Stalk market crash

When I was in the hospital, the doctors made their rounds at about 6:30 every morning. I usually had a group of four doctors checking me out, all in various stages of their residency, I think (I'm not certain, because I didn't ask them, and I don't understand how the doctor-training process works). Over the six days I was there, I was checked out by several other doctors as well (which, of course, means dozens of medical bills will soon be coming my way). I'm grateful that all the doctors and nurses who helped me were (or at least seemed) competent and professional, and most of them were also very kind.

But my favorite was Dr. Kim, the leader (I think?) of the crew who visited me every morning. She was the only female doctor, and she's very cute, with an excellent bedside manner, if you know what I mean (actually, me adding that last bit probably made it less likely that you know what I mean. Nothing weird happened).

So I was pleased that Dr. Kim was the doctor I saw when I went to get my staples out at the clinic last week. She read me the entire report made after my surgery; of several sentences describing the condition of my gall bladder when it was removed, the only word I can remember now is "gangrenous." So it's good I got it out when I did, and according to her exam and how I feel generally, my recovery is going very well.

Now I can get to the point...a few days later, I had a dream in which Dr. Kim got my phone number from my medical records, called me, and asked me out. We went to a Yankees game, had a great time, and became a couple. It was a very good dream.

In the morning, I took the logical next step, and did some online stalking. (I've done stuff like this many times before, even chronicled it on my blog, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it, because I'm convinced most people Google other people.)

I quickly found her bio on the hospital's web site. Now, armed with her first name (can't remember what I called her in my dream), I did a simple, three word search. And then it got weird.

Among the first ten Google results was a page announcing my doctor would be hosting a get-together for some professional society--and it listed her home address and telephone number. It was shockingly easy to find. I had quickly gone from harmless cyber-stalking to feeling like I had violated a restraining order.

I'm not sure if this marks the end of my Googling days, but it will certainly curtail them for a while at least. And I'll probably be more careful about who has access to my logistical information (my thoughts will continue to flow freely here, though, without me worrying about who finds them).

One other lesson you've all likely learned from reading this, one I already know: I need to get out of my apartment more.