Is There a (Good) Doctor in the House?

                                                        Photo by Alexandr Podvalny on Unsplash



When my parents were elderly, their mantra was: Find me a good doctor. Now that I’m elderly, I know what they were talking about. It is not easy finding a new doctor who also happens to be compassionate and understanding.

A few years ago, I found her though. Dr. Dean was a dream. I liked her immediately. I was convinced she was my medical soulmate. I was in love! She returned my calls posthaste and made home visits. When I was admitted to the hospital, she took the time to visit me. I may be the easiest patient (okay, that may be an understatement), but as a concierge doctor, I'm paying her a hefty annual fee to go above and beyond. As concierge doctors go, she is somewhat "affordable" at $10,000 dollars per year. I say that because concierge doctors in Los Angeles cost $40,000 per year. I know because I forked it over. What did I get for $40,000 a year? Not much. It turns out that recovering addicts are not treated altogether kindly by medical professionals, even grossly overpaid personal doctors. 

Dr. Dean was different—I was sure of it. Until, that is, my most recent dilemma. We've been over this, I know, but it bears repeating. Parkinson's and sleeplessness go hand in hand. Not sleeping is not my fault and neither is Parkinson's, which I won in the genetic lottery. Thanks again, Dad! 

Naturally, I turned to my go-to, Dr. Dean, to request sleep medication. She she was understandably hesitant to prescribe anything that may be addictive. I reassured her: I have a proven record of being clean and sober. I have been sober for 40 years with one relapse seven years ago.  I've got this.

I'm sorry, but no, she said, looking at her laptop, rather than into my eyes, heart and soul. 

My now unconcerned soulmate was joining the rank and file in punishing me for my addiction. She knows the unrelenting sleep disturbance is destroying my life and yet...no compassion. 

She continued, Well, so what? You don’t sleep for a couple of days and then you will eventually fall asleep.

Not true, I countered, and what about my depression? I'm at my wit's end. 

She kindly suggested that I go home, stop eating and off myself.

I may have misheard her, sure. But in the meantime, I will prioritize my search for a new, good doctor, channeling my parents, having come full circle.