cold demeanor

I saw my GP this week. The last time I saw him, about two years ago, he'd asked gruffly if I was getting my medical care somewhere else. My previous visit had been three years earlier.

I don't like my doctor. For context, I'm the kind of guy who likes my mail carrier, and wants the meter reader to like me too, bt something about Dr. G. irritates me. Maybe it's that we're almost the same age, both Jewish, from New England, have kids the same age and live in the same town, but he gives off an air of contempt, like he can't believe he has to deal with me.

I am the only white man I have ever seen in his practice. I've been going to this clinic ever since I graduated from college in 1992 and established my first residence in West Philadelphia. He's been there since 1996.

At my last visit, Dr. G. huffed that at 35 years old, it was time for me to come in at least once a year. Last year I got something irritating in my eye, made a same-day appointment and saw another doctor. I considered that my 2006 visit. This year everything was running smoothly, so I scheduled this visit for a day when I was taking off from work anyway.

Dr. G. asked a few awkward questions, then told me he might as well do a full check to see if I had anything growing on my skin that I shouldn't. He told me to undress down to underpants, then left the room.

It took me ten seconds to strip down to boxers, and then I sat on the exam table to wait for the doctor to return. I was right under the A/C vent. 62° air was blowing down on me. It was freezing.

After five minutes, Dr. G. came back in the room. He made a snarky comment about my boxers - I'll give him the benefit of the doubt: perhaps he was trying to be humorous - as he quickly checked my back and listened to my lungs through his stethoscope. Then he grabbed a pair of latex gloves and sat down on the stool across from the exam table.

Of course, THIS was the moment when he wanted to talk like we're friends. We had a quick discussion about kids and summer camp, totally normal except that I was practically naked, freezing, and aware that the latex gloves mean I'm about to get felt. I couldn't decide whether to stall or precipitate the inevitable. I elected to keep the conversation going.

The good news is that I do not have a hernia. The bad news is that I can't remember ever having my balls juggled by someone I don't like as much as I don't like Dr. G.