We spend a lot of time in doctors' offices. So much so, that I now take along the two latest issues of Time, maybe a book, and a water bottle. Sometimes the mail. I make sure I have my folks' medicine charts, a pen, and some gum. Then, we settle in for the long wait.
We have never been in and out of a doc's office in under an hour. It's usually two.
For the good docs, we don't complain. They are kind and warm and know Mom and Dad very well. It's a blessing to have someone in your corner like this.
For the urologist who treats his patients like cattle - herd 'em in, herd 'em out - the wait seems rude and wasteful. After a year of hoping things would improve, we transferred to a new urologist, who calls himself "the plumber." Dad gets a kick out of that.
My favorite physician is Dr. R. (the folks' primary care doc.) He nods kindly when Mom insists her health store supplements are keeping her alive. He holds Dad's hand in a manly shake while gently reminding him that, yes, your heart is still weak, and no, we don't live forever.
Several times, Dr. R. has talked to me on the phone about the folks. As I've watched Mom and Dad decline, he has allowed me to share my fears with him. In front of him, I have often blinked away tears.
|Mom with Dr. R.|
He doesn't know this, but he's my doc too.