How I'm Making Peace With My White Coat (Or How I Found The Baby In The Bathwater)

If you know anything about me, you know how much I resist being put in a box. Especially the Doctor Box. Or even more narrowly, the Vagina Box. As much as I want to be recognized for all the Renaissance gifts I'm blessed to have, the fact that I'm an MD is what draws the majority of the attention I get. It's why Cosmopolitan magazine asked me for a quote last week. It's why Huffington Post named me among their Twitter Powerhouses. It's why a New York editor approached me with the idea to write my book What's Up Down There. It's why TV and radio producers call.

And yet, I'm not practicing traditional medicine anymore after closing my practice in December. I left medicine for many reasons, but the biggest is because I'm so sick and tired of the way medicine is being practiced that I don't want to be affiliated with it anymore. I'm pissed at doctors, and I'm even more pissed at managed care insurance companies, malpractice lawyers, and the pharmaceutical industry. I experienced such trauma at the hands of all of the above that I just want out. My Inner Pilot Light has had it with our broken health care system.

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