Doctor Doctor

Over the last few months, I've been wanting to find a regular doctor to start seeing. I go to a family practice attached to the local hospital (edit: in the city...) where I live, which is convenient, but in the eight years or so I've gone there, I've probably seen at least ten different physicians. The family practice is a training ground for residents who come and go. None of them seem to linger for long, so I never have a doctor who knows more than what he or she reads in the file.

While ideally I would love to have a gay physician, they're not as easily found in the Cincinnati area in the Pink Pages or our equivalent. I know two, but one is not taking new patients and the other is a radiologist. So after checking with a local buddy, I signed up with a local doctor on his recommendation. One of the things I have to do is have my medical records transferred to his office. On my way home yesterday I stopped by the family practice to sign the papers to move my files.

A very nice lady at the window asked me, "Well, why do you want to leave us?"

I was prepared for that question as I had half-heartedly expected them to wonder. I told her that I needed to start seeing a doctor who was regularly familiar with my history, instead of multiple, different residents just reading my file. She said that it was not an unusual reason that they hear as that's one of the few negatives of their practice.

After she left, one of the other ladies behind the glass gave me the paperwork to sign and said, "Do you know who that was?"

"No," I said. I knew she was a doctor from one of the other ladies referring to her with the title, but nothing else.

"That's Dr. Barnes," she said in amazement, "she's the chief physician here."

Nice, I thought. If I was going to give the practice the reason for leaving, I guess it's best that the head doctor knew it. :)

Unpleasant Moments of Wednesday

Work was okay, but tiring. After work, my buddy Dan texted me and asked if I wanted to grab a drink after work. So after a quick drive home to change clothes, I met Dan at Mainstrasse in Covington. Instead of going to the posh restaurant he recommended, I suggested going to a local German restaurant, Wertheim's, that I recalled as being really good in the past.

The place was empty and the waitress, an older blonde lady, acted put out that she had to show us to a table. When we tried the meals we ordered, something was amiss. The potato pancakes were stale almost like it was leftovers from last night. I ordered the rouladen with potato dumplings. The dumplings were soft and tasteless and the rouladen steak was tough and the inside was bland and mushy. It was awful. After three bites, I just couldn't eat it and pushed it aside. It tasted like something that had been reheated or microwaved from something old. Even Dan's sandwich was mediocre. The server asked me if something was wrong with it and I told her that it just didn't taste good. She offered to get me something else, but I suspected the whole menu was this way. Sadly, I paid for the meal, but I'll never go back. I told Dan that we'll go wherever he wants with no argument next time.

After dinner I drove to get an oil change. I hate doing this because they always try to get me to have other things done. Why can't they just change the damn oil and leave it be? They wanted to change the air filter for $21.99. I begged off and went to KMart and bought the same filter for $4.95 and changed it myself. It took less than 30 seconds to change and they were going to charge me an extra $17 to do it for me. I feel sorry for the grandmothers who go in and feel it is something they can't do. I'm going to look into learning to change my oil myself.