It’s Not Me, It’s You

Finding a good gynecologist is a lot like finding a good partner: There are tons of assholes, a lot who make you just feel meh, and only a select few with whom you really connect. And then? There are the batshit crazy ones.

Today, I realized that I’ve been courting the coo-coo with my latest lady-doc. Naturally, I had to break it off. But you know how the crazies do. It’s never their fault, and they are eager to tell you about all of your shortcomings. Combating a crazy is a learning experience, and today I learned a very important lesson: When your gynecologist calls you a cold-hearted bitch, all you can say is, “K THX BAI!”

At first, our doctor-patient relationship showed a lot of promise. Dr. K had come highly recommended to me by my previous gynecologist, who was a saint. I felt like I was being set-up on a blind date by my best friend. She knew me so well! She would never steer me wrong! Dr. K was bound to be my speculum-wielding soul mate!

The first appointment I had with her was for my annual exam. I was expecting the standard, she’s-in-she’s-out-I’m-in-my-office-by-10-am deal. Instead, I sat in the reception area 60 minutes past my appointment time. I spent another 30 minutes in an exam room, wearing nothing but a paper gown, and reading Better Homes & Gardens. When Dr. K finally burst into the room with wild eyes and disheveled hair, she offered no acknowledgement of or apology for her tardiness. I was peeved, but she was nice, and I didn’t feel like I needed a rape kit and hot shower when I left her office, so I let it go.

Fast forward to today.

I haven’t had a period in six months, and while I’ve secretly been hoping that I’m asympotomatically with-child, and can therefore get a spot on I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant! I’m fairly certain this is not the case.

I made this appointment two weeks ago. I took the day off of work, and then scheduled a few other things for later in the afternoon to make it feel less like I was wasting an entire vacation day for one appointment. I checked in on-time and immediately knew something was wrong.

The nurse didn’t see me on the schedule. I just stared at her.

She fumbled around on her computer for a minute, asked why I was there, said she’d check with Dr. K to see if she could fit me in, and told me to have a seat.

You know when your relationship is headed south and then that seal-the-deal moment happens, and you just feel sick knowing that it has to be over? This? Was that moment.

The nurse came back and told me that Dr. K would see me, but I’d have to wait until she had seen her next four appointments. Knowing full well that an appointment could take anywhere from 5-300 minutes, I lost my shit.

“I’m not waiting for her to see four patients. I took the entire day off of work to come down here. I waited for 90 minutes to see her last time and I was actually on the schedule.”

The nurse shifted her eyes around awkwardly.

“You know what, I’ll just find a new doctor. One who actually values my time as much as hers,” I half-shouted as I stormed out of the office.

But as I made my way down Michigan Avenue, weaving through idiotic tourists taking pictures of not-tall buildings, I felt like I had unfinished business. It was as unsatisfying as trying to break up with someone through their personal assistant. So I called her office and left a message asking her to call me back as soon as she could. If we were going to part ways, we were going to do it in-person. Or at least over the phone. But definitely not via text. That’s so gauche.

She called me back, surprisingly: “Hi, Kristen. Dr. K, here. I heard there was a mix-up at the front desk?”

“Yes, someone deleted my appointment.”

“Oh, ha, well…that actually only happens about once a year. We’re really good about our scheduling, so, um…maybe you called the wrong office?”

Was this bitch serious?

“Ok. I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, but…”

She cut me off, “Well, I would have seen you, but Marissa said you didn’t want to wait. You know I can’t just push you in front of other, scheduled appointments.”

I could see she was trying to insinuate that I didn’t want to wait because I felt “entitled,” which was a fucking fallacy.

“Yes, I certainly understand that I can’t just be pushed to the top of the list. But being that I waited for you for over 90 minutes the last time I was there, with a scheduled appointment, I wasn’t going to wait for you to see four patients before me.”

Her tone changed. We had entered Crazyville.

“Look, let me explain to you how I run my practice, Kristen.” This seemed to be headed in a good direction.

“Sometimes I have a delivery and that takes precedence. Sometimes I have a woman come in for her annual and she’s crying because her husband just died, and that takes precedence, too. I give my patients all the time they need. I give my patients the emotional understanding that they need. Some people aren’t like that or don’t need that. Some people don’t live their lives that way and so it doesn’t work them.”

For starters, anyone who chooses to go for a pap smear right after her husband dies is out of her God damn mind. I mean, you have some fucked up priorities if  “annual cervical swabbing” falls right below “plan funeral.” Regardless, I saw what she was trying to do here. By some people, she clearly meant me, which is fine. She’s right, I’m not going to sit in her office and sob. Ever. But that’s doesn’t mean I’m an unsympathetic asshole, nor does it mean she gets to be 90 minutes late without acknowledging it.

I explained to her that I understood that urgent cases would be seen ahead of me, and that that was fine, but that I thought it was disrespectful to be grossly tardy without even the slightest apology. This didn’t change that she was a crazy, and she responded accordingly.

“Well, as I said, the way I relate to my patients doesn’t work for everyone. Not everyone is afforded the ability to connect emotionally with others, and so they don’t understand what I do.”

This. Wasn’t. The. Fucking. Point. But it also wasn’t worth it.

“Ok, yea, well, in that case, I think I’m just going to find another doctor, so,” I said.

She paused, “Well, Kristen, I wish you the best of luck, because…” I hung up the phone.

As much as I wanted to hear more about my emotional inadequacies from someone who looks at vaginas all day, the whole thing had become…tired. It just needed to be over. So I ended it.

I’m not going to lie, our exchange wasn’t half as fulfilling as some knock-down-drag-out fight. I have so much more that needs to be said to this bizarre woman. But you know what? This is why God made Yelp! See you on the interwebz, Dr. K!