you gotta be kidding me

Dear Bimbo at the Doctor’s Office*,

I woke up to my phone vibrating across the nightstand at 3pm yesterday.  That was your first mistake.  I saw that it was you so even though I was still half (or more like three-quarters) asleep, I answered.  See, my alarm doesn’t go off until 4pm and that hour makes the difference between 6 and 7 hours of precious sleep, every bit of which I need.

Moving on.

Next, you told me that the results from my one hour glucose test were “abnormal” and asked if I had ever done the three hour glucose tolerance test before.  Look at your notes, bimbo.  I did it barely over a year ago.  I say “yep.”  You then proceed to tell me everything I need to do to prepare for the test.  I just told you I have done it before and surely you can hear the boredom in my voice as I lazily attempt to validate your rules and instructions with monotone “mmm hmms.”

Lucky for you, you tell me I can come in on Thursday at 8am.  No, this is not ideal…but when is it ever ideal to have to sit at the doctor’s office for 3 hours?  On my day off.  When I should be spending time with my son.  At least you didn’t try to FORCE me to come in on Tuesday or Wednesday, when I would have to work right before and again that night.  (Last time I had to do the test, they basically told me I had to do it the next day or my baby could die and it would be my fault.  Then took 4 days to call me with the results).  Unlucky for me, I will be going on no sleep, having been up all night the night before, and starving because I can’t eat after midnight.  Not to mention that I will have to pay an extra $23 to the babysitter for my little kid to go on a day he normally doesn’t, thereby losing the cash and the coveted time with him.

Sidenote:  I say “lucky for you” because I was prepared to go off on your bimbo self with a speech about how I don’t have to come in for the test the next day and how I’m not going to miss a day’s worth of sleep over the test.  I was going to tell you that I already know how to monitor my blood sugar and how to eat as if I have been diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  I was gonna rub it in your face if you insisted that I come in the next day that it takes you people FOUR days to get test results back sometimes, therefore I don’t feel the need to stop on a dime to make you happy.  That’s why I say “lucky for you.” 

Moving on.  Again. 

So far, none of this is sounding too cool.  And it’s all your fault, bimbo at the doctor’s office.  I have done well.  I’ve tried to watch what I eat this time.  I cut out sweet tea (for the most part).  DO YOU KNOW HOW BIG OF A BIG FREAKIN’ DEAL THAT IS?  I have gained like 11 fewer pounds so far than I had at this point during my last pregnancy.  I’m rocking this. 

So after you tell me all the dumb stuff you have to tell me and I’ve had a moment to think about all the dumb stuff as mentioned in this I’m-mad-at-you-because-everything-is-all-your-fault-even-though-it’s-not-but-I’m-going-to-blame-it-on-you-because-it’s-not-my-fault-either-and-I-don’t-like-having-no-control-over-my-health-and-my-body letter, you ask if I have any other questions.

Yes.  Yes, I did. 

Bimbo At The Doctor’s Office:  Oh, okay. What’s your question?
me: What’s the cutoff?
BATDO: 140
me: And what was my reading?
BATDO: 143
BATDO: nope. 
BATDO: yep.
sad silence during brief moment of realization
BATDO:  I’m. um. sorry?  Maybe the three hour test results will come back normal?
me:  See you Thursday.


(There’s no “click” anymore.  It’s the gentle tap of my fingertip on the smooth plastic display that says “end call” in red.  But if I’d said “GENTLE TAP,” you wouldn’t have understood, would you?  It just doesn’t have the same appeal).

Clearly, I was not able to go back to sleep after you dropped that bomb on me.  Being well-rested when you are pregnant AND work third shift is priceless, so the way I see it you owe me WADS of cash.  Plus the $23 for having to have a babysitter on a day I shouldn’t.  You’re a crummy, crummy person, bimbo at the doctor’s office. 

you suck and everything bad is all your fault,

*disclaimer: I’m sure the bimbo at the doctor’s office is a perfectly lovely human being. 

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