I love my gynie doc. She is one of those women that you just KNOW were the smartest girl in every class she ever took, but not in an annoying way. In an "I'm so damn smart I can't help it" way.
She has cute blonde curls and always changes the subject right before she is about to insert fingers where fingers don't normally belong. "Hey look over there? Is that a condor?" "No, it is your latexed fingers AGAIN! Every year we go through this." And yet I forgive her. She wants the best for me.
We had a brief, intense conversation about what a shit year it has been for me. Breakup, death, death, stroke. She was honestly moved. Spilled her guts about how hard losing her dad was.
I cried. She checked on my depression level. I denied everything.
"If it gets really bad, call me - I can get you the meds," she said.
I asked her for a referral to a general practitioner.
"I can take care of you," she said. "You're really healthy and most anything that comes up, I can help you with."
Of the two offers, the second was the one that made me feel more comforted and whole. She can take care of me. She knows me. That is something that actually makes me feel better.