Yesterday was my annual hope-I-don't-have-cancer checkup. That's really all we need to say here in the blogosphere, right? No other information necessary. I used to dread that day every year. I went to a nice doctor from Northwestern and then I would reward myself with something from the Fannie May store on Michigan Avenue, but still. It was awful.
Then I changed doctors, to one closer to my house. Dr. Mills and I hit it off right away. Then I got pregnant, and she was possibly as excited as I was. She is part of a practice, you know, where you see a different doctor each time so you get used to them all before delivery because who knows which one will be on call when your baby arrives. But not in my case. She was there for all my appointments (unless she had to run off and deliver a baby). She gave me her pager number in case of emergencies and said when the time came, she would definitely be the doctor who delivered my baby--so be sure and page her. She would run the mini-sonogram machine during my check-ups and say, "Hello in there little baby! It's Auntie Dr. Mills!"
When the time did come, she was in the room much of the time. Then, she was right up on the table with her six-month pregnant self, bringing Lucy into the world and saying, "It's a girl!"
Same thing when Elaine came, except by this time we had moved again, so I drove 75 miles one way just to see my favorite doctor. Lucy was born on a busy Saturday, but Elaine was born in the middle of the night so Dr. Mills just hung out in our room during labor and we laughed and chatted and showed her videos of Lucy going trick-or-treating (OK, Darren did that part because I was just a little bit busy). She told me later that when she went out to the nurses' station they asked her, "Why are you spending so much time in that room?" I guess they figured it was the happenin' room because by the time the baby was ready to be born, I don't know how many nurses had come in there to cheer us on.
And of course, I'll never forget hearing her say, "It's Elaine!"
So, now when it's my annual hope-I-don't-have-cancer checkup, I actually look forward to it. I bring pictures of the girls, and we hug, and then we both get tears in our eyes remembering what two awesome, happy days we have shared together. Yeah. My ob/gyn tears up when she remembers delivering the girls. Is that not cool? She told me that the male doctor in her practice asked her scathingly, "Are you sure you're an OB?"
This time we talked again about how we have to get together outside of her office, and she invited us to spend the day at her lake house (heh, yeah, she's a doctor) in August. We talked about how much our girls love American Girl--her daughter has five of them and loads of outfits, which she brings to the lake--and how they could all play together. So hopefully, that will work out.
Whenever I would ask Lucy what she wants to be when she grows up, she would say, "I want to be a doctor and help babies get out of their moms' tummy, just like Dr. Mills." Now she wants to be a chef, just like Rachael Ray, so...maybe she'll be some sort of combination OB/gourmet cook, right?
Anyway, here is Doctor Mills, the greatest doctor ever, with Lucy...
And here she is with Elaine...