More Adventures in Doctorland

Remember when I gave you advice on finding a new family doctor? I should have added “ask if the doctor plans on leaving the country any time soon” to the list. You may wonder how in the world I’d think of a question like that. Well, when your fiancé calls up the doctor’s office to make an appointment and the receptionist says your doctor no longer works there, and your fiancé asks why, and the receptionist says it’s because she moved, and your fiancé asks where, and the receptionist says out of the country, then suddenly the far-fetched piece of advice “ask if the doctor plans on leaving the country any time soon” doesn’t seem all that far-fetched anymore, does it?

I know what you’re thinking. “But Alice, didn’t you get rid of Dr. Suckypants? Didn’t you replace her with the greatest doctor in the history of ever?” Yes, I thought so too but as it happens, the greatest doctor in the history of ever’s husband got transferred out of the country and she went with him. Pfft. So much for doctor-patient loyalty.  It also just so happens that the notification letters went out to patients during the mail strike, which for some of us apparently meant we never got them. Hence our surprise on the phone this morning. Hence why I have the over-whelming urge to punch the mailman*.

*I’m kidding. I know the rules. Don’t punch the messenger. BUT STILL!

I know that this is not a tragedy. I know it’s not the worst thing that could ever or will ever happen to me. I know that we still have it pretty good because even though we  don’t have a family doctor anymore, we still have free health care and can go to any walk-in clinic if need be. But this still sucks.

I know that there are good doctors out there. I know that I will find another one eventually. I know that this could be a blessing in disguise, or at the very least another lesson learned. But this still sucks.

It sucks because the new doctor I have to try and find will be the fifth doctor that Thumper has had since her birth and she isn’t even two yet. Here’s a quick recap of my adventures in doctorland: Doctor One retired so we were automatically transferred to his replacement. We left Doctor Two because we moved, which led us to Doctor Three, a.k.a. Dr. Suckypants. And when she turned out to be a grade A moron, we did some searching and found Doctor Four, formerly known as the greatest doctor in the history of ever. Now that she’s peaced out, I’m on a search for Doctor Five. This series of events doesn’t sound all that bad but keep in mind, this all happened in under two years. Plus Dr. Suckypants was, well, a disaster to say the least – she didn’t receive her name for nothing. So to say that I’m tired of meeting new doctors and even more tired of having to sit through handfuls of crappy interviews in order to find even one doctor I feel comfortable with is the understatement of the year*.

*It’s probably not the understatement of the year. The understatement of the year would be “Justin Bieber fans are sorta crazy” or “This economy sucks” or even, “That girl from Twilight is awkward**.”

**That girl from Twilight is hella awkward.  

Alas, whether I’m being overly dramatic (which there is usually a 50% chance or higher that I am) or not, the simple fact is that I have to hooker up suit up and find a replacement. In preparation for this, I’ll have to review both my list of advice on finding new doctors, as well as dealing with the shitty ones because let’s face it, there are some crack pots in this world and a bunch of them have medical licenses.

I had better start practising my stick drawings. Wish me luck!

-Alice

Tips For Surviving a Bachelorette in Miami

Last weekend I was lucky enough to go on a trip to Miami for my bachelorette party. I was accompanied by one sister, two sister-in-laws, one bridesmaid, and three friends. It was awesome. Before embarking on our journey, we were given advice from friends and family, most of which were things like “don’t die” and “don’t lose the bride.” While helpful, there were other things I would've liked people to have told me so that I could appropriately prepare. So I decided to make my own list of tips and advice for those of you who may be visiting Miami in the near future for a bachelorette party. So get our your stilettos and a pen. You will want to write this down because once you arrive in Miami, you will be too hammered to remember any of this.

Make friends with the flight attendants (and pilot, if possible). This generally always works in your benefit (don't bite the hand that feeds you), but it's especially helpful when you tell them your friend has never been on a flight before. (Yes this is a true story and yes she’s twenty-six years old.) It may result in receiving a “My First Flight!” sticker, as well as a trip to the cockpit (that’s what she said!) for some photos post-landing.

Buy everything at Walgreens. Whether you’re looking for Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream, bottles of wine, pop tarts or sunglasses, Walgreens has everything under the sun and then some. And it’s all for super cheap. This is how it should be. (Shoppers Drug Mart, take! a! NOTE!). It’s also open 24 hours a day. Winning!

Eat at Nexxt. I’ve heard the rumours that portion sizes are larger in the US, but hadn’t experienced it until I experienced Nexxt. I still drool when I think about this restaurant.

Make friends with the bell-man. (Also known as a bell-boy, bell-hop or the oft-confusing, bellmen. “Why are you saying it like it’s one word? It sounds like a type of sweater. Or a sex position.”) But seriously, these people can tell you about all the best clubs and restaurants, advise you on the best floors or rooms in the hotel that are not under construction, find you spoons for your ice cream at 3 a.m., and help you to stay calm when you temporarily loose all your friends.

Don’t forget travel insurance. Because even though there may be jellyfish swarming the beach, you may still want to risk it and go swimming in the ocean. Chances are, if you get travel insurance, no jellyfish will come near you. But you know that the laws of the universe state that if you forget to buy insurance, those suckers will automatically sting you out of principle. (NOTE: I didn't go in the water because I am well-versed in the laws of the universe and know how backwards and stupid they are. Which is good, except that I'm sad because I didn't go in the water. I hate you, universe.)

Bring earplugs. In South Beach, construction workers don’t work on weekdays. That would be silly. Instead, they prefer to work on hotel renovations between the hours of 7 and 11 am on Saturday mornings. That makes sense, right? WRONG. This is South Beach, bitches. DID WILL SMITH TEACH YOU NOTHING? Party in the city where the heat is on. All night on the beach til the break of dawn. Apparently the sacred song ‘Miami’ means nothing to the construction workers of Miami. So I repeat, bring your earplugs.

Make friends with a group of Aussie boys. Because there might be some times where you need a male buffer to ward off other creepy males, or hordes of creepy males. Just make sure that your Australian buffer is not also creepy, or else you will be drowning in creepiness with no escape route.

Have fishbowls handy. If you start to feel sick while at a club but know that you can’t make it to the bathroom, then just give ‘er into a fishbowl. It doesn't matter what’s in the fishbowl prior to your puke. Just use it, put it back on the table and try to stumble out of the club as subtly as you can into a cab and go back to the hotel like it never happened*.

Pack your suitcase the night before. This is in case any unforeseen events happen the morning of your departure to delay such important activities. Things like excessive puking, not waking up until 10 am even though you need to leave at 11 am, and spending an hour fighting with the manager over her unwillingness to honour her promise of waived hotel fees.

There. Now you are fully prepared to drink your face off in Miami and party on the beach til the break of dawn. Happy puking!

-Alice

*While this sounds like something that I would definitely do, it was not me, in fact, that puked in a fishbowl. It was one of my sister in laws. I will let those of you that know them guess which one it was.