Last week I had a routine appointment with a general practitioner (GP). Having recently moved to Small City, it was a new practice, a new doctor, and something which I approached with a certain degree of trepidation. Would I have to give my entire medical history for the purposes of being a new patient? I didn’t want to go through the whole sorry tale for the purposes of a minor, non-fertility related, consultation.
In the end, GP was given a one-sentence run-down. Following my explanation, he offered to refer to me someone here, someone he assured me is very good. I politely declined. When I moved here I did not have any intention of seeking a new doctor and I still don’t. That will probably seem strange to some, but I love Dr C, and there really isn’t any reason to leave him. He is happy to supply me with prescriptions as long as I want them, and I’m sure he would agree to anything else I asked for at this point – he has always been most understanding and obliging.
The real point is that I just don’t think there is anyone else out there that is going to be able to offer us any more insight or assistance in our case. I’ve seen many doctors along as we travelled along this road, including Dr Famous and he couldn’t help me. Dr C is one thousand times better and has given us much better advice, not to mention an impeccable level of care.
As I walked home that evening, I considered this. Although I didn’t want to accept the referral, in a way I am glad it is there. A kind of security blanket. And I am grateful to have a GP who was understanding of our situation, that I can see should the need arise. Those are, in my experience, extremely rare.
Another instalment about my appointment to follow.