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Fresh Living

My blog sister Holly just wrote about her ban on male doctors. I can totally relate. Even though my pediatrician, Dr. Rappaport was a lovely man, many subsequent male doctors in my early life were condescending, dismissive, and down-right rude. (And let’s not even talk about the non-medical healers I’ve visited who complimented my aura a few too many times. Ick.) I wouldn’t go to a male anything for years.

It was only when I was diagnosed with cancer four years ago that I delved into the male doctor zone. The first oncologist I met was screamingly typical of my previous experiences. Patronizing, clinical, rough. Horrible. He told me my disease looked “beautiful under a microscope” and was “intellectually stimulating.” And gave me the bone marrow biopsy from hell. Anyway. Immediate, obsessive research led me to Dr. Z, the antithesis of the first. Warm, smart, fatherly without being paternalistic, at the very top of his field, I fell into his care like a newborn. And it changed me. Now my shrink is a man, I go to male massage therapists, chiropractors, acupuncturists. I’m so open to men that I crossed the final frontier–yep, a male gynecologist. I was sold when a friend told me her friend said of Dr. E, “He can look inside me any time.” It was the most painless, not-uncomfortable time I’ve ever spent in stirrups. So. Something to think about.

Do you go to male docs?  

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