"...I should be grateful for my failure, because I don't have the temperment for success..."
Doctors and Bellies, Oct 3, 2006
Reader, I've had a rack since I was 13. I've been sexually harassed and stared at for 75% of my life but I've never experienced anything like the attention that a 36 weeks pregnant belly brings on. At least with breasts, women ignore you. And
some men are adept at looking without getting caught. But a baby belly grabs the gaze of both genders and holds it long after what is considered polite.
Everyone asks the same questions.
How do you feel, do you want to sit down, are you excited, are you ready, is Chris excited, is Chris ready, can I touch your stomach, do you know what it is, have you picked out a name, why did you pick that name? Oh.
Is this what it's like to be famous? You go to your job, your coffeehouse, your gym...the same ten questions, the same ten answers. Until you get so bored with the Groundhog's Day-esque repetition that you don't want to leave your house anymore and you end up buying the bones of the Elephant Man and a chimp named Bubbles?
Well, I should be grateful for my failure, because I don't have the temperament for success.
I thought I would be relaxing this last month, but now it's extra doctor appointments and more tests. Kilbaby is apparently so big that no one believes I don't have diabetes. Again, I spent an afternoon chugging a bottle of disgusting orange goo and waiting to see how my blood sugar reacted. (I already did it once). Same as last time... I'm tall, god damnit. I come from big people. My dad's brother was 6 ft 7 in.
And why do doctors, the smartest people on earth, surround themselves with office staff that speak dubious English and lose messages, faxes and phone numbers?
We have to meet with a surgeon because Kilbaby has a problem that could resolve itself OR could not... but we need to be aware of the worst case scenario, which is surgery. (Nothing life threatening, but surgery is always dangerous, whether it's a facelift on an old lady or something corrective on an infant). According to this specialist's office manager, he shares a printer with other doctors. So, instead of accepting a fax of an ultrasound, I have to stop by the hospital, pick up a hard copy and then bring it to him.
Sure! That's convenient! Let me just stop by the hospital that's 100 blocks south of the couch I long to lay on 24 hours a day.
Why does one of the best surgeons in New York City share a printer? I have my own fucking printer, and I can't even pop a zit without leaving a scar. Why are doctors twenty years behind the real world? Can't we scan and email at this point?
Out Kilbaby, out! Let's be done with these ivory tower incompetents and begin our little life together.
