Pediatrician vs Adult Doctor

Last month I had to finally make the switch from my childhood pediatrician to a new physician. I’m twenty-two; it probably should have happened a while ago, but I was always apprehensive about changing, and now I realize I was right. Adult doctors suck. Here’s some reasons my pediatrician was better:

Waiting Room: Dr. Fomalante’s waiting room was awesome. It had a fish tank, a pinball machine, posters of Sesame Street characters, a literal chest full of toys, and the past ten years’ back issues of Highlights for Kids. You know what my new doctor’s waiting room has? Old people. I mean, there are some AARP magazines on a coffee table, but mostly what you notice is the long couch filled with a revolving cast of decrepit senior citizens. The way they sit there, hearing aids turned up and eager for their names to be called, it looks like they’re waiting on line to go die.

Receptionists: Dr. Fomalante’s receptionists gave out “Hello my name is:” stickers and lollipops. At my new doctor’s office, the only thing the ladies behind the desk give out is the bill, and then they go back to chatting in Spanish. I’m pretty sure they’re making fun of me.

Clientele: Back at the pediatrician’s office, when Dr. Fomalante was examining me, we’d listen to the crying babies down the hall and the little kids screaming about getting a shot, and we’d look back and forth at each other and smile and it would be like “Dr. Fomalante, me? I’m no pussy. I’m not gonna bitch, just gimme the shot.” He always looked impressed when he stuck the needle in my arm and I just smiled. Also, since most of his patients were pre-teen, I could be almost positive that my dick was the biggest he’d seen all day.

Doctor-Patient Relationship: Every time I went to Dr. Fomalante, he had some jokes up his sleeve. He’d ask me if everything was all right and I’d say yes. Then he’d go, “Oh! But what happened to your nose?” What happened to my nose, Dr. Fomalante? He’d pull away his hand from my face, squeezing his thumb between his index and middle fingers and say, “Why, it’s fallen off! I’ve got your nose!” Granted, it had gotten old by the time I turned fifteen. But all my new doctor says is “Kick!” and “Drop your pants.”

You know what the best part about going to my pediatrician was, though? He never would say things like, “I’m afraid you have chlamydia.”