 50s. I saw her all of two times. It wasn’t her. It was me.

Now I see Dr. K. I should note that both her first and last names are impossibly Greek. She is down to earth, funny, and realistic. She has pretty bad hair, but I will never hold it against her. Her nurse is also Greek. They would at least bronze medal as a team at an endocrinology olympiad. I’m happy to have found them. I will also never tell Dr. K that I chose her based on a (poor) review (on some write-your-own-review-of-doctors/teachers/electricians website) describing an incident where she drew a patient’s take-home instructions into a comic strip instead of giving them an itemized list. The patient was insulted. What a prude.

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