I was sick for three weeks after Thanksgiving. Sure we've had colds, the chicken pox scare, ear infections, and the nasty stomach bug that Bird was nice enough to share with David and me. (My God, the puke! Have you seen the bit on Family Guy when Peter, Chris, Stewie, and Brian all drink castor oil and wait to see who pukes last? Winner gets the last piece of pie. Of course, they all charf. Everywhere. Some of the lines are really, really great.)
Where was I? Oh yes, I was sick. I got a cold the weekend of Thanksgiving (and then Bird and David, in that order). It was a fairly crappy cold with a cough and everything. Bird and David got better, I did not. It just kept going. And then my sinuses starting killing me and everything in my head throbbed and my snot was an unnatural color of green and then my teeth started to hurt. It was great.
I finally broke down and called my doctor for an appointment. I have not visited a doctor due to illness in over 15 years. Sure I've been in a doctor's office more times in the last two years than some people are in a lifetime (my veins practically open and bleed on command for phlebotomists now), but I haven't seen a doctor because I didn't feel well in forever.
I got this current doctor (a real doctor that I have along with my real health insurance -- another benefit of finishing grad school) while I was pregnant because I needed to get a flu shot and my OB didn't have any. This current doctor also looked at a toe problem I was having at the time and announced "That is too gross for me. You'll need to see a foot doctor." Hmmmm. OK.
So I saw this doctor last week. Of course, I was feeling better the morning of the appointment. A similar phenomenon occurs for me when I break down and make an appointment to get my hair colored or cut. I inevitably love the way my hair looks in the last 72 hours before I pay big bucks to change it.
Back to the appointment. I was prepared for things to take a long time since I was being "squeezed in" and everyone is sick at this time of the year. A very nice nurse took my vitals. I fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes again. Some pants are even a little large. And yet, I seem to weigh only about 10 pounds less than I did the day Bird was born. I've always hated numbers.
Later a medical student came in to chat. A medical student -- as in, not a resident, not yet an M.D. Wow did she look young. I've already forgotten her name. She was blond and had on a smart, white lab coat. She looked like she was concentrating hard on her bedside manner.
My file with this doctor is two pages long. Somehow the medical resident got lost in the file and asked me if I was pregnant since my last period was July 3, 2006. Don't you have to take math in med school? So anyway, we got the two pages sorted out, got the date of my last period sorted out (concurrent with this sinus infection, thank you very much), and got down to business. The opportunity to recap my last visit alerted the med student to the fact that I have a baby and I am breastfeeding.
She actually looked in my ears, up my nose, and down my throat. While checking out my ear wax she exclaimed "Diamond alert!" I kid you not. She helpfully added that she is on "jewelry watch" because she knows her boyfriend bought a ring. I said "Congratulations! But how do you know he bought a ring?" She explained, "I went with him to the jewelry store."
Hmmm. Call me old-fashioned, but that takes all of the magic out of a marriage proposal. If you go to the store with your fiance-to-be and pick out a ring and see the price, what do you need him for? Don't you want to be surprised? And no, I don't think it's truly a surprise if you know he has the ring but you don't know when or how he'll pop the question. I don't know how men today deal with that kind of pressure. This young woman picked out her ring, presumably also her betrothed, and has already narrowed down possible wedding dates, but has no official proposal or ring on her finger. Ahhhh, romance.
As we ran through my symptoms (pausing so she could write it all down), she started asking me questions. Question the first: "Are you feeling tired or run-down lately?"
Ha! I truly thought she was joking for a full count to three. Instead of laughing, she kept her eyes focused on mine while waiting for my answer and applying all of that bedside-manner listen-to-the-patient stuff I am sure she is learning in school. "Um, yes I'm tired. I haven't slept through the night in a very, very long time. I have a baby."
She then proceeded to ask me questions about Bird and his sleeping habits. And then she...yes, you know it's coming....began to tell me how to get him to sleep through the night --
- You should feed him right before bedtime.
- You should give him a bath and then massage him with bedtime lotion that is scented with lavender.
- Sometimes babies just need to cry it out to figure out how to fall asleep.
Oh, honey. I wanted to pat her hand and tell her to talk to me after she has her first child. You know, the one that she is sure she will easily conceive at the time she has chosen --- I won't go there since that is a whole other rant of mine, and yes a time that she has chosen since come on, she picked out her engagement ring.
Anyway, I found it funny to receive this advice from a young, childless, medical student when I just wanted a prescription to cure my nasty infection. I know it takes a village. I know I thought myself to be knowledgeable about such things while I was childless. But please.
