The Good Doctor would like for me to put black bars over his eyes when I post photos of him on my blob. Facial pixellation would be considered acceptable as well. And he doesn't take well to my suggestion that typing "The Good Doctor," when added up over the years, will cost me at least 6 months of my lifespan, so why not just cut to the chase and let me call him by his real name, Rumpelstiltskin.
But recently I was reminded of why I should never out The Good Doctor.
When I come home from work, I want to hang out with him and Emmy and talk about the goings on, the government workers that need to choke and die, the lady squatting next to our news car peeing on the street in San Francisco. You know, typical day at work stuff. But before I get to do that, I always have to suffer through the LEAST favorite part of my day. Yes, even less favorite than seeing a 65 year old Asian lady with the body of an anorexic 15 year old, the bottle black ponytail and blunt bangs of a roller derby queen, and the dingy Forever 21 clothes of a person who would squat between two SUVs and pee on the ground for two minutes.
It's the part of the day when he announces, "I have to call my patients." Wah wah wah.
To which, without fail, I always respond with, "AAAAAUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Why don't you do that BEFORE I come home?" Followed by my "Good Doctor voice" impersonation which sounds like the teacher on Charlie Brown.
To which he responds with, muffled sounds behind the door to our room and the distant sound of a dialing phone.
The conversation always starts with, "Hi, this is Dr. Good Doctor. Is Mrs. Smith there?"
And then wah wah wah about the surgery and how things are going to go and how they won't die and they can ask any additional questions on the day of the surgery and he'll be there with them the whole time wah wah wah.
Usually it's a brief chat.
Until Patient N. N for Nuuuu-hut-job. This woman was hyperventilating on the phone, alternately accusatory and panic-stricken. She said she Googled him and had hoped for someone "older." "With more experience." And then she was on the line for HALF AN HOUR, time I could've been talking about the ROLLER DERBY PEE QUEEN.
She was convinced she was going to get sick and have a horrible experience based on her past experiences with anesthesia and did she mention she GOOGLED him and he seemed young and what is she going to do she wants someone else and she's not comfortable with this and last time oh my god huff huff cry cry have an anxiety meltdown.
It took a lot of talking and repeating and coaxing to chill her out. I was in and out of the room, gesturing wildly about the PEE QUEEN but The Good Doctor was so not into my gymnastics. In fact, he was shooting me dagger eyes and wound up locked in the bathroom because I kept miming to him and trying to eavesdrop because this was the Longest Patient Call in History.
The Good Doctor was very patient and understanding and reassuring but Patient N was having None Not One Bit of It. So much for bedside manners. They eventually hung up and she went back to googling him.
The next day was another mountain of molehills and not THIS vein, I want it in THAT vein but finally she was under anesthesia. And silent.
Lo and behold, all went exceedingly well and Patient N was A-OK. Imagine that! After insulting your doctor and threatening to cancel your surgery, he was the "best" anesthesiologist and he got you through your surgery complication free.
Anyway, back to the point of my post. It's a good thing I don't use his real name. Can you even imagine if Patient Nuuuu-hut-job found my blob?