>The Crush

>”Do you know of any good looking male OBs?” a newly-pregnant friend asked me once. “I keep hearing that every woman falls in love with her OB, so I figured I might as well have a cute one.”

I had to laugh. I definitely loved my OB, but she was a woman. Loving a male doctor would be awkward and weird.

And then I met Dr. Carver.

Punky was sick. 104-degree fever sick. I brought her in on a Tuesday to see a (female) on-call doctor, who, after a ten-minute attempt at getting a throat culture (which ended with two nurses essentially prying open Punky’s jaw while she cried), determined that if she still had a fever in 48 hours, I needed to bring her back for another culture. Friday rolled around and Punky’s fever clocked in at 102. Worried and exhausted from taking care of her and trying to keep Bruiser germ-free at the same time, I set up an evening appointment and brought her back in, cringing at the thought of another strep culture.

In walked an impossibly young-looking man with a kind grin on his face. “Hey, Punky,” he said. “I heard that your throat hurts.” He kneeled and talked to her for a moment before standing and introducing himself. “I’m Dr. Carver,” he said. “I know you must be worried with her sick and an infant in the house,” he looked over at Bruiser, “but we’re going to make sure she gets better as quickly as possible.”

In that moment, he became Frankie Avalon to my Annette Funicello. Here was a man who truly saw into my heart. I melted.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I murmurmed, abashed.

Clearly, Punky was also under his spell; after talking gently to her as he listened to her heart and checked her ears, he easily convinced her to open her mouth and let him look inside.

“Her throat is still red,” he said. “You can get another strep culture if you’d like, but I don’t think it’s necessary since she had one two days ago, unless you want it. It’s totally your decision.”

My decision? I got to make a decision at a doctor’s office? My eyes grew dewy. “I think we’ll skip the culture,” I said, blushing.

“Okay,” he said, nodding earnestly. “Now, I’m going to diagnose this as viral pharyngitis,” he said, writing in Punky’s file. “I really think she’s going to turn a corner with this by tomorrow.” He put his notes away, turned to face me, and spent the next five minutes explaining to me what the diagnosis meant what I could expect, and exactly how long she’d be contagious around Bruiser and her friends. “And I understand how you must feel,” he said, looking at Punky and her brother. “I have two young children at home, too, and it’s really tough keeping them apart.” I gazed at him, rapt and teary-eyed. He understood. He understood.

“Now, do you have any questions for me?” he asked. “Anything at all?”

“You’ve covered everything, Dr. Carver,” I said fervently, shaking his hand. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.” As he left the room, I fought an urge to squeal and jump up and down. I had a doctor crush!

“He was amazing,” I gushed to Hubs as I recounted the visit later that night. “I mean, I love our pediatrician, too, but Dr. Carver is so awesome!”

Hubs nodded. I knew he could relate because he has a doctor crush of his own on our general practitioner.

“You know, I chose a female pediatrician because I wanted the girls to feel comfortable with her,” I said. “But that means Bruiser should have a male doctor. I get to switch him to Dr. Carver!” I yelped.

“Okay,” Hubs said, amused. “Sounds good.”

Hubs knows he doesn’t need to worry; after all, I’m wildly attracted to him and he’s truly the best father in the world. But I will totally crush on anyone, female or male, who takes good care of my babies.