In case the title wasn’t enough for assumptions, spoiler alert: Phillip Moreano is a vagina doctor. Yes, I, the teenage female, have a father who works in Obstetrics and Gynecology (vaginas and babies). Giggles aside, growing up with an OB-GYN for a father may seem like the worst thing in the world to some of you. But I’m here to tell you what it taught me about my dad and to say that I couldn’t be prouder of him.
As a young kid, most people grow up knowing the bare minimum about their parents’ jobs; anything that doesn’t involve dinner or playdates seems irrelevant until they finally escape the narcissistic years of adolescence. So yes, I knew my dad was a doctor. I even knew that he was a baby doctor. But anything more specific than that was in one ear and out the other, and if anyone asked, I just made up something about sick babies. Until around the time of middle school.
Around that age is when I realized that maybe Dad’s career path was a little different than most men’s. He seemed to know every single mother at every single grocery store, and my mom’s friends were always texting him about various “women” problems. This is also when I began to hear the phrase “vagina doctor” over layers of giggles and titters from the immature boys and girls at Southwest Junior High. I was so embarrassed and frustrated at his career. I wondered why my dad didn’t opt to be a heart surgeon, pediatrician, or even a foot doctor. Feel for me here -- this was middle school. My face already turned beet red at the mentioning of private parts, but add my dad into the mix, and I was one angry, embarrassed tween. My temper soared when anyone would poke fun at me or my brothers for our dad’s work. On top of this, I was so embarrassed and frustrated about feeling embarrassed and frustrated.
The years passed, and time and time again I was introduced to greasy children and their overbearing mothers because, no matter where we went, they were there, and they just had to talk to Dr. Moreano in whichever Quick Trip or Dillon’s we were in. But run-ins aside, as I grew older, I paid closer attention to my dad and his job, and then the embarrassment began to disappear. I started to understand his choices.
My dad endured four years of college, four years of medical school, and four years of residency to be where he is today. He passed the MCAT, he moved for residency, and he studied harder than anyone would ever want to for 12 years. He had known that he wanted to be a doctor since the diaper days, and did exactly what he needed to get his doctorate. Keeping this in mind, it is unlikely that he would pick a specialty field that wasn’t the right fit. Someone so sure of their career path would not make a mistake of that magnitude. And based on the fact that he’s spent 20 years as a successful physician at the same hospital, I can conclude that he made the right choice. I can also conclude his choices weren’t based on salary -- if this were true, he would probably be something along the lines of a brain or plastic surgeon. I understand why my dad chose to do what he did; it was the right choice. He did not do it for the money or for any reason other than the fact that this field was what he loved. And the time and effort he puts in still to this day makes me extremely proud of him, despite a few awkward tween years.
My dad is tired all the time. The amount of work he puts into his job can simply be seen by the bags under his eyes. His days off are never without a nap or a call from a patient -- although often interrupted by our dogs barking or me needing something. He doesn’t half-ass anything in his life -- and I am proud of him for that. Additionally, my dad is popular amongst patients despite the fact that he works in a female-dominated field. He is rated 4.8 out of five stars on HealthGrade; meaning that 96 percent of his patients would recommend him to their family and friends. And speaking of family and friends: every one of mine trusts my dad. They confide in him when they have medical problems and trust in the fact that he will keep their issues private. They all get free medical advice with no questions asked, no matter what hour in the day or night they call. He is an intelligent, well-liked, well-trusted, and successful OB-GYN. What could make me prouder than those qualities?
Ultimately, my dad, the vagina doctor, gave me a thick skin. He has been the butt of plenty of jokes, but he is always prepared to combat them with a witty smile and an even wittier comment. He’s mentally strong: it takes a tough man to look at vaginas all day, and an even tougher man to be good at it. He’s taught me how to take the crap with a smile. He’s happy, so I’m happy, and on top of that, there’s food on the table. What do I possibly have to complain or be embarrassed about?
