It is no secret that a woman’s relationship with her male gynecologist is nearly sacred. Having absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he touches parts of her that are usually reserved for a romantic partner, this is the man who takes fastidious physical care of everything venerated on her body. He brings her children into the world, and he emotionally understands her on a level that nobody else can.
My gynecologist has been on leave for over 8 months now, and his absence is palpable. It also isn’t the first time he has left the stage, leaving hundreds, if not thousands, of adoring fans concerned. A few years ago, he had taken an unwanted sabbatical due to something medical, and he returned 6 months or so later, thin but energetic. We didn’t mention his absence, as it was his story to tell if he chose to do so. I was just so happy he was back.
Last week, I had no choice but to see Dr. Fain’s colleague, Dr. Tara Abella. She and I had met during Dr. Fain’s last sabbatical, when I had dropped a weight on my boob and found myself with a lump and a bruise. Probably expecting to see an athlete and not a chubby chick in her early 50s, Dr. Abella knew just how to assuage my fear that something was wrong. Thank Goodness, the ultrasound proved unremarkable, and my lionized Dr. Fain would be back in time for my yearly visit.
This time around, however, Dr. Fain won’t be back. Dr. Fain had a stroke back in January, and, from what I understand, it was brutal. I know that there is no such thing as a pleasant stroke, but I do know that some are more cataclysmal than others. Months of rehabilitation and learning to do everything all over again, including drive, have propelled Dr. Fain on the road to a fine quality of life, but he won’t be returning to the job that meant the world to him.
Dr. Fain is only 74, with a head full of salt and pepper curls. His “joie de vivre” is, pardon the topical reference, of pandemic proportions, and his gentle and calming demeanor can temporarily quell even the tragic damage left by a pernicious ex-husband. Countless were the times he talked me off of the proverbial ledge, offering invaluable and mollifying advice and support. We would have this banter where he would say to me, “And your therapist probably says ….” He was ALWAYS right.
Dr. Fain did not bring my children into the world; another beloved OB/GYN of mine did. But, Dr. Fain brought ME back into the world. He listened tirelessly, focused on my today and tomorrow, distracted me from my yesterday, and took me seriously when, almost 6 years ago, only weeks after I turned 50, I told him that I wanted to have another baby. He gave me names and phone numbers, and though my dream didn’t become reality because the 5 in front of my age made it prohibitive, there was a man in my life who didn’t call me crazy. It was restorative, as I was called crazy throughout my entire marriage – in front of my children, in front of my family, in front of my friends.
Dr. Fain, may you know just how much you have meant to those of us who were lucky enough to call you our doctor, our therapist, our sounding board, our tranquilizer, our hope, our heart, and our friend. We will miss you.
A Martini Toast 