I know the British health system does not work perfectly, but I would love to have an assigned GP. I’m sure I am romanticizing  about the doctors in those cute English village series.

I am a healthy, almost 76-year old woman, and I find it hard to remember all the doctors I have.

Of course, I have a PCP, who is my GP. I love him. He really listens to me and treats me like I know more about my body than he ever can and how can he help me with that? He basically manages my scripts and referrals.

I also have a general surgeon. I’ve never had a “general” surgery, but last year my urologist  noticed a little hernia I didn’t know I  had. I need to be on the patient list of a general surgeon in case it ever gets to be a problem.  I’ve only seen him once to get acquainted.

Prone to developing kidney stones, I need my urologist.  Boy, do I need my urologist.

I hadn’t had a pelvic exam or gynecologist a in decades, but I got one yesterday.  A very dear friend just discovered ovarian cancer in a very advanced stage. I hope never to need to see a gynecologist again.

A  pain specialist/anesthesiologist manages my sciatica.

A rheumatologist manages the med I take to maintain my bone density. I see him once a year.

An ophthalmologist looks after my eyes.  I see him biannually. Turns out he is my miracle man.  From early childhood, I was essentially legally blind and wore glasses or contacts. When this doctor did my cataract surgery, he suggested a special procedure and lens, and now I do not need glasses even for reading the fine print or driving at night (Which I really still don’t much like to do) or anything at all.  I am still amazed that I can see every morning when I open my eyes and don’t reach for my glasses.

I have an ENT who has done multiple things for me. I see him on an as-needed basis. He and my PCP came up with an amazing plan that prevents attacks of vertiginous migraines.  He’s done a few little surgeries for me and got me started in the process of getting hearing aids.  Wow! So cool to be able to hear the choir out of my left ear too!

My physiatrist, a pain specialist, got me pointed in the right direction to a very special physical therapist.  I’ve only seen him a time or two.

A gastroenterologist.  Actually, I only “see” him  every ten years for that delightful colon cancer test.  Actually, by the time I “see” him I am joyfully sedated.  I wouldn’t recognize him on the street.

I strip off  bare-naked for my dermatologist once a year.  I hate that, but I really need someone to look at all those spots all over my body, and zap off a few. She is very young.  Actually, most of my doctors look about twelve years old.  That’s good.  They won’t retire before I die.

I actually have two orthopedists.  I hope I never need to see either again. One debraided a torn meniscus after a dog bolted into my knee at the dog park. The other, a finger specialist, unlocked a trigger finger. I think that’s it.

Each of them has to require one test each year or so to satisfy Medicare. Today, it’s a DEXA.  A what? I hope I get out of there in time for the gym.

The oral surgeon designed  an oral appliance for my TMJ.  Works well.  I’ll probably never see him again.

My advice is never to get started talking about  your aches and pains.  That’s a hole you can never dig yourself out of.  Just get up every morning.  Check out what’s working,  rejoice and be glad.

And that’s what I have to say about living.

About dying, I also have some very strong ideas.  Sadly, the American way of dying often forbids our making our dying choices.

Last night Katherine posted a beautiful clip of some snowy, glowing tree-house cottages in Maine.   It’s what I would like to visualize when I am dying — moving across little swinging bridges from one beautiful cottage to another until I come to the last one.

And that’s what I have to say about dying.