I took Armand Z. Pogue, also known as Mini-Me, also known as Son-of-Mine, to the orthopedist yesterday for what we all hope will be the last time. You may recall that he wore full leg casts for a while to correct a case of clubfoot, which ultimately required surgery. It was a minor surgery, but of course, when you’re a parent of a seven-month old heading into the operating room, no surgery is “minor.” Fortunately, our doctor was able to give him his final checkup, several months after the surgery, and proclaim him completely healed. Honestly, given the way Armand has been toddling around for months now, we pretty well knew it, but it’s nice to hear that all is well from The Expert.

(Famous people with clubfoot include Mia Hamm, Troy Aikman and Kristi Yamaguchi, which goes to show that being born with feet nearly sideways doesn’t exactly doom your chances of athletic glory. Good thing, too, since I’m counting on this kid to be a champion decathlete to support me in my old age.)

It got me thinking about the amount of trust my wife and I have placed in our doctors. Armand has two, three if you count the ob-gyn who did such an excellent job delivering him. And I’m well aware of the limited amount of time doctors have to deal with each case, so it doesn’t surprise me when they only have five, ten or fifteen minutes to dedicate to Armand’s care. In the case of his orthopedic surgeon, the meeting was closer to two minutes; he seemed quite certain that Armand’s feet were okay in the first ten seconds, and spent the rest of the time just checking to be sure he was right. It was a quick in-and-out, but it didn’t bother me it all. It comes down to that trust issue again, of finding a doctor whom you can count on. I don’t feel rushed or hurried; if the doctor takes only two minutes to figure out that a clubfoot surgery has gone well, I’m willing to take that judgment.

A lot of my trust exists because when things really HAVE gone badly, each of these doctors has come through. Armand’s surgeon and his staff were able to take time on the day of his surgery to completely recast Armand’s legs when his inordinate kicking habit ended up kicking the casts right off. (Strong legs, that kid.) His primary care physician has been on the phone with us at 11 at night calming us down when he’s running a 103-degree fever. We only had a few emergencies during Katrina’s pregnancy and delivery, but our ob-gyn came through with complete authority each and every time, and the result is a perfectly healthy toddler boy. We’ve seen the doctors in crisis, and they always well; as a result, when they say “No, really, there’s nothing to worry about,” we tend to believe them. And as first-time parents with frayed nerves anyway, the ability to trust those calming voices is just about the best thing we could ask for.

They aren’t the only good doctors out there. Hit up Angie's List and see what people in your area are saying — with any luck, you’ll find some as good as ours. I say “luck,” but really, the whole point of using The List is to significantly improve your odds.