Keeping the Motor Running

Yesterday I brought myself in for a tune up at the cooter garage (i.e. - the gynecologist, not Cooter's Garage from Dukes of Hazard, although if I were a GYN, I would definitely name my practice Cooter Garage). This was the third GYN I saw in three years. My first GYN, who I adored because she used foul language to describe a bad doctor, disappeared at the end of 2006. I tried my friend Sara's doc last year, but wasn't impressed. (She described him as very attentive, but I had to remind him to take my history before the exam. Not cool.) I wasn't sure if I would see him again or try to find another person for my annual exam this year. Finding new doctors is a pain in the ass (or maybe in this case, in the crotch?).

Then, in May, the answer came to me while I visited Dr. P in Florida. One might think that she referred me to some doctor that she knew, but of course, that would be a normal way to select a new doctor. While I usually do not read women's magazines (I even hate the term), Dr. P had an issue of Glamour that I picked up while we were sitting around her apartment. Generally, I do not find the health articles helpful, so I was shocked to read one in which the author, a gynecologist in New York City, warned women about the potential dangers of Brazilian waxing. Plus, her bio at the end of the article indicated that she contributes to a feminist sexuality blog. I knew we would get along.

"This is my new gynecologist!" I announced to Dr. P and Husband, pointing excitedly at the open page.

"OK," Husband mumbled, not looking up from what he was reading.

"Great," Dr. P said from the other room.

The best part is that I was right: I LOVE this woman. (This most excellent gynecologist, by the way, is Dr. Katherine O'Connell at New York-Presbyterian.) She's totally the shit. As long as she doesn't drop off the face of the earth, I'll not worry about my poon care for a long time.