Health care

YDK —  the beloved Young Dr. Kildare — seems to have flown the coop.

Yes, it is possible that he and his partners have closed the office for a holiday break. But if that were the case, surely they’d a) have a sign on the door to that effect and b) have some sort of off-putting announcement on their phone answering machine. But….neither of those applies. The doors are locked. No sign is in evidence. And they’re not answering the telephones.

Soooo…. I’m awfully afraid he’s gone, as in lost-and-gone-forever.

Not good, because he’s a sweetie-pie and his partners are tangibly competent. So I don’t hate loathe and despise going to the doctor when I have to see him, as is the case when I go to visit most quacks. Plus his office is right up the road from here…the Mayo Clinic, where my heavier-weight docs practice, is waaaaayyyy over on the east side, halfway to Payson. Seriously, almost an hour’s drive through cut-throat traffic.

Called a friend who is also a YDK fan. She thinks he may have moved his practice to Sun City. That’s entirely possible: a bunch of docs are following the Baby Boomers out there.

But…well, if so, bully for him. But I ain’t drivin’ an hour each way, forgodsake, to see a doc in Sun City for 15 or 20 minutes. Plus I have some exceptionally unhappy memories of the incompetence we encountered while my mother was dying of cancer in Sun City. Sorry…but I’m NOT driving an hour each way to do business with a dimwitted hack who doesn’t give a damn about aging women patients, thankyouverymuch.

One of those bastards told me and my father, as my mother begged for care for her (fukkin’ obvious! agonizing!) cancer, that (these ARE exact his words!) “all middle-aged women are hypochondriacs.”

No kidding.

Actually, the term he used was crocks. That’s quack-talk for crocks of sh!t.

So…now I need to try to find another “doctor in the wild,” as the Mayo’s staff calls the local medicos who are not on their faculty, or resign myself to driving until the cows come home for every little sniffle.

Or…I suppose…I could move to Scottsdale.

***

But….dammit, I don’t want to move to Scottsdale!

Not that there’s anything wrong with Scottsdale, other than that it’s Snottsville.   But my son lives here in town. I could almost walk to his house from mine – it’s an eight-minute drive down through urban traffic to his house. Residential parts of Scottsdale – those I might afford – are a good 45 minutes from central Phoenix. That’s when it’s not rush hour! And therein lies the issue: I don’t wanna be 45 minutes or an hour away from my son!

***

Sooooo….what to do, what to do?

I reckon come the first Monday after the Christmas chivaree, I’ll try to call over to YDK’s place again.

Failing that, I’ll…

a) Try to get in to a friend’s doctor in central Phoenix, and/or
b) Ask on the neighborhood Facebook page for recommendations from the locals.

We shall see how that goes. Mercifully, there’s no emergency.

…for the nonce…