I love Connor’s new doctor. We had to take him (Connor, that is) in kind of abruptly this morning because his cold was much worse, and we’re working with a new guy because our last pediatrician committed some confidentiality breaches. I was fully expecting this visit to take at least two hours, because they generally do and we called at the last minute. Instead, we left the house at 11:20 and got home at 12:05.
Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my head spinning around as I try to catch sight of the wormhole.
Connor’s new doctor is in the same practicing group as his old doctor, so I expected a lot of the problems we’d had before to follow us. I expected long waits, rushed visits, and a standing prescription for Amoxicillin that I’d have to argue against on most visits. (“No, I told you, it’s not his ears — he twisted his ankle, and I don’t think Amoxil is the answer. Okay then, if you’re sure…”) It turns out that most of those problems were specific to the old doctor — or specific to all doctors except our new one — because ever since we switched, things have gone swimmingly.
Check it: we arrived, checked in, and the doctor was waiting for us. He was already in the exam room, reviewing Connor’s history and the list of symptoms we’d reported when we made the appointment. He remembered Connor, even though he’d only seen him once before. And the thing I loved most of all? He talked and listened to Connor. That’s right. He remembered Connor’s verbal acuity, realized that Connor was the patient despite my hovering-mother tendencies, and asked him how he felt. He listened patiently to Connor’s answers, spoke quietly to Michael and I about what we’d noticed, and gave Connor a thorough exam. He agreed with me that antibiotics aren’t necessary for every little thing, especially since it looks like what Connor has are recurring allergy flare-ups. He paid attention to our views on medical treatment, but stood firm on his own diagnosis.
Love! This is such a difference from our last doctor. Our last doctor made us wait in the lobby for twenty minutes, then an additional forty in the exam room. Our last doctor spoke patronizingly to Connor and pretty much ignored him when he spoke up about his own symptoms and feelings. Our last doctor spoke patronizingly to us and pretty much ignored us when we spoke up about Connor’s symptoms and feelings. Our last doctor would do nothing more than hand us a prescription for antibiotics — sometimes without even doing an exam — if Michael’s mom called in and requested it. Something was very, very wrong there.
Find yourselves a good doctor, kids. You might have to pay more (I’m still wincing a little), but it is so worth it.