It started when we got engaged. People would ask, “So, what does your chosson do?” I would reply, “He’s in medical school.” Eyebrows would raise; heads would nod approvingly. “Ah, a doctor,” they would say.
Call me naive, but I was in the dark as to what exactly was the big deal. One of my friends pointed out that it was every Jewish mother’s dream to have a doctor for a son-in-law. But I wasn’t marrying a doctor, I was marrying a man, a really great man.
When we were planning our wedding, one venue director had the chutzpah to tell me that the $12,000 minimum they charged for using their venue would only be a drop in the bucket, since I was marrying a doctor. I’m not sure if she meant that it would be a drop in the bucket of the massive debt he was accruing in med school, or if it would be a breeze to pay back because we would be fabulously wealthy. Either way, we used a different location.
It’s continued after marriage as well. Friends make references about how we won’t have to worry about finances when Hub is finished with residency. Things, like my complete inability to remember the prices of supermarket items, are attributed to my imminent affluence (instead of to my faulty memory).
Well, sorry to disappoint everyone, but Hub is going into general practice. Ain’t a lot of money in that (no, really, there’s not). Plus, we want a bunch of kids, and they’re all going to private school, and I don’t think we’re going to get any scholarships ’cause, well, he’s a doctor.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that there’s a certain amount of job security (unfortunately, it’s because people are always getting sick), and it’s a noble field and all, but the hours are lousy and the debt is high. It’s also kind of annoying to have Hub’s potential income discussed so publicly and so often.
But it’s okay, because I married a doctor. heehee.