SlapDashittery
Thursday, June 11, 2009
She speaks to us with all the compassion of a rat:
"Your amniotic fluid is low, which could mean that the extremities aren’t being allowed to fully extend and grow, or that the child will endure a lifetime of respiratory problems... or, it could mean nothing at all."
She watches the girlfriend burst into tears with something bordering on satisfaction, and I’m inclined to believe that the doctor had this whole thing scripted right down to the timed beats between the girlfriend’s heaving sobs.
"Instead of once a month," – sob – "we’re going to want to see you every other week," – sob – "but none of us will ever say that everything is going to be all right."
"Awesome," I deadpan, rubbing the girlfriend’s leg. "So, don’t count our chickens before they hatch."
The doctor stares at me while I try to discern why she seems to want us scared stupid. We’ve started the second-half of the pregnancy now at the university hospital, and after hearing A-OKs across the line, this little bit of theatre is specifically designed to frighten us, for some reason. I guess I shouldn’t have been shooting that heroin into my eyeball in the waiting room, or slurping my beer so noisily; maybe cooking up those truly epic batches of methamphetamine in the parking lot worried these healthcare practitioners into believing that we’re imbeciles not taking life quite as seriously as we should. Or, possibly, when a big-time university housing a nationally-renowned children’s hospital has snatched fetus duty from our kindly family doctor, warnings such as these are the equivalent to McDonald’s having to plaster "hot!" decals on their coffee cups: they’re just covering their ass, and we’re just the latest number in an unending line of digits.
The impish doctor consoles us with a song about this "hopefully being the worst conversation we have," but the lyrics ring false, and I wonder how many malformed babies a person needs to see before they’re able to rattle off these threats of doom as though reading off a grocery list. Resisting the urge to strangle her with her own stethoscope, I try to clarify her position that it’s possible that the child will be absolutely fine, and she agrees vaguely while avoiding my eyes, like a dinner-party guest complimenting the overcooked pasta. Rather, she finds something that resembles comfort in my devastated girlfriend’s face, all but lapping at the sweet sorrow running down her cheeks, and I have to grit my teeth and stare at the rotary-phone relic in her office to control myself.
We know, all right?
Yes, doctor, we are well aware of the inherent dangers involved in this whole attempted-childbirth-thing; we live with the risks and the fear and the hope every single fucking day. So, perhaps when meeting first-time would-be parents in the future, dust off that old "bedside manner" textbook and employ a tone less reminiscent of grave-digging morphine-addict giving directions to the morgue.
Of course, I’m just a cretin snorting coke off my girlfriend’s tits while twirling a baby-mallet on my cock – what do I know?
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11 Comments:
Oh, I'm annoyed and stressed for you. Potentially bad news is bad enough without hearing them in a tone that venerates House's.
Wishing you well, and if it's not inappropriate to say, your writing is great.
hope it all turns out OK.
What.The.Fuck?
Ryan - I am SO sorry you and your girlfriend had to deal with that stupid fuckin' doctor. It makes me want to make an appointment with her and show up with my crow bar.
I am just so sorry, and hope it helps to know Hellbilly and I are sending good love your way.
Fuck.
I know exactly the type of medical "professionals" you're dealing with - the ones who have nothing else going on in their lives, who thrive on the drama. Sickos.
(BTW, I had low amniotic fluid with baby #1. To the point where my water nevr broke, because there was none. And he's completely healthy, bigger than all the other kids in his class, and is coming out of kindergarten reading at a 4th grade level. So, yeah, it CAN turn out OK.)
I'll be thinking about you, putting good thoughts in your direction. And hoping someone slashes that doctor's tires.
Ok, look, I'm going to be totally frank with you here. When I was pregnant with my daughter, I spent the entire time stressed the fuck out.
She was going to be born with Down's Syndrome, she might never have a normal life, we couldn't be sure of what were getting ourselves into and would we consider terminating the pregnancy.
That kid was born perfect and is a straight A student.
The pregnancy that I had that went as nearly picture perfect as my body was able to muster? Turned out not well.
This is the most stressful time in your life, tell that doctor that she can try, just try to remember that she's human.
Things will be okay. No matter what.
Hang in there.
Medical professionals dealing with people in vulnerable situations being insensitive?
Surely not.
Fuckers.
I am the spawn of a mother with sweet fuck all amniotic fluid sloshing around in her and I turned out just A-oh-fucking-kay.
Sort of.
Doctors are assholes. In fact, I walk around saying it all the time. To random people on the street, just as a reminder. Sometimes I have fake heart attacks just so I can be like, "Is anyone here a doctor?" and then when one comes running, I spit in his eye and clock him in the ear.
Asshole.
I had the opposite, too much amniotic fluid and the doc told me(far nicer btw) that it might be a problem with the baby's mouth or digestive tract or a host of other issues from bad to not a big deal. I spent the next couple of weeks driving myself insane on webmd and boards until I finally took a deep breath and decided that 99.9% of the time, it's fine and if it's not, it is for the moment out of my control. Needless to say, Izzy was perfectly healthy and as is usually the case, nothing was wrong. Take a deep breath, hold her hand and give that doc a kick in the shins for being so insensitive.
Oh, and maybe make the woman some kickass stovetop popcorn:)
You can teach medicine, but you can't teach how not to be a shit head. A shit head is a shit head - M.D. or no.
Hope it turns out OK, but as there isn't shit you can do about it, just breath.
PurestGreen: Thanks for the kind words and, please, there's never a bad time for a compliment. Appreciado.
SSG: Me too.
Gologirlio: You're very sweet for a myriad of reasons; thank you.
Ginny: I'm waiting until after this doctor's done with us; slashed tires will be the least of her problems if the girlfriend finds her...
Boomer: You're the best, seriously. Thanks.
Xbox: Incredible, isn't it?
Rassles: Doug Stanhope does the same thing with cops at his shows, and they're almost as funny as you faking out a doctor and hammering his head flat. Awesome.
FF: What's incredible is that the girlfriend remembered our popcorn-argument lo those many moons ago... I told you that she sided with you on that, right? Turncoat.
Mr. Freeman: Agreed, and I'm breathing a lot less heavily since you guys all helped me out.
Thank you everybody.
Love Ry
Have you seen that documentary, The Business of Being Born? Maybe don't let your girl see it right now if she's fragile, but it couldn't hurt to arm yourself with the information... not that you're in America, but...
My first pregnancy was filled with experiences just like this one. They astound.
My second pregnancy was far better because I had a completely different care situation. Details if you want them.
xo
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