Growing up as a doctor’s daughter I was accustomed to grateful patients obviously demonstrating their appreciation to him in tangible ways. There were always more presents for dad under the tree at Christmastime. It was clear by their actions that his charges cared a great deal for their doctor.

In fact, while I was in high school I volunteered at a thrift shop and during one memorable coffee break I popped into the lounge while some elderly ladies were discussing their health. They each insisted that their doctor was the best and even confessed to having a wee crush on him. Turns out they were all talking about the same man: my dad!! What an uncomfortable coincidence!

In any case, I was proud of my father and became used to the idea that doctors were all nice people who genuinely wanted to help. I would rage at folks complaining about the medical profession in general: impersonal analysis, insensitive conduct, and just plain malice. Doctors, it seemed, weren’t allowed to have bad days.

Then I came to Winnipeg. For years now I’ve been searching for a doctor who had the time to listen to and track a history, a creative doctor who treated the patient and not just the symptoms. I’ve been repeatedly disappointed.

Of course there have been the few who have stood out and made me feel safe and cared for. But for the most part, a universal boredom seems to have taken over the offices I’ve visited and I’m left wondering if it is a question of overworked physicians coping with a paranoid public, or just plain indifference.

Today, however, my spirits were buoyed. I had been dreading my early appointment. Not only was it at my usual bedtime (8:45 am) and therefore challenging to attend, but it was regarding an issue that, while not life-threatening, was still upsetting. Curiously, I have never felt more soothed by a so-so diagnosis. My doctor was gentle, compassionate and sensitive.

It’s easy to stare at the negatives, and I think we are all on our toes waiting for criticism. I once called a restaurant after having food delivered to tell them how delicious it was. I kept saying, “It was so good! Sooo good!” The man, distressed, said, “The food was no good?” “No!” I said, “SO good!” He was confused by my compliment, expecting no feedback but complaints.

I am thankful for the opportunity today to feel wrong about my recent disillusionment regarding a potential trend in our health care system. I’m sure I will be frustrated again, but right now is good. And so I’m off to eat a bushel of apples…