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:
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.