The Soup-Based Cure



You may have read some crazy rumors about me getting food poisoning from tainted chowder over the weekend. Well, all the rumors are true. And because I’m a responsible fetus-haver, I called my OB/GYN Monday morning, after I was quasi-recovered, to explain the state of affairs and that I’d lost some weight. First, know that I really like Jessica, the RN that I’d been seeing for my lady business there before I got knocked up and quickly had to graduate to seeing the real doctors. Second, know that it’s a father/daughter practice, and the real doctors are a 45-ish year old woman with big hair and blue eyeshadow, and her 110-year-old Romanian father, who we’ve taken to calling Dr. Acula (after we came in for a potential early miscarriage and he said “Blood!” and probably “blah BLAH!” in Dracula voice more times than a doctor is allowed to do without acquiring a nickname). Here’s how Monday morning’s interactions went, basically:

(Phone call)

RECEPTIONIST: Oh my God you should take the morning off work and come in RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. Dr. Eyeshadow isn’t in today, but Dr. Acula can see you right away.

ME: I’d be happy to see Jessica, if this is something she’s able to deal with.

RECEPTIONIST: Oh, she sadly no longer works here for the time being; her husband got an overseas transfer, but she’ll be back in three years.

ME: [Internal Wah-wah horn.]

(I schlep to Arlington so as not to kill my fetus.)

RECEPTIONIST: So you’re here for like a UTI or something yeah?

ME: No, food poisoning and I’ve lost some weight.

RECEPTIONIST: Oh yeah… Have a seat and the doctor will be right with you.

(Nurse calls me in, asks what the trouble is.)

ME: I got food poisoning on Thursday night and I’ve lost a couple pounds. The doctor said at my last visit if I lost any more weight to give her a call.

NURSE: Oh my God, did you go to the emergency room? Is the baby okay?

ME: No and yes? Let’s find out together.

NURSE: Okay, sit here and Dr. Acula will be right with you.

(Forty minutes later, the door bursts open, Kramer-style, without being accompanied by the traditional Doctor’s Office Half-Knock. Dr. Acula stares at me in silence for a moment.)

ME: Good morning; how are you?

DR. ACULA (to be read in vampire voice): Are you getting better?

ME: I think so?

DR. ACULA: Follow me to my office.

(I do as I’m told).

DR. ACULA: You are no longer vomiting. You look…okay. You are dehydrated. Drink lots of soup until you’re hydrated. Blah BLAH.

And then I left and had some soup. I’m not entirely sure why this couldn’t have been taken care of in a phone call, wherein the doctor asked 1) How much weight have you lost, 2) How long ago did you stop vomiting/how frequently are you continuing to have violent poop-fits, and 3) Why don’t you have some soup?

Further, I’ve seen these doctors like 17 times since November, and every time I come in they say, “So what’s your story now? You say your pregnant with some sort of a human child? I clearly didn’t read your chart, but it’s nice to meet you or whatever. So, what’s with the cane? Did you sprain your ankle or something?” I’ve got a recommendation for another practice closer to my home and place of business, but I don’t know if it’s worth the pain of transferring the files and rescheduling ultrasounds, and going through the general unpleasantness of the breakup. Dr. Eyeshadow and Dr. Acula are both well-regarded and have 130 years of practice between the two of them, so I’m not concerned that they’re going to botch a C-section or anything. They’ll just have no idea who they’re cutting up or why, except that they know they like the blood. Blah BLAH.



  1. Yikes! So here’s my advice: RUN TO A NEW DOCTOR AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! OK, that is my hysterical voice talking, but seriously, I’d be looking for a new Dr. You are the consumer here, and I bet your local barista remembers you better than this bunch of bozos!

  2. Every time I see my doctor, she’s like, “Oh, why do you have a cane? What happened?” I’ve just started saying, “I’m almost better, I’ll be off it soon!” It’s a fun little game we play, my fibromyalgia doctor and me! (Blah BLAH.)

    1. That’s bananas! My other doctors don’t wonder about the cane. They’re more like, “Ah yes, you walk with that cane, which is why we see each other every three months.” (I have a fibro doctor I like pretty well if you’re in the market.)

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