Our primary care doctor announced he is joining a concierge practice and invited us to follow him. We were excited, thinking this meant luxurious fluffy white robes in the exam room and 500-thread-count cotton sheets on the table instead of that crinkly deli wrap paper.

Visions of coffee bars danced in our heads. The concierge practice could keep our specialty coffee orders on file along with our cholesterol counts and lists of prescription meds.

I ventured there would probably be a masseuse and spa, too. “Where there’s a spa, there’s a shower,” I said.

“YES!” the husband shouted. “Free little soaps, shampoos and conditioners!”

We wondered if a concierge practice also included valet parking. If there was valet parking, there probably would be fitness-focused excursions—maybe even free membership to a pickleball court.

We were living the dream -- until the dream crashed.

After further reading, several voicemail messages and a slick mailing with a QR code for a video, we learned a concierge practice is where a doctor limits the patient load, guarantees a call back within 24 hours and focuses on preventive care, not just treating illnesses.

In exchange for an annual fee.

Annual means you pay it every year.

Several thousand dollars.

Per warm body.

There’s a shortage of primary care doctors and it is projected to worsen. More and more people are paying annual fees to see a doctor. Luxury concierge practices (the ones that do have fluffy towels and coffee bars) charge as much as $50,000. Our doctor was charging nowhere near that. But still.

If the husband lives as long as his dad did — until almost 98 — his concierge fees alone could equal the price of a nice new car. Adjusted for inflation, it could even be two new cars and a boat.

We love our doctor. His changing practices rips my heart out. (I’ll need a cardiologist for that.) We were some of his first patients when he began practicing. He gave us his home phone number in case we needed to reach him in an emergency.

We understand why he’s switching to a different practice. We’ll miss him.

Our main concern in choosing a new health professional is age. That’s right, we discriminate and are up front about it. We want doctors who are going to outlive us.

We both made appointments with a new fella. Mine was yesterday. I couldn’t tell his age from the picture online and was eager to see how old he looked.

He swung open the door, said, “Hello” and extended his hand. I instinctively cried, “You’re young! You’re about the age of our son. He’s 43.”

He smiled and said, “I’m 41.”

I think we’re gonna like him.

©2025 Tribune Content Agency, LLC