Golden Girl
If you’ve read of Cathy and Princess, you might suppose all my memorable professional experiences ended sadly. Hardly!
Today is the birthday of one of my all-time favorite patients who has remained in my life for all but the first of her 42 years.
When I began practice in Van Nuys, I caught a big break. My kids’ pediatrician was a cardiologist who wanted to concentrate solely on his specialty at Childrens Hospital, while I had spent 9 months in Beverly Hills waiting for someone to retire. (In the sick humor of the medical world this is known as “waiting for the q waves”). Besides being welcomed by eight obstetricians in the neighborhood looking for a medical home for their babies, I inherited about a hundred families, many of which are still with me.
Debbie was always special. Every visit was a joy because she was so bubbly, cooperative and trusting, even as a baby. By her teens she had become as gorgeous as she was delightful, a 5′10″ blue-eyed blonde beauty who indeed became Miss Santa Clarita Valley at 18. On a sick visit one day I asked her to doff her sweater so I could check her lungs. Off it came; the expected layers of undergarments weren’t there! Her mom joined in the laughter as I tried vainly to regain my composure, and I remembered why the stethoscope was invented (by a Frenchman, of course).
Then there was the day I took my employees to lunch at one of those noisy Ventura Boulevard eateries where the in-crowd likes to congregate. Debbie had become a legal secretary and was there with her bosses. When she spotted me she rushed over with her girlish glee and gave me a hug and kiss that turned every head in the room. For one shining moment this 50+nerdy doctor was an A-list stud.
The encounter was even sweeter because she announced she was pregnant. Months later she called in tears (the only time I’d ever known her to cry) and told me she’d had a stillbirth, one of those unexplainable tragedies – a lovely 9-month baby who seemed perfect. What could I say? I knew what NOT to say:
“You’ll have more babies” or “You’ll get over it.” And there was the selfish response that I left unspoken: Debbie was back with her sparkle for another 18 years or more, and then she was gone again.
Ah but there’s more. The morning after my first grandchild was born, Debbie and her husband had a fine baby boy. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Her brother (whose children are also my patients), her folks, the nurse, I and the OB (well, not him) hugged and blessed each other. Because my Max was 375 miles away and I wouldn’t see him for a week or so, I had a vicarious grandfather experience on top of the thrill of seeing Debbie become a mother.
And more. Two and a half years later, four days after my second grandchild arrived, Debbie had a girl! Her third came later, this time not matched by a grandchild of my own. (My kids didn’t get the memo). The children are 16, 13 and 11 now and who knows – maybe I’ll be caring for the next generation too!
Life has bestowed many blessings on this golden girl – three wonderful kids, a lovely home, an enviable job (she works for SIR Anthony Hopkins), a great husband. And every head still turns and every jaw drops when she enters a room.
What a privilege to be part of the life of someone so luminous for so many years!
Do you wonder why I don’t retire?