Dr. C.
Ever since I understood how much I can learn from other women, I’ve been consciously seeking the company of those who inspire me. And when I’m lucky enough to be around them, I try to make the most of every minute we spend together.
Each of them affects me differently: one impresses me with her knowledge, another with her composure, and yet another with nothing more than her very presence.
Dr. C. is already our third pediatrician. I was truly sad when the first one left—she was a kind, sweet, young woman. We barely met the second one. And then came Dr. C.—the kind of woman who fills and commands a room, someone who somehow manages to be present in every tiny corner of it all at once.
I think I realized who I was dealing with that very first time, when she pulled down her mask and started speaking to me loudly, syllable by syllable.
Some might have been offended. I, on the other hand, was thrilled—because it meant I understood everything without the slightest effort. I even laughed in surprise, and immediately found the whole thing incredibly practical.
That she is smart, thorough, and works with extraordinary humility—I take that as a given. I believe it should be the baseline requirement in every profession. Of course, I appreciate her, and I consider us lucky that she is my children’s doctor, but let’s be honest: this is how it should be.
What she brings beyond all that — and what genuinely improves our quality of life — is the experience itself of being in her office. She seasons her explanations with a touch of absurd humor so that I not only understand them—but remember them—while actually enjoying myself. It feels like sitting down to watch a really good children’s movie: the kids are safe and taken care of, while the parents keep looking around in surprise at the subtle, clever messages aimed at them. It’s that witty, slightly absurd kind of humor that I live on.
One time there were quite a few of us waiting, and the schedule slipped badly. We were seen with a full hour’s delay. By then the end of the clinic hours was approaching, and I was expecting an exhausted, worn-out doctor—especially considering how wise and infallible mothers can sometimes think they are (with respect to the exceptions). Instead, she walked in as if she’d just returned from a relaxing wellness weekend.
I couldn’t help asking how she manages it, and most of all—where that good mood comes from.
“Are you kidding?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You waited more than an hour for me. The least I can do is give you full service.”
To do that, I suppose someone has to be a genuinely good person. Professional knowledge and self-discipline aren’t enough on their own. You need a certain calmness, kindness, and inner strength—something that keeps you balanced no matter the circumstances.
When we visit her, I don’t just take the kids—I take myself too. I need that little “therapy” just as much as the child who happens to be ill. If I could, I’d come up with a small excuse every couple of weeks, just to recharge from her energy and listen to her endlessly entertaining words.