Warning, this post is going to be another session of therapy for me. Free therapy where I can write however and whatever I want just because it makes me feel oh so good. Where the satisfaction of writing in all caps is freaking sweet.
I should also preface by saying that I have a wonderful sweet doctor and this post is in no way a reflection of him or his practice, or his people- do doctors call their people people?- this is just a general sum of the run reflection on well, whatever, this post is about my experiences I’ve had at the doctor’s office.
I hate the doctors. (The office not the doctor(s) themselves.) It’s just not fun. I always have to wait forever in the waiting room. As in forever, like I probably have nothing else to do with my pathetic boring life that I might as well spend 36 minutes waiting for the doctor. That must be what they’re thinking. I would probably LOVE to spend an hour of my day sitting here, getting poked and picked at, getting told how much I weigh, peeing into a plastic cup and putting it through a secret hole in the wall that has probably been touched by lots of other hands with pee all over it. How many people go in this order? 1. Pee into cup. 2. WASH PEE OFF HANDS. 3. Write name on cup. 4. Put cup in pee hole. My guess? NOT MANY.
Have you ever thought about toilets at the doctor’s office? I imagine many people with diseases and illnesses and things use the toilet. Think about how sick that is. I use it all the time because I always have to pee but think of all the sick butts that have touched that seat. ew. Please don’t think about that. After spending so much time doing so, I’ve seriously re considered my use of toilets.
Every time I go to the doctors- for whatever reason- they weigh me. I have to get on that damn scale every single time. WHY? I don’t understand. I actually asked the nurse last time I was in, ” do you really need to weigh me? I was just here a couple weeks ago.”” It’s protocol,” she tells me. Protocol? What does that even mean?? You must mark on my chart that I’ve gained two pounds in the last week because why? Hospital scales are wrong. They are always 5 pounds heavier than normal scales at home. I hope you know that.
I really don’t like the paper like suppose to be sort of like a comfortable blanket type thing they have on those tables. It’s horrible and mean. They put babies on it to check them out and whatever and the poor babe is laying on itchy paper. Wouldn’t it be nice if it were a little softer? How would you like to be naked laying on paper? I mean this poor child with soft skin just came out of the womb and you are putting him on paper straight off a tree? How mean.
When I was pregnant and my husband went to a couple of appointments with me. (He is sweet, isn’t he?) I love husbands. I mean no disrespect to men, but if we’re being honest with ourselves here, I’d say it’s pretty safe to say that men are just clueless about pregnancy. So here I am having a panic attack that I have to get naked and lay on tree paper and he’s like, what is the big deal women? You’re pregnant, you better get used to this type of stuff. And I’m all- WHY DON’T YOU GET UP HERE AND HAVE YOUR ASS HANG OFF THE TABLE?? Then tell me what the big deal is MAN.
I really have nothing to share about my birth at the hospital because I had the most amazing, sweetest nurses ever. They were seriously so great. Okay, wait. I just thought of something.
I am trying to squat to push this kid out of me and I ask for a birthing chair (I had already used the ball and was looking for something else) or some sort of “device” to squat on/against/with/whatever and they GIVE ME A METAL birthing stool type of thing. I don’t even think it can be called a birthing stool because it was more like leftover metal that I found in the trash can so hey! why don’t you squat on it and help push that babe of yours out?
A METAL THING. With a towel over it because somehow putting a towel over metal while sitting your naked butt on it while in labor is sanitary?
METAL?!?!?! I couldn’t even find a picture of this on google (do NOT google this) because most birthing “things” have plastic or support or a chair or something besides JUST METAL.
I thought it was a joke. This is real stuff you guys.
So the other day, while waiting in the, you know, waiting room, I had a lovely conversation with a short Asian women. I didn’t ask her, but my guess is that she was approximately 47 years of age. She was dear and sweet and kind.
Women: ” How old is your son?”
Me: “5 months”
“Oh, he’s going to be a football player! He looks as tall as a one year old!”
“Is his dad tall?”
“No, just average.”
“Oh. My husband used to be tall.”
” Then he shrunk. I hope that’s the only thing that shrinks.” *laughing hysterically at herself*
*smiling… giving her the didyoujusttellmethatyouhopeyourhusbandspenisdoesntshinkoramijustimageningthings? look.
People? I know what she meant by that.
I may have looked up on the ceiling in 7th grade when my teacher told me the word “gullible” was written on it, but I certainly do know what she meant by that and you know what she meant too. I mean, COME ON.
At that the nurse called our name and we were off to see our doctor. (Yippee!!)
“It was nice talking to you, have a good day!” I said and Lucas gave her a sweet face.
Do you have any stories you’d like to share? I’d love to hear!
Go ahead. I’ll only charge ya a nickel.