Tuesday, February 23, 2010
I picked a new primary care physician, a younger female Indian doctor who looked me over in the hospital a few months ago & when I was discharged surprised me by soliciting my business as a primary care patient. Her office is little inconvenient to reach, & I'm sure her listed hours are hypothetical. But how many individual GP doctors actually want you as a customer? My old PCP, who I never saw, was a name on top of a large group practice. This new PCP doctor wasn't in my old HMO. She was the third doctor I'd wanted as a primary but couldn't have without being able to claim a "continuance of care" exception. One of the doctors was a personal friend of my psych therapist at the time, & a tall, stern Polish woman with very subtle, dry sense of humor, the kind of humor where you're supposed to get it but not actually chuckle at it.
Looking through lists of physicians, noticed my former girlfriend's best piano student is now a GP in practice with her pediatrician mom. They were a family of very high acheivers, from South India. But every minute of her day was accounted for, had to be useful, excelling at whatever she did was expected. She had a lot of poise, although she occasionally complained about her lack of a "normal" teen social life . You could tell her younger brother was in a pressure cooker. In a rather odd connection, I happened to meet their great-aunt, a professor who knew (& thought highly of) a pot-smoking poet friend of mine who was prof of Classical lit at the same university in upstate New York.
"If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of civilization, it expects what never was and never will be." Thomas Jefferson
Looking through lists of physicians, noticed my former girlfriend's best piano student is now a GP in practice with her pediatrician mom. They were a family of very high acheivers, from South India. But every minute of her day was accounted for, had to be useful, excelling at whatever she did was expected. She had a lot of poise, although she occasionally complained about her lack of a "normal" teen social life . You could tell her younger brother was in a pressure cooker. In a rather odd connection, I happened to meet their great-aunt, a professor who knew (& thought highly of) a pot-smoking poet friend of mine who was prof of Classical lit at the same university in upstate New York.
