They are not all the same

Last night, I took James and a friend's son to Hoss Steak House. Shortly after we arrived, I saw Adam, father of Dan, imfamous songwriter of "The Curse Song," at the salad bar. He waved and told me where his family was sitting. James and Dan were delighted to see each other.

As soon as we sat at our table, I noticed that my gynocologist, Dr. K., was seated at the next table with his wife, daughter and grandchild. I would have acknowledged him, said hello, waved, smiled, winked, whatever....but he discreetly pretended not to know me. I wondered why. After all, as the patient, I am the one who must contend with the humiliation of the annual gynocological exam, not he.

His cold shoulder, as it were, got me thinking....After each yearly exam, he invites me into his office for a final chat, ostensibly an opportunity for me to relay any concerns or ask any questions. I never have any. I always feel somewhat embarrassed even though my clothes are back on, and all I really want is to leave and put the exam behind me. But the after-exam chat in the office is his procedure, so I go along. What happens though, is that I have to make up something to talk about, usually not problematic for me, but facing the man who, only minutes prior, has given me an internal exam, is (problematic, I mean).

Year after year, the after-exam chats become increasingly difficult for me. Last year, though, I did have a question and, as soon as we sat together in his office on opposite sides of his desk, he smiled and waited...for me to say something. "So tell me," I started, "do they all look pretty much the same?"

Without missing a beat, he smiled slightly, folded his hands on his desk and responded, "No."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

"Really?"

"Really."

"OK," I said, nodding reflectively.

I thought of this exchange while my gynocologist sat five feet away from me eating steaks with his family at Hoss. I couldn't share my recollection with the children at my table, of course, but after a while, I wondered who felt more embarrassed, him or me.

Years ago, when my child was a baby, his father and I took him to Teresa's in Wayne for supper. My previous gynocologist. Dr. E. (who delivered James but passed away several years later and had been a partner of Dr. K.) was there, dining with his wife, grown children and grandchildren. He waved to us happily, and we waved back.

So next year, maybe I will have something to discuss with Dr. K. during the after-exam chat. Or maybe I won't.