Is there a doctor in the city?
A while back I bitched about how hard it is being an adult, because I have to spend my weekends doing adult things like setting up health benefits and investments and 401(k)s instead of drinking beer at noon and watching sports like I should be able to. Well, here’s something new to bitch about: now that I have health benefits, I need to find doctors in Minneapolis to use them on. This poses a daunting task. I don’t know how to find doctors. At least not good ones. This isn’t like window-shopping. This is a man (or woman) who will be feeling my balls for lumps and discussing my sexual history and mental health. I want to make a good choice here.
My mom says I should just ask around at work. Right. I work with lawyers. Not doctors. I don’t care what Ibsen says in A Doll’s House*, I have no reason to suppose lawyers know anything about good medicine. I should have gone to med school. Then I’d have the expertise necessary to make this determination. Of course, if I’d gone to med school, I probably wouldn’t need a doctor. Catch-22.
* “My dear Nora, as a lawyer I know what I’m talking about.” But then, you already knew that.