My Asshole OB/GYN

Thank you for all the memories and good times.

Having your fur-burger rummaged through like an old treasure chest during a Gyne visit doesn’t top the list of activities a woman relishes. The amount of grooming necessary before the appointment alone is enough to induce a cold sweat.

Just let your legs relax to the side. Scoot down…keep scooting. Relax. Keep scooting down the table. RELAX!

I met Dr. Fitz years ago after moving to a new town and needing a good OB/GYN to take care of me during my pregnancy. His reputation was leaps and bounds better than any practicing Obstetrician at the time. So, I made the call and scheduled my first appointment with his office.

He was a very tall, slender, old white guy who had a very stern demeanor about him, like a surly grandpa, but with a medical degree.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Fitz. I hear you think you're pregnant?" He was straight to the point, and without missing a beat, he was in his chair, sliding up to my legs, ready to take a deep dive down under.

He starts the exam, pops back up, and says, "I like to tell all new patients when they come in for the first time…I lost my sense of smell years ago, so just keep that in mind while I'm down here."

Jesus Christ! My jaw was on the floor. "What the fuck did this guy just say to me?" The exam eventually ended, and he confirmed I was pregnant.

Dr. Fitz would continue to say wild shit to me during our visits together while I was pregnant. It took a bit for me to get used to his bedside manner, but he had become my favorite doctor by the end of my pregnancy. He made me feel comfortable, which is hard when I have someone rooting around in my love glove every month.

Being elbow-deep in bearded clams for 12 hours a day has to stir up some kind of sense of humor in a physician. Fitz had one hell of a funny bone.

At the end of my pregnancy, he asked if I wanted to have my tubes tied since I had previous complications, and this was baby number two. "Nope, I think I'm good for now. We should be fine with birth control and the good 'ole pull-out method." He knew I was full of shit.

Ten months later, I was pregnant again. I waited in the exam room with only a thin sheet of paper covering me. "Pregnant again? I guess your husband doesn't know how to pull out properly!" He shook his head, hopped on the chair, and dug in.

“Are you getting your tubes tied this time?”

The good doctor was back at it again with his dark humor and charm. During the last trimester, my husband joined me during one of my appointments. He had heard about Dr. Fitz's playful banter but didn't expect that it would extend to him as well.

"Could you stay off of her for a little while after she gives birth? You may not know this, but her body needs a break from being pregnant." My husband's face turned a shade of red that I had never seen before, and all I could do was throw my head back in laughter.

"I'll do my best," he replied sheepishly, but everyone in the room knew that was a lie. "Your pull-out game isn't very strong, and it's obvious she's not taking her birth control, so are we tying these tubes, or what?"

Two weeks before my due date, Dr. Fitz told me there was a good chance he would be on vacation when I went into labor, and a different physician may have to deliver my daughter. "No one's delivering this baby but you, doc, so let's figure this shit out."

He tried to explain to me that I couldn't just 'will' a baby to come out before it's ready and that there's no reason I should be worried about another doctor delivering the baby if he wasn't there. He underestimated me — a mistake he never made again. Our daughter was born out of sheer spite six hours before he was set to leave for Hawaii.

“I told you I was having this baby before you left…now get in there and get her out!”

I saw Dr. Fitz one last time about a year later. I had been diagnosed with cancer, and he was the assisting surgeon for my hysterectomy. As he walked in with my primary surgeon, he took one look at me, sighed, and said, "I guess you won't need to get your tubes tied now, huh?" He smiled, gave me a wink, and said, "Let's get you fixed up." Those were the last words I remember before that Jackson juice kicked in, and I fell asleep.

He was my favorite doctor, and I was saddened to learn that he had retired. Thank you, Dr. Fitz, for all the laughs, memories, and excellent care.

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