I hate change. Hate it, hate it. "May you live in interesting times" is the ultimate curse for me. I WANT BORING. The Middle East is driving me nuts right now. (And that last is facetious; I want those people to be free, and the current movement is just about the best news we could get because Mideast freedom--without US interference--robs Al Qaeda of recruits. I just wish things would slow down so I could catch up.)
Consequently, my decision to change doctors after nearly 25 years with the same practice is earth-shattering. But one misdiagnosis too many finally pushed me to leave. Our old doctor is more or less retired, the new ones don't know who we are and we never see the same one twice in a row.
John's been to the new doctor and has pronounced her good; she practices integrative medicine--natural as well as allopathic--and comes well-recommended. I'm seeing her on Monday for my way-overdue annual girly parts visit.
I don't wanna go. Because I really hate change.