I woke up today and I knew it was gonna be a bad day, and that sucks because overall it's been a pretty awesome week. I got up late after spending half the night trying to comfort Silly Monkey post-nightmare. Gianormous half-naked pregnant chic folded up in a Spider Man twin bed with company... you can imagine how well I slept. And upon waking, I was slapped in the face with the realization that, not only did I have to get the kids fed, dressed, and full, but I also had to get ready; something that has become more and more of a rarity in the recent past.
You know how they say 'it takes a village to raise a child'? Well, it takes a village to get mommy publicly presentable. Everyone must pitch in to make it possible for me to shower, slap on some make-up, and hopefully get pants on. So it is a pain in the derriere for all involved. And what's worse, is that we all had to go through this hullabaloo so I could go to my incompetent doctor's office to shell out $350 for a repeat ultrasound I had done two weeks ago because the crack-addict technician "forgot" to get images of the spine. Say what? The spine? Kinda important dontchya think?
I am about as frustrated and angry as a girl can get. I've done this baby thing twice before, so I know a thing or two about how this prenatal care thing works; what to expect, what tests I need, what precautions they need to take because of my personal medical history, etc.. But I have been astounded throughout this whole pregnancy at the ineptitude of these doctors and their employees. To date I have seen four different doctors at the same frickin' office since this pregnancy began. Last time I ranted about it in my Drunk Mommy post, there were three. Now a new one apparently graduated from North Venezuela Universidad of Medicine and Taxidermy and joined the shop so, "let me test out this specula on you, Ms. Martini".
And because I have been tossed around like a damn Raggedy Andy doll, I have now been required to take two different unnecessary tests because they can't get their heads out of their asses. And the tests keep coming. Today was the last straw.
As I am checking out the gal says, "So we need to schedule your 1 hour glucola test".
OMG! I almost punched her. "I had that last week".
Typing, typing, typing, type, type, type. Clickity, clickity, click, click, click...click, click.
"Looks like they requested an early glucose test; they do that when they know you're a diabetic".
Me: "Yeah, I'm not".
"And we need to schedule your blah, blah, blah and your Rhogam shot. I don't know why they didn't do that when you had your glucola. That's typically when they do that. I'll find out".
"Yes, why don't you go do that"? Me getting pissy because I have now spent 10 minutes dealing with this crotchbiscut, and Mr. Martini has an appointment that actual makes money rather than wastes it.
So I wait. And I wait. I read a weeks worth of Tweets, I respond to six emails, set up a hair appointment, get a back massage from one of those traveling back massage guy-people at the mall, ordered some take-out, watched an episode of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, got my legs waxed, donated blood, adopted a puppy, got an A+ at puppy obedience school, ordered a Diamonique ring from QVC, returned it, and drank a latte.
FINALLY that bitch came back, with back-up. Nurse who-the-hell-are-you tells me that I now need to take yet ANOTHER glucose test, along with badonka donk, and I need to get a badinky dink. And I can have this all done at the hospital at my convenience, but I should come back Monday for my shot.
"Cool", I said.
"Oh, and yeah, I'd like a medical records release form because I am never coming back to this friggin' circus again".
And I'm not, Yo. Not never, not no how.