This is a depiction of an airplane/rocket ship taking off into space by my young son

My partner and I had a meeting yesterday -with the CEO of the hospital.  He came to our office, had lunch catered, and just wanted to shoot the shit.  Of course there were ulterior motives.  I’ve been in this area and at this practice for 9 years and the CEO has never ever been to my office.  In fact, when we met and shook hands, he said, “how long have you worked here?”  I wanted to say, um longer than you’ve been CEO and I don’t just work here, I freaking own half the place*, but geez that would have sounded snarky.

We sat in the conference room, eating our Panera sandwiches.  There were 3 men and me.  Mostly they talked about sports, golf, motorcycles, and the good old days when drug reps took you on golf trips.  I didn’t say much.  In fact, I don’t think I said anything.  It was awkward.  I don’t like sports.  I don’t play golf.  I don’t ride a motorcycle.  I’m too young to remember the days when drug reps spent loads of money influencing the docs to prescribe their drug.

I kept thinking, should I interject?  Should I add something to the conversation?  But what?  Maybe I’ll talk about our RV.  We don’t ride motorcycles, but we have that crazy RV and a couple of kayaks.  Maybe I should say that.  But I didn’t.  It would have sounded dumb.  I would have been trying too hard.  I know how those comments are met, a gentle smile, like a pat on the head, implying –that’s nice little lady, now let the men talk.  

I often wonder why God made me the way that I am.   I am little.  Really little.  I look young, too -mostly because I’m little.  The problem is, I don’t realize this except in moments like that meeting, when I feel my smallness.  And it pisses me off because inside I am a 6-foot Amazonian Warrior Goddess.

The meeting ended early and my clinic wouldn’t start for another 45 minutes so I sat with some of the ladies from our office in the kitchen.  I told them about the meeting and the male-dominated conversation.  My female companions sat around me nodding their heads in understanding.  It felt like home.  One of them (I will not name names), smiled and said, “Next time, bring your dildo with you and slap it down on the table.  Let ’em know that you brought your dick with you, too.”  The room erupted in laughter.

That’s my girl.

*In all honesty, “owning” a medical practice is almost worthless.  If I were to “sell” it, there is no real profit.  In the past doctors would retire and sell their practice for a nice little chunk of change to a new doctor.  No one wants to own a practice anymore.  Everyone wants to work for a hospital system and let them worry about the day-to-day operations.  They want a check at the end of the day.  That isn’t always possible when you “own” a business.  There are bills, rent, utilities, supplies, insurance, salaries.  After all that is paid, I get paid.  Most of the time.  Who wants all that headache?  So the hospitals scoop up all the little privately-owned practices.  Like ours.