Morning of a Thousand Assholes
Okay, maybe the title is a mild exaggeration, but a few people were inconsiderate towards me this morning and I intend to blow it out of proportion and then vent about it publicly. That's kinda what the whole blog thing's about anyway, you know.
Monday I emailed the boss who's normally in charge of giving us days off and making sure classes are covered. She told me it was fine and to ask a certain SPED teacher to cover my classes. I did, and spoke with the SPED teacher, Ms. Q, about this several times.
When I arrived at work this morning, it didn't take long for me to realize that half the teachers were not at work and there was a substitute shortage. Even the boss who okayed me to leave at noon was out with the flu. Then I saw the dramatic sub shortage, and I instantly KNEW they were going to try to send Ms. Q. somewhere else. So I hunted her down before classes started to make sure she was still coming. She asked me to call and confirm with the principal, and I did. She said she'd be in my room at 11:55.
My first two hours were a breeze. The kids pretty much regulated their own behavior and the classroom ran itself while I graded a few things, organized a few things, and laid out the work for the rest of the day along with instructions for Ms. Q. I'm kinda proud. I think the fact that the place ran itself so smoothly for two hours might be an indication that I've taught them something.
At 11:53, a student who I don't teach walked through the door and said, "Ms. Q isn't coming. She said Mr. F was supposed to tell you that they sent her somewhere else." I asked her who was coming, and she answered, "They don't have anyone."
Well, that's all it took for me to get pissed the *%#$ off. I saw this coming a mile away and did everything I could to prevent it, and I'll be damned if I'm missing this much-looked-forward-to appointment because someone else can't get their crap together.
I tried calling Mr. F. He was out on campus somewhere, unreachable by phone. I called the front office to see if the secretary knew where Ms. Q was. I thought I could get some clearer info from her than I had the student. WHY DO PEOPLE SEND STUDENTS TO GIVE IMPORTANT MESSAGES IN THE FIRST PLACE!? They never know what the hell they're talking about! Anyway, the secretary didn't answer-- Evil D did. Evil D is just a bitch that works up there sometimes and she needs to go to hell or fall off the face of the earth or something. She lives to be a bitch and be rude to people for no reason. It's all she does. I think she's from up North somewhere, and she needs to take her ass back to where people talk to each other like a bunch of assholes. I asked if I could speak with the secretary, but Evil D insisted on handling it herself. I told her the problem, and, well...she was just her usual stupid bitchy self.
So I called Mr. F's secretary. She couldn't reach him by radio. I told her to tell him I was leaving in five minutes regardless. Five minutes later another sub showed up. Thank God.
In hindsight, they probably had that sub lined up all along and my bitchery was uncalled for, but why send a student to tell me there's nobody? Or why send a student to tell me ANYTHING? They never, ever get the message across the way you intend it. It's really not necessary considering that there's a telephone in every single classroom, and the extensions to each classroom are programmed into the phone. I'm reachable.
Anyway. I'd like to take a moment to warn the male member(s) of the audience that the remainder of this post is about my adventures at the vagina doctor this morning. I know you're going to keep reading because you secretly wonder about it, but I just thought I'd give you the warning so as not to traumatize you.
I went to the doctor, and as soon as I got there a young nurse called me back. As soon as we got to the back hallway, she said, "Is this your first ob?" I looked at her for a second and said, "Um, no, I've seen Dr. Drake before." She said, "Yeah, but..." and then she whispered, "Are you pregnant?" I said yes.
What's up with the whispering? We're at a vagina doctor's office. You can ask me out loud if I'm pregnant. Geez. And don't use gyno lingo with me. "First ob" sounds to me like you're asking if I'm a new patient. Sorry for not knowing. Perhaps she thought I'd already be familiar with the lingo since most people around here have already squirted out a few kids by my age.
She weighed me, and once I stopped hating myself for being such a fat ass she handed me a cup to pee in. Oops. I'd gone just before I got there and figured it might be a while. The cup thing they wanted me to pee in had a funnel on it-- presumably to prevent piss from running down the sides of the cup. A nurse came in and handed it to me along with a glass of water and told me to squeeze out just a few drops as soon as I could. Well, let's just say I squeezed out more than a few drops. I pissed a record amount, and it ran over the funnel. But instead of going into the toilet, it ran down my arm, dribbled onto my underwear and my leg. Then I tried to pull the cup/funnel contraption out from under me and put it in the sink like an overflowing coke can-- but in the process I got piss all over the floor, the sink, the front of the counter, and even more on my clothing. Hell it probably got on the wall. FABULOUS! I've just peed all over the universe!
:sigh:
A few paper towels later, I was sitting on the table in standard sheet apparel. The doc came in and made a few jokes-- gynos are good at that-- and then went to examine me. I realized I'd left my bra on. SHIT! I had been so busy worrying about the other end (and cleaning up piss) that I forgot it.
He and the excessively cute little nurse stepped back out. Why are the gyno nurses always so pretty? If a woman has to see my vag, I'd prefer she be a big fat ugly skank so I can leave with a little dignity.
We finally got the deal done. I'm 5 weeks. That's insanely early. He asked how I knew so early, and I told him-- I didn't start my period. Duh? If you're paying attention to a calendar, you're going to notice that. I guess I wouldn't have noticed it either if I hadn't been paying closer attention than I usually do.
Anyway, it does feel kinda weird to be writing such an extensive post about piss and periods and vagina doctors, so I think it's time to wrap this mofo up.
I go back in 2 weeks for my first ultrasound. The doctor said, "I'll just wait and do your bloodwork then too, because if you're going to have a miscarriage it'll probably happen before then and I don't want to get all that bloodwork if you're going to have a miscarriage."
WTF? Miscarriage? He was talking about it like A) it wasn't a big deal and B) it was almost expected. I asked him how much more likely I am to miscarry because of having PCOS, and he said almost no more likely, but that miscarriages are just very common and about 1/3 of women do miscarry. That number seems extremely high. Anyway, that was the final asshole moment of my morning. I needed to be reassured, not told that there's a huge chance of a miscarriage.
My mom said to ignore it and forget he said it, and then she immediately started talking about all the cool baby stuff she's already acquired.
Moms rock. And they're way more experienced at making you feel better than vagina doctors.
Monday I emailed the boss who's normally in charge of giving us days off and making sure classes are covered. She told me it was fine and to ask a certain SPED teacher to cover my classes. I did, and spoke with the SPED teacher, Ms. Q, about this several times.
When I arrived at work this morning, it didn't take long for me to realize that half the teachers were not at work and there was a substitute shortage. Even the boss who okayed me to leave at noon was out with the flu. Then I saw the dramatic sub shortage, and I instantly KNEW they were going to try to send Ms. Q. somewhere else. So I hunted her down before classes started to make sure she was still coming. She asked me to call and confirm with the principal, and I did. She said she'd be in my room at 11:55.
My first two hours were a breeze. The kids pretty much regulated their own behavior and the classroom ran itself while I graded a few things, organized a few things, and laid out the work for the rest of the day along with instructions for Ms. Q. I'm kinda proud. I think the fact that the place ran itself so smoothly for two hours might be an indication that I've taught them something.
At 11:53, a student who I don't teach walked through the door and said, "Ms. Q isn't coming. She said Mr. F was supposed to tell you that they sent her somewhere else." I asked her who was coming, and she answered, "They don't have anyone."
Well, that's all it took for me to get pissed the *%#$ off. I saw this coming a mile away and did everything I could to prevent it, and I'll be damned if I'm missing this much-looked-forward-to appointment because someone else can't get their crap together.
I tried calling Mr. F. He was out on campus somewhere, unreachable by phone. I called the front office to see if the secretary knew where Ms. Q was. I thought I could get some clearer info from her than I had the student. WHY DO PEOPLE SEND STUDENTS TO GIVE IMPORTANT MESSAGES IN THE FIRST PLACE!? They never know what the hell they're talking about! Anyway, the secretary didn't answer-- Evil D did. Evil D is just a bitch that works up there sometimes and she needs to go to hell or fall off the face of the earth or something. She lives to be a bitch and be rude to people for no reason. It's all she does. I think she's from up North somewhere, and she needs to take her ass back to where people talk to each other like a bunch of assholes. I asked if I could speak with the secretary, but Evil D insisted on handling it herself. I told her the problem, and, well...she was just her usual stupid bitchy self.
So I called Mr. F's secretary. She couldn't reach him by radio. I told her to tell him I was leaving in five minutes regardless. Five minutes later another sub showed up. Thank God.
In hindsight, they probably had that sub lined up all along and my bitchery was uncalled for, but why send a student to tell me there's nobody? Or why send a student to tell me ANYTHING? They never, ever get the message across the way you intend it. It's really not necessary considering that there's a telephone in every single classroom, and the extensions to each classroom are programmed into the phone. I'm reachable.
Anyway. I'd like to take a moment to warn the male member(s) of the audience that the remainder of this post is about my adventures at the vagina doctor this morning. I know you're going to keep reading because you secretly wonder about it, but I just thought I'd give you the warning so as not to traumatize you.
I went to the doctor, and as soon as I got there a young nurse called me back. As soon as we got to the back hallway, she said, "Is this your first ob?" I looked at her for a second and said, "Um, no, I've seen Dr. Drake before." She said, "Yeah, but..." and then she whispered, "Are you pregnant?" I said yes.
What's up with the whispering? We're at a vagina doctor's office. You can ask me out loud if I'm pregnant. Geez. And don't use gyno lingo with me. "First ob" sounds to me like you're asking if I'm a new patient. Sorry for not knowing. Perhaps she thought I'd already be familiar with the lingo since most people around here have already squirted out a few kids by my age.
She weighed me, and once I stopped hating myself for being such a fat ass she handed me a cup to pee in. Oops. I'd gone just before I got there and figured it might be a while. The cup thing they wanted me to pee in had a funnel on it-- presumably to prevent piss from running down the sides of the cup. A nurse came in and handed it to me along with a glass of water and told me to squeeze out just a few drops as soon as I could. Well, let's just say I squeezed out more than a few drops. I pissed a record amount, and it ran over the funnel. But instead of going into the toilet, it ran down my arm, dribbled onto my underwear and my leg. Then I tried to pull the cup/funnel contraption out from under me and put it in the sink like an overflowing coke can-- but in the process I got piss all over the floor, the sink, the front of the counter, and even more on my clothing. Hell it probably got on the wall. FABULOUS! I've just peed all over the universe!
:sigh:
A few paper towels later, I was sitting on the table in standard sheet apparel. The doc came in and made a few jokes-- gynos are good at that-- and then went to examine me. I realized I'd left my bra on. SHIT! I had been so busy worrying about the other end (and cleaning up piss) that I forgot it.
He and the excessively cute little nurse stepped back out. Why are the gyno nurses always so pretty? If a woman has to see my vag, I'd prefer she be a big fat ugly skank so I can leave with a little dignity.
We finally got the deal done. I'm 5 weeks. That's insanely early. He asked how I knew so early, and I told him-- I didn't start my period. Duh? If you're paying attention to a calendar, you're going to notice that. I guess I wouldn't have noticed it either if I hadn't been paying closer attention than I usually do.
Anyway, it does feel kinda weird to be writing such an extensive post about piss and periods and vagina doctors, so I think it's time to wrap this mofo up.
I go back in 2 weeks for my first ultrasound. The doctor said, "I'll just wait and do your bloodwork then too, because if you're going to have a miscarriage it'll probably happen before then and I don't want to get all that bloodwork if you're going to have a miscarriage."
WTF? Miscarriage? He was talking about it like A) it wasn't a big deal and B) it was almost expected. I asked him how much more likely I am to miscarry because of having PCOS, and he said almost no more likely, but that miscarriages are just very common and about 1/3 of women do miscarry. That number seems extremely high. Anyway, that was the final asshole moment of my morning. I needed to be reassured, not told that there's a huge chance of a miscarriage.
My mom said to ignore it and forget he said it, and then she immediately started talking about all the cool baby stuff she's already acquired.
Moms rock. And they're way more experienced at making you feel better than vagina doctors.
With my #1 son, I had the MOST SCATHINGLY BRILLIANT OB in the world. He was fifty-something, and very comforting and engaging. His nurse was an old heifer who called everyone 'Honey' and didn't make a big deal of the weighing or the disrobing. Then, in my third month, my most wonderful doctor had to go and have a stroke. He would never return to the office.
The patients were split between the other two OBs. I got the cold fish, austere, tight-lipped, all-business OB instead of the bearded, Columbo-dressing, hippie OB. I cried after the first appointment. He had a little slip of a nurse who was like Unfriendly Barbie. The first thing the doctor said to me was, "Well, we're not happy with your age or your weight." Sweet Gummi Mary! It's not like I was a septuagenarian using my granddaughter's eggs to have twins! It's not like I had a front butt and needed a walker to support 1000 pounds of adipose tissue! The baby is already in there. So deal with it. It's not like I'm going to get any younger or any lighter over the next six months!
I think these guys develop such an ego that they don't care how women hear what they're saying. Don't let them win. Go out and buy "What to Expect When You're Expecting", read it from cover to cover, and realize that nothing is ever like they say it is in a book.
Posted by
Hillbilly Mom |
9:02 PM
What a wank! I can't believe he said that.
Posted by
Beth |
10:51 AM
The gyno doc I had when I was of child-bearing age was an ugly little gnome of a man. That's the best kind to have - he doesn't make you feel like he's doing you a personal favor by looking at your ugly old fat self and ugly old vagina. He was very kind and gentle.
Now that I'm older, he is retired, and I have a young, hot gyno doctor. Hey, old age has to have SOME perks. I don't care if he hates looking at my old, ugly wrinkled self - if I've gotta lay on that table and freeze body parts off waiting for him, then I at least want something pretty to look at.
Posted by
Anonymous |
4:27 PM
My doc is probably in his 50's, and not bad looking. I go to my Happy Place and pretend I'm somewhere else when he's down there rooting around. I can't stand the thought of someone down there with a light, looking for flaws. LAWD. His bedside manner isn't the greatest, obviously, but I'm fairly confident he's got enough experience to get this kid out of me without killing either of us.
Posted by
Mommy Needs a Xanax |
7:32 PM
Jesus, what kind of self-absorbed prick starts talking about miscarriage to someone newly-pregnant? Combine that with WhisperyNurse, and it sounds to me like the Ob-Gyn practice is just a cover for some kind of black-market baby broker.
Posted by
Stewed Hamm |
8:37 AM