 |
|
 in the Personal Ads: Episode Three Third in a Series |
Doctors & their dilemmas;
Could she find them love?
By PATRICIA J. GEISTER
of TheColumnists.com
Having cut my teeth on the B movies of the WWII era, I believed the only good men were our cowboy heroes in the Saturday matinees. They shared the spotlight with our brave fighting men only as long as they wore a uniform. Take off the white hat, or change back into civvies, and what do you have? A man that no woman could ever fully trust not to cheat on her, drink away his paycheck, or disappear into thin air, that's what.
Men did those things; nearly all of them. According to Hollywood, women rarely did those same things. The wife or girlfriend was the reputable one of the pair, not the other way around.
During those two years I'd spent getting myself back into the single social whirl, I developed a new habit. It is called listening and understanding. Guess what? Men do get left in the lurch, cheated on, abandoned to raise the children all by their lonesome. Women didn't have the market cornered on broken hearts after all. Talk about equal rights! We really have broken down some of the barriers.
I had no way of predicting how many men, if any, would heed my call for personal ad writing. My very first paying client was a man--the first of many, in fact. He was a young doctor whose practice was keeping him so busy he couldn't go the usual route of meeting women. When he came walking through my door and I saw that handsome face, perfectly styled hair, tall, muscular body, I admit to being surprised. Trust me, all this guy had to do to attract any woman's attention was simply walk into her view.
He began to speak. Oh, dear. He had a high pitched, almost whiny tone of voice. Now I understood why our initial communications were restricted to the mail. I don't think I would have taken him seriously if first I had talked to him over the phone. God blessed me with the capability to put on a blank face that puts those on Mt. Rushmore to shame. Without that, my jaw might have dropped mighty low.
|
but when he spoke he sounded like Wayne Newton before puberty. |
 |
He told me, "I really need expert help on meeting women, and it has to come from an older woman like yourself. A younger woman may not understand. I'm hoping that you will."
Yes, I did.
"Actually, I can meet them, but I can't hold their attention," he said. "When I get nervous, my voice gives me away. Nobody can tell by my facial expression when I'm upset or nervous. Until I have to talk, that is."
"Are you saying that unless you're nervous, your voice is more acceptable to you?" I asked.
His answer was yes. Prozac hadn't hit the market yet. My next question was had he tried any low dose form of tranquilizer to control this. Yes, he had, and no he couldn't take them. His metabolism resisted tranquilizers unless they were strong enough to put him to sleep.
Dr. Gorgeous had been madly in love with a young woman back home. The families and friends had expected them to form a happy union. He went away to college and medical school, assuming a wedding would follow. Didn't happen. A low life grocery store manager hit town and she was smitten by the way he stacked his cans. They eloped and headed off to the big city where a better job awaited him with a big grocery chain.
The young doctor had never, ever been faced by any form of rejection. His nerves and voice were the injured victims. He was so devastated that he wanted to quit college. His parents consoled him, convincing him to seriously apply himself to his medical future. As long as he wasn't emotionally troubled about a woman, he was perfectly able to speak in a normal tone. Being around a woman student in a classroom or doing rounds didn't bother him. Tending a woman patient was fine. However, if a woman showed any form of attraction to him, he'd either giggle uncontrollably or squeak rather than speak.
No amount of hypnotherapy, psychotherapy, or counseling came to his aid. He needed my help, and he needed someone to talk to. Why did he turn women off? What could he do to make himself vocally attractive?
"Gorgeous," I said to this troubled young man, "drink your hot tea while I play doctor without a medical degree. My guess--and that's all it is--is that you're afraid to risk failure, maybe even success, when it comes to women. If you don't get to know them, they can't hurt you. When you're not connected to a relationship, then there will be no separation. I'd say it's setting yourself up for failure. You can only win or lose if you take the risk to get to the future. No risk, no failure. No risk, no success.
"I can't do what you want because I'm not trained as a speech therapist, or whatever you call them. You've heard of Wayne Newton, I'm sure. Have you heard his early recordings or seen his early TV shows? Remember how high pitched both his speaking and singing voice was? He's got a much lower, well modulated voice now. I don't know who he went to, and I don't know how long it took. Have you checked out that possibility?"
Dr. Gorgeous sat there looking amazed. Silence followed that reaction. He now was calm. "I never gave it a thought. Isn't that funny? All these years of being around any type of specialty…and I missed it. I overlooked the fact that children aren't their only patients."
His voice was soothing, the predictable male voice; a pleasure to hear.
"There you are. Typical example of not seeing the forest for the trees. Let me suggest this: get yourself an appointment with the best one in town. No doubt you'll get the help you need. That will give you back your missing ego. Give yourself a few months, then come back and see me."
He followed my advice. Three months later I wrote him an ad to launch his Great Campaign. Six months after that I got a call from a man with a voice that could make a fortune on radio or TV. Dr. Gorgeous was that voice. He wanted me to know that he'd met a woman doctor who was very shy around men, they fell madly in love, went to Vegas for a weekend and came back married. She had been offered a bigger and better job back East. He was now in the process of sending his resume to the same place. All had ended well. The Doctors Gorgeous plan to eventually have a clinic of their own.
Enters the older doctor. A friend of his, one of my clients, had referred him to me. This one didn't have any problems meeting women. What he wanted was a companion, not a wife. Sure, he wanted all the benefits of marriage, not any of the legal commitments. Okay, he certainly wasn't the only man who had told me that.
Dr. Swinger had a history of making divorce lawyers rich. Look for the lawyer driving a big Mercedes and he had been one of their best clients. Could I tell him how to find a woman who would be happy to move in, provide her own financial resources, have his pipe and slippers waiting when he came home at night?
 |
with women, but now he wanted a loyal one for a special mission... |
My answer was, "Too bad all the retired Lassie stars are male. What you describe is a well trained rich dog." He didn't think that was funny.
"My dear, I'm a man. I have a man's needs. My friend told me you can find me a lot of women who would…"
"Hold on, you've got me confused with someone in another business, I think. Do you see half-naked women lounging on velvet sofas in a parlor? Are there any smiling men walking down those stairs? We have nothing more to discuss. This appointment is over."
I was irritated and my red hair was reacting.
Abruptly, he changed demeanor. "I'm sorry, very sorry. Being in charge, giving orders without allowing challenge, is my style. Please, let me explain myself to you. If you don't want me as a patient--no, sorry--a client, then I'll write you a check for your time and leave."
"All right, Dr. Swinger, we did get off on the wrong foot. Yes, of course I'll let you explain. I'd appreciate it if you could be honest without being so blunt. Okay?" Now he thought that was funny.
"My first wife left me for another man. He couldn't offer her more money, just a more exciting life. The next wife didn't want any children. I could live with that. What I couldn't live with was when she ended up pregnant and it was by my best friend.
"After those two episodes I took up with a young widow. She moved in along with her two children. The amount of debt she expected me to pay off was tremendous. Add to that what I spent on braces for her kids. Six or eight months into that I began finding empty whiskey bottles around the house. What she didn't drink her card playing friends did. It cost a small fortune to get her out of my home and out of my life. The credit card bills she ran up, even after she left, were akin to the national debt.
"I've had a number of short and long term relationships since those women. As long as the money rolls in, they keep spending it for me. I'm not a young man with a future. I'm an old man with a past. The price of not being alone is too high. Now I'm faced with a new problem." He looked up at me. There was pain in those eyes, that voice.
The revelation hit me. "This man is sick," I thought. I was right.
"My health isn't good, for the first time ever. I've faced a lot of years alone, really. This isn't something I want to face by myself. In 18 months or less I'll be dead. My plan is to find an understanding, loving woman, who is willing to be with me. She won't have to be my nurse. I can afford in-home care when the time comes. When it gets to that, I know how to bring my pain to a comfortable termination. I'm laying aside a supply of narcotics that will give me everlasting, final sleep. I've watched too many poor souls leave this world in great pain, both for themselves and their loved ones. That's not what I choose."
"Are you expecting someone to help you in an assisted suicide? Don't you realize she could go to jail?"
"There will be no jeopardy to either of us. I will not, cannot, tell you my entire plan. Maybe I won't find love. If she will agree to be with me up to a certain time, I'm willing to provide a good sized inheritance for her. She must wait until I'm gone to collect, that's all I ask. Until then I need my last happiness. I told you I have a rich attorney. He'll help me and he'll get his share, too."
I agreed to take him on as a client. Neither of us wasted any time getting him introduced to a willing woman. I encouraged him to be completely honest when he felt he had met the right one. He gave me his word.
My work did get him many favorable responses. A widowed nurse became his last partner. She moved in, did all he asked, and stayed with him until the very end. As it turned out, he had a massive coronary that took him instantly. They had 14 good months together. That's more than some of us get.
© 2002 by Patricia
J. Geister. The illustrations are from IMSI's Master Clips Collection,
1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
|
You can get reprint rights for as low as $25. To learn more, click here: REPRINTS |
You can comment on this column online. Please address your message to either "The Editors" or Patricia J. Geister. To send an email, click here: talkback@thecolumnists.com
| Home | About Us | Archives | Talkback | Shopping Mall |