Wednesday, April 06, 2005

This Isn't Your Father's Hematologist, actually it is.

I have a new doctor. A hematologist. My dad goes to him and so recommended him to me. Yesterday was my first appointment with him, so I dropped the bambina off at my mom's and went on my merry and unknowing way to the doctor's office.

What can I say? This is wrong--so wrong--and yet I can't help it. I couldn't have foreseen it, and yet it happened: I have a massive crush on my married new doctor.

Yep. A crush. He is dreamy with a capital D, and I am this close to inventing a critical blood ailment just to see him again before our 3 month check-in.

Imagine my expectations. My DAD goes to him. How good looking could he possibly BE?!! I figured he'd be, like, 70 years old, perhaps using leeches as standard treatment, and definitely definitely not at all even in the parking lot of the arena where there might be preliminary trials in the running for an "E Crush." Dang. How wrong I was.

I was sitting in the room when he walked in, and I was FLOORED because he was a) cute and b) completely not at all what I expected. He looks like a slightly more built Jim Caviezel, pictured here: Jim Caviezel
. Kid you not. Dreamy with a capital D. He walked in, shook my hand, introduced himself to me, and said some very nice things about my dad being a "beloved member of our practice." To which I responded, "blaaaayeahum, hi! Good! Yes! My dad! Us too! A beloved member of our practice too!"


I was babbling. I could tell I was babbling. You know when you know you're babbling, you're telling yourself in your head that you are babbling and that you should stop, but you can't figure out where to end your sentence because you're no longer sure what it was you were trying to say and now you don't want to end up looking even more dumb by ending in mid-sentence? Yeah. That was me. I finally managed to stop my mouth and brain racing by saying, "Anyway! It's great to meet you!"

Smooth, E. Real smooth. He's not "meeting" you. He's dealing with you, his patient who is presenting with specific symptoms. I was digging myself a hole in a big way and could not stop my mouth from running to get me out of it. I was just, I suppose, mesmerized by him, maybe simply because I had expected someone who looked more like Fish from Barney Miller or Jack Klugman in Quincy. I did not expect Hottie McHottstein, MD.

Of course, all dreamy things must come to an end, and this one did at the moment he said, "okay, so if you'll just undress to your underwear and put this robe on, and I'll be right back to examine you."

ARGH!! This is so wrong!! I knew I would not be able to either get my clothes off OR get my $10 copay's worth of medical attention if I didn't get over the crush in the next 30 seconds, so I channeled my Inner Sixteen Year Old Boy and immediately began thinking of old men on rollerskates, wicker baskets, the girl from 3rd grade with the chronic runny nose leaking into her mouth, bowls of oatmeal, What Would Jesus Do woven yarn bracelets, and of course: baseball, baseball, baseball.

Worked like a charm. Got through the visit, managed to not bat my eyelashes, overstate my fitness level when asked if I stay active, and to not pretend that I am far more interesting than I seem to be while having my spleen felt for enlargement.

Thank God I managed to talk myself down, especially since it could never work between us. There's the spouse thing, the different lifestyles, the fact that he also feels MY DAD'S spleen for enlargement...which just makes the whole scenario WRONG on so many levels.

And so, for the only time in my life and without reserve, I can honestly say, "Thank you, Yankees."

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