One great gyno

Tuesday was one of the more devastating days of my life. It started with one of those scary letters in the mail from the gynecologist’s office. If you haven’t ever gotten one, they say this on the outside: “Confidential. For patient’s eye’s only. If you aren’t the patient, I’m just warning you that you probably don’t want to see what’s inside. But just so you know, it includes a sour smell, pus-filled boils and a less-than-fresh sensation.” And then on the inside it’s all, “Just kidding! Time for your annual exam!” \nAfter I read the inside of the letter and my hands stopped trembling I called my gynecologist’s office to make an appointment. However, my cheery “I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. N. please!” was met with a sour smelling, pus-filled, “Um, Dr. N. has retired.”\n“... Excuse me?”\n“Dr. N. has retired.”\n“Are you sure?”\n“Yes ma’am.”\n“He didn’t leave me a note or anything? A gift basket? An apology?”\n“No ma’am.”\n“But what am I supposed to do now?”\n“Well, you may schedule an appointment with any of our other fine associates at...”\nClick. \nExcuse my phone manners, but if there is one thing my gynecologist is not allowed to do it is retire. OK, I suppose I wouldn’t want him to molest me or say, “Boys are yucky!” while engaging in a spittle-filled giggle. But my dear Dr. N. never did any of those things. He was my knight in shining armor. I loved him. And he is just not allowed to retire. \nDr. N. was always there for me during my most vulnerable times. Take, for example, the time in ninth grade when I sobbed in his office for half an hour after finding out my birth control pills had been making me gain weight. (Ten solid pounds of chocolate and Titanic, right ladies!? OK ladies?! But seriously. It was a big deal.) Like all my vag-related problems, Dr. N. solved it with a simple swish of his pen. His prescription for Yaz solved all my problems.\nWhen I got my first yeast infection, he gently responded, “Oh, ouchie ouchie,” which practically cured me on the spot. His sweet sympathy made me feel like a little girl who had fallen down and scraped her knee while searching for her lost My Little Pony instead of a woman with a fungus growing between her legs.\nDr. N. was always like a little teddy bear, gently checking for lumps in my breasts while expertly directing the conversation to my major in school and my plans after graduation. And that’s service you just can’t find everywhere. If only Dr. N. had practiced until all his patients died, cloned himself or left a teddy bear son in his place to pick up the pieces of his abandoned patients’ shattered souls. \nBut alas, he did none of the above and instead recommended me to some crackpot Bloomington gynecologist. He did, however, refer to the new guy as “just a big ol’ teddy bear.” So maybe things will work out, after all.