Dana lives in Seattle, and Tracie lives in Germany. We are businesswomen, writers and humorists. We write about life, dating, and today's modern women.
A lot of people, especially when you become the ripe middle age of a Menopausebarbee, detest going to the doctor. Like any used piece of equipment, our bodies need the proper tune ups, and must get pricked, pruned, probed, and polished to function properly.
For the past twenty years, my visit to the sterile white-jacket clinic has been, well, bearable and if I must admit, enjoyable. When I met my doctor, Bradley Harris, whom I fondly called Dr. H, I immediately loved his bedside manner. He was not an alarmist and always found a way to allay my pseudo hypochondriac mind. (Picture Woody Allen in Hannah and Her Sisters).
With his fashionable bow tie, a glimmer in his eye and always an optimistic take, I found him to be truly a partner in my health. Soon, I had my entire family (even Tracie on visits from Germany) seeing this great doctor. I always felt special, as if I was the most important patient on the planet.
On Wednesday evening, I discovered that I along with literally a few thousand others had the same special sentiment of feeling “special” to Dr. H. When my mother and I arrived for a farewell reception honoring his 33 years of service, we were informed the party was too large for the hospital to accommodate, so we were moved across the street to a hotel.
The reception line weaved like a snake as Dr. H’s patients patiently waited in excess of 3 hours to get and give a hug.
As a parting gift, he gave us each a final prescription and it’s a prescription for life… Enjoy!