Making the foray into blogging because at forty-something, and mother of three, I have turned my back on my film career and am pursuing my education. This September I start at UCLA as a Junior, majoring in English.
This post is off-topic, but there is a tangential connection. My Ob/Gyn is a lovely man. He greets me always with a warm handshake and kiss on the cheek. I like this, although I know some women who would find it mortifying. I even like that while he is inserting various implements and digits into my nether regions, we chat about our kids and life in general. While he is inspecting my mammaries for suspicious lumps, he asks me about what I am doing now, and I tell him about my impending foray into University life. He is so genuinely encouraging, I am touched. He says I should document the experience, and I stumblingly confess that I will be blogging. "Splendid!," he says "That is the 21st century version of a diary. Then you should use that and expand it into a book." I think about how he has delivered my third child (the other two were born in England), prescribed contraception, given me great advice about my waning sex drive,and patiently tolerated my obsession with perimenopause. He could conceivably see me through menopause and check me for growths and tumors well into my dotage. What a wonderful career he has, I muse, and he agrees with me. I get a bit teary while I am saying this, which I hope is just ovulation hormones. He spends time and really listens, and is genuinely interested in his patients. In the current environment of health care reform debate, I fervently believe everyone should have access to doctors like mine, but know I am in a lucky minority who receive the very best from healthcare providers, and I can choose them for their ability and their skill.