Alas, I can't even give myself blood. The whole reason I might need my own blood, ironically, is the reason I can't stock up on my own blood. Apparently if right after I *give* blood, I suddenly *need* blood, then I would be *low* on blood (having just donated it.) This scenario would be...and I quote Dr. Bedside Manner exactly here..."catastrophic."
I show up at every doctor appointment with a 5-point list of "is this normal?" questions. You'd think she'd know not to use a word like "catastrophic." Sheesh. She also said, I kid not, "When a woman needs a transfusion during a C-section, she needs the kitchen sink." (As in "you could never donate enough blood for yourself anyway; we'd need gallons.")
The kitchen sink. Hahahahaha. Thanks Doc, I'll be sleeping well tonight.
My doctor, incidentally, is considered by many mommies to be "the premier" OB/Gyn in San Francisco. They all make sure to say how I am so blessed to have been accepted as her patient. She's all over the TV, the journals and the newspapers. And I don't really like her.
But given that I've got a potentially serious issue, I'm glad she's one of the best MDs I could have in the operating room. But she's usually too busy to answer my questions when I call, too busy to look up things on my chart to confirm things (like who I am), and almost always makes me feel rushed during my appointments.
Frankly, she pisses me off. Kevin likes her though, which counts for something. He's often been a better judge of character when I am stressed. And, his preference for her also counts because, in case I haven't mentioned it daily to him, I'll mention it here: He's the best daddy-to-be ever. (OK, he could rub my feet with a bit more enthusiasm, and he could protest just a little bit louder when I lament how massive my ass is getting).
He seems to love coming to the doctor appointments. He listens to me rattle on about "placenta previa anterior." When he attends my "10-inch-long fetus!" seminars, I can tell he's not Fake Listening (that's right, I know about the Fake Listening). He does his own research on it, in fact. And when we shop for Lyric, he's...opinionated. Like he actually cares which shade of pink onesie we get stuck with.
And this weekend he found and bought her a Tiny Tunes mobile (with Taz, the key character, of course) instead of making her one of red and black construction paper skulls, as i expected. A shocking moment for us all, no?
This is the same guy who nearly broke up with me a few years ago because I said I wasn't sure if I wanted kids, because he'd said he was absolutely sure he definitely didn't want kids. We eventually got married anyway (both having agreed to accept the other person's decision b/c we want to be together under most any terms), and then I suddenly knew I wanted kids. And poof! He did too. (One or two of them anyway. "Kids" sounds like a farm full of them).
I win! In every way imaginable.
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