sad memory

The other day, I found myself thinking about my daughters' pediatrician.

I met Dr. G the day Jen was born.  I had planned to research pediatricians and choose a doctor beforehand, but ... so in the delivery room my obstetrician told the nurse to call Dr. G. 

He was the one I relied on for so many years.  The cool, calming voice in the middle of the night when I was up with a sick child. the firendly presence who wanted to know all about his patients, what their interests were, how they were doing in school.

He was so good with his patients, even better with their nervous parents.  Loved him, loved his nurse, his office staff...

When Jen was a freshman in college, the doctor at the school infirmary scared her ... She came home and got a second opinion from Dr. G.    He told her "I will continue to be your doctor until you're 21, if you want to keep seeing me."

A few weeks later, I got a letter from Dr. G.  It was sent to all of his patients.  He said he was clsoing his practice, and sending his records to another doctor. I was surprised.  Shocked.  Lost and bereft. 

But since Jen was in college, and Becca a high school junior, we really didn't need a pediatrician anymore, so we moved on. 


And a few years later curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to try to find out why he'd closed his proactice so suddenly.  Did he join Doctors Without Borders and move to Africa?   Was he ill? Or just enjoying a well-earned retirement on some sunny tropical beach?

Actually, none of the above.  He voluntarily surrendered his license rather than face a proceeding to have it taken away.  Seems he had a substance abuse problem. I would never have guessed.  In a way, I wish I'd never found out about that.