I set out to find a doctor for my baby-in-waiting three weeks before my induction date. I was duly equipped with a list of compulsory questions designed to pinpoint the doctor who would be “just right” for my baby and me. But with hundreds of physicians listed in the yellow pages, I needed a lead.
I first turned to my peers at church. Some of these women had six or more children—surely they would know a great doctor. Several of the mothers I spoke to recommended the same doctor, a woman known for being kind, patient and easy-going. I made the appointment.
After a 15-minute commute from my home to the designated location, I was stumped. I had followed the directions to a T, but I saw nothing that resembled a doctor’s office. I called the receptionist and finally found the building with her guidance. The office wasn’t visible from the road … because it was attached to the back of a Shell gas station! I’m afraid I was biased before the interview even began.
The doctor was a sweet older woman—I’ll call her Dr. Matronly—who genuinely loved kids and especially liked to talk about her own adult children. She was somewhat disheveled in appearance—a flaw easily overlooked if her conversation style hadn’t matched her fa
