Rants from the Crib

An Ob/Gyn gone mad

Archive for the category “Humor”

My Husband, The Food Terrorist

My husband has, er, a strong opinion about the correct consumption of food.  It overwhelms any sense of shame he might have (he hasn’t).  He has embarrassed me so many times in so many food venues.  And his food rules are many and complex.

He once demanded to see a manager in a McDonald’s.

On a date, in a 5 star restaurant in Atlanta, he waved over the maître d’ to inform him that the baked potatoes had been sitting under the warmer for far too long and they were unacceptably dry.  I wanted to crawl under the table and yet… I married him.

Every time we go to Ruth’s Chris, he sends his steak back to be put back on the grill and done right, and he lectures the wait staff on the nuances of steak preparation.  He informs them that he wants no pepper on the steak rub, and he doesn’t want it to come with sizzling butter on the plate.  What possible food  would NOT be improved by the presence of sizzling butter?

I am Harry. He is Sally.

He always demands his dressing on the side, because “they put too much on”.  He requests no croutons.  And when the croutons come anyway, he piles them reproachfully on the side of his plate.

We were out to eat with my parents, and my mom leaned over and whispered, “Why does he DO that?”  She was referring to his highly odd practice of ordering a salad with chicken, and carefully removing the chicken and placing it on a separate plate.  I had already asked him. “Why in the hell would you order a salad with chicken, and then take it off?”  He looked at me as if I were dimwitted.  “The hot chicken wilts the lettuce.”  Seriously?

We have yet to buy food through a drive-through.  He refuses to drive his food home, because it will be “too cold to eat”. Alternately, he also refuses to get Blizzards in the drive-through, because they will be too MELTED when we get home.  He can’t eat melted ice cream.  I’m not sure what he think happens when it gets into his stomach.

When we were first married, he was obsessed with expiration dates on food.  He read everything in the pantry, and no matter what it was, he refused to eat it if it was one day past the expiration date.  The first time I brought him home to meet my parents, he informed my mom that the can she had just opened was past its due date.  My mother, who buys food and stocks her fridge and pantry as if she were preparing for Armageddon, clipping coupons and buying in massive bulk, looked at him like he had cabbages growing out of his ears.  Actually, she looked at him like she wanted to whack him with a spatula.  I know that look.

He has always been obsessed with sodium.  His dad was probably the last human being who was ever placed on a low sodium diet.  He scrutinizes everything he picks up in the supermarket and scowls.  “I can’t believe how much SODIUM they put in this!  It’s like the silent epidemic!”  I have told him innumerable times that no one really worries about sodium any more.  But I’m only a doctor, so what do I know?

Then there’s the fat thing.  To say that he eschews fat would indeed be putting it mildly.  He peels and scrapes and carves every bit of his meat which seems to be remotely white in color.  Even a very lean pork chop – he carefully minces off scarcely visible edges of fat and piles them on his plate, testament to his lack of confidence in the buyer’s ability to purchase a decent piece of meat.  He won’t eat a bite until the surgery is adequately performed.  I’m not sure what he would do if he ever accidentally put a morsel of fat into his mouth.  It would probably immediately induce vomiting.

And, there are the popsicles.  He consumes sugar-free popsicles, packs at a time.  He likes to bring them to TV time, so that the dialogue sounds like CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH rip, shred, rip, shred (him opening more popsicles).  He used to do the crunching and the rip-shredding in bed too, until I made him stop.  He leaves the wrappers everywhere, despite having a garbage can within arm’s reach.

He’s convinced that he has mercury poisoning, so he now rejects the “sulfur-forming” foods:  cruciate vegetables, eggs, basically everything that is good for you.  And he has another Bee in His Bonnet – after consulting multiple forums on mercury toxicity (but not a doctor), he now takes a chelating regimen of literally dozens of vitamins a day, to exorcise the evil toxin from his body.  I don’t want to know how much they cost, but unfortunately I have a pretty good idea. We even have vitamin packages arriving from South Africa.  He looks like an HIV patient – he has timers set on his phone, for these miracle workers must be taken at precise times.  I don’t know what will happen if he messes up a dose, but I am sure it is dire.  We have timers going off every four hours throughout the night.

Also, he refuses anything he had to eat in childhood.  His family was fairly poor, and he had to live with his grandparents a while.  They did a lot of living off the land; they had a garden and fished and hunted.  So to this day, he will eat NOTHING that they had in abundance when he was a kid.  No okra.  No spinach.  Only iceberg lettuce.  And no freshwater fish, because they caught and ate them.  They taste “too fishy”.  I have no idea what the heck else a fish is supposed to taste like.  He only eats top-of the-food-chain ocean fish, although he now rejects them as well because they contain mercury.

He goes on Atkins a lot, mainly when his 32’s get too tight.  He refuses to buy up a size in the face of his increasing age.  You would think, given his food obsessions, that he would eat a healthy diet.  Oh, no.  I think he would eat Mexican food every day if he could.  He eats like a pig:  ice cream, Blizzards, tangy Sweet Tarts, popcorn, until the 32’s get tight, then he slams on the brakes and eats only lunch meat and cheese.  Cooking for my family is impossible.  If you combine the fat-eschewing with the loathing of most domestic vegetables and fish and the fear of sodium, mercury and sulfur, and the no-carbs rule – big fun at meals in OUR house!

Just a little food OCD.  I will not, however, mention the fact that I eat six cartons of yogurt a day.  There’s NOTHING weird about that!  Nope.  Good times.


The Truth About The Myths Of Pregnancy

There is so much that your doctors don’t tell you about being pregnant, because they consider the information trivial and they just don’t have time in a busy clinic to go over little, normal stuff with you.

There are many things that your friends, family, and complete strangers WILL tell you.  A great deal of it is wrong.

The national hobby is scaring pregnant women.  As soon as someone finds out you are pregnant, they will immediately start telling you their worst horror stories, most of which are greatly exaggerated.  I find this strange, because if they found out you had, say, diabetes, they wouldn’t tell you horrible stories about having toes cut off, heart attacks, blindness, and arterial bypass grafts.  So why is it OK to say these things to pregnant women?  Actually it’s NOT.  But everyone will do it anyway.

People, usually other women, will tell you the stupidest, most ridiculous folktales about pregnancy.  You may, say, be reaching up to pull a book off a higher shelf, and a random person may walk up to you and say, “If you reach above your head, your baby will strangle.”  WTF?  That makes no sense at all.  And yet, I have gotten calls (usually at 3 AM) from sobbing mothers who have been convinced that getting soup out of the pantry has killed their baby.

If it sounds ridiculous, or impossible, it probably is.  Check with your doc if you’re concerned.  Just not at 3 AM, please.

They will also tell you that if you get in a swimming pool, the baby will drown.  Really?  Because that kid’s floating in a bag full of fluid right now.

They will tell you that if you eat pears, the baby will be affected somehow.

They will tell you if you have heartburn, the baby will have lots of hair.  How the hell can those be related?  Hint: they aren’t.

They will tell you that the heart rate can tell you the sex of the baby.  Bullshit.  The heart rate changes throughout the pregnancy.  Does that mean the sex of the baby keeps changing?  Uh, no.

They will tell you that whether you are “carrying the baby high or low ” determines the sex of the baby.  Not.

They will tell you about their horrible 72 hour labors.  They will tell you about how they felt everything in their C-section.  They will tell you about how they had surprise twins at the last minute.  They will tell you about a “dry birth”, whatever the hell that is.  Ignore these people.  They are not helping.  They are just trying to show off and make themselves look more important and special, that they survived these “horrific “situations.

Strangers will touch your belly.  Strangers will tell you they know the sex of the baby.  Strangers will tell you that you don’t look pregnant enough, that there is something wrong with the baby.  They will tell you that you look too big, and that you will have the baby early, or that there are secret twins in there.

News flash.  These people did not go to medical school.  They did not do a 4 year specialized residency.  They mostly just go to Walmart.  Apparently they bought their medical license there.

Do yourself a favor.  Do me a favor.  Ignore this crap.  Tell them to leave you alone.  They are NOT trying to help.  They are trying to scare you.  And it’s working.  Stop the madness.  Tell the back seat drivers to go bother someone else.  Or better yet, bother no one at all.

Hah Bumbug!


The Beadstork family is a bit eccentric. I will seamlessly offer proof in the form of a list of our Christmas Day activities:

1. My husband did actual billable computer work. On Christmas. He works EVERY DAY. And he fixed my Mom’s computer.

2. My father consumed an entire pound of homemade fudge between the hours of 9 AM and 7 PM.

3. My daughter’s favorite gift was a bow and arrow – a toy, but much better made and high tech. She spent the entire day shooting the suction cup arrow down the hall into the front door. By bedtime she had a blister.

4. We ran the dishwasher 3 times.

5. I gave my husband a sterling silver chain maille choker that I made, worth hundreds of dollars. He gave me a library book that he made my daughter wrap.

6. We spent a good part of midday creating multicolored polymer high bounce balls with a chemical reaction that occurred in our kitchen.

7. My father read me poetry out of his poetry book that he published.

8. We had an exhaustive conversation about social status and personal responsibility. Somehow it turned into a discussion about how longbows and crossbows had rendered body armor obsolete.

9. My mom Facebook messaged me from her computer upstairs to my phone downstairs : “So where are you spending Christmas this year? Ohio? North Dakota?” From downstairs I messaged back: “Um… at your house?”

10. An enormous Wile E Coyote wearing a Santa hat sat in one of the living room chairs the whole weekend.

11. My mom gave me this AWESOME “Happy Light” designed to treat seasonal depression that I can also use to make my jewelry. Bonus: she says she got it free with the purchase of a lightbulb that cost a fraction of the free lamp!

12. We drank 3 pitchers of Crystal Light lemonade.

13. My father spent the day reading my “gift” book from the library. He’s a quarter of the way through already.

14. My seventy-something mom showed us videos on her smartphone.

15. My husband spent the evening reading a book on beginning meditation. New obsession!

16. Mom turned the sound off for every TV commercial during The Grinch.

17. My daughter and my mom made the annual “granddaughter-grandmother” cheese ball from scratch – a tradition now spanning 4 generations.

18. There were exotic chickens roaming through our yard. The peacocks were off duty today.

19. We temporarily lost the cat.

20. We found a picture of my friend’s dad on Facebook that had a mysterious glow between his legs, and three generations giggled about “Christmas balls”

21. I tantalized my daughter with tales of a tongue twister that results in horrible obscenities if said incorrectly.

22. We schemed to take up money to buy the neighbor a new muffler, since the poor man clearly can’t afford one.

23. My dad would have eaten all the mint brownies, so mom had to hide them.

24. We discussed the pros and cons of collecting copays up front in a doctor’s office.

25. I taught my daughter about super-nummerary nipples. She asked me if I have an extra boob, and when I said no, she said “Aww… I wanted a special mom!”. I told her that I am way too special already without one.

26. We discussed the importance of protecting book spines and dust covers.

27. I ranted about super-conservatives who equate using the word X-mas with satanism because ” you’re taking the Christ out of Christmas “. I worship Satan because I don’t write the word out longhand on every box I put back in the attic? Honestly, I told my husband, it’s not like we’re replacing the word Christ with a SKULL or anything, at which point my husband said, ” Bwa ha ha! Merry Skullmas!”, which became an instant family classic.

28. I got an email notifying me that I made Delta Diamond Medallion. It’s good to be the queen!

29. We argued over whether or not Will Wheaton was in Stand By Me (he was – ha!)

30. Mom read aloud an entire article about 18 little known facts about the movie A Christmas Story.

31. My daughter’s second favorite gift was a huge hardback set of the Lemony Snicket books. She lugged the box up and down the stairs all day.

32. My husband picked all the nuts out of his fudge.

33. I ate my husband’s ice cream, which made him avow eternal wrath.

34. My mom’s tuner croaked Christmas Eve, necessitating that we stream free Amazon Prime Christmas playlists off my phone via a little bullet speaker. We listened to Straight No Chaser nine hundred times.

35. I spent, like, a whole lot of time searching for sterling silver letters I bought to make a gift bracelet. I SWEAR I brought them. I KNOW I brought them.

36. I gave my dad a beaded bald eagle I made to add to his beaded bird collection – he has four now. I stayed up late Christmas Eve because I HAD to finish it.

37. My husband took four or five fists full of vitamins every few hours because he is attempting to purge mercury from his body.

38. Mom and I went through ALL of my daughter’s school pictures, only to discover that she has three sets that I don’t. What?

39. I caught my sweater on some blinds and knocked over a window-worth of Christmas decorations.

40. We discussed how the arrival of the Spanish conquistadors changed the Mayan social caste system.

41. Also, my husband texted me AS ME on my own phone demanding hot Christmas sex.

42. I ate something other than yogurt today.

43. My daughter made a Lego set containing police alligators with red and blue lights, moving tails and (SCORE) mouths that really open.

44. My husband gifted me an awesome fossil ammonite pendant from his trip to Slovenia.

45. I don’t think anyone ever got dressed.

Last flight home to the North Pole!  A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

The Cynic’s Stages Of Pregnancy

1)  Thinking About Having a Baby:  has no effect on whether or not you will actually have one.  The universe will pregger you pretty much as it chooses,  (or not) any time that it chooses.  A general rule of thumb:  your chances of conceiving a pregnancy are inversely proportionate to how much you want to be pregnant.

2)  Conceiving a Pregnancy:  Did you really think I was going to give you instructions here?  I will say, standing on your head may be helpful.  If you need to have conception explained to you, call your mom.  And then enjoy watching her freak out.  Especially if you are older than forty.  The internet is jam full of very interesting videos (OK, porn) which will offer you limitless ideas for different approaches to conception.  Or gonorrhea.  You’re more likely to get gonorrhea.  Fact:  pregnancy IS a sexually transmitted disease.

3)  Finding Out:  First, you have to deal with the baffling intricacies of the pregnancy test.  Most people choose to pee on an average of at least 6 sticks before they accept the verdict.  The home pregnancy tests available over the counter are exactly as accurate as the much more expensive Doctor Ones.  I’d do them at home unless you are having problems.  You may get the dreaded “kinda pregnant” result with the little faint pale fuzzy line.  Just repeat in a week.  If still fuzzy, call your doc to get sorted out.

4)  The Response:  divides more or less into three camps, although they may intersect somewhat.  You will either be Team Ohhhhh Noooo, or you will be Team Yessssss, with Team Ambivalent hovering in between.

5) Telling Everyone:  may be as follows: The OMG So Excited Twitter FB LinkedIn Email Text Phone Call Billboard strategy, also affectionately known as The Drama Approach, b) telling your partner, your family and your close friends, also known as the Moderate Approach or c) telling only your partner until you hit 12 weeks and your risk of miscarriage is pretty much gone – which is a very smart approach.  Up to 1 in 3 early pregnancies may end in miscarriage – if something happens, do you really want to face the painful questions and watch your friends fumble to think of the right thing to say?  This is the Cautious Approach, and as an OB, I must say I recommend it.
6) Early Pregnancy: you will look like you are getting fat and letting yourself go instead of looking pregnant. It is possible that you may barf up your toenails your entire first trimester. Maybe longer. Your boobs will hurt really bad and you will want to assassinate your partner for merely dragging the bed sheet across your chest. Your refrigerator and your trash will smell so bad you will vomit, because your sense of smell becomes so acute.
7) Your OB: by now, you’ve probably found one. Your first visit will be interminable, you will be asked all sorts of embarrassing questions, and they will remove approximately half of your blood from your body for labs. The ultrasound is really cool, though.
8) Second trimester: you will actually start to show, and get a baby bump, thank goodness. Your raging hormones will chill out a little. You may actually feel almost normal. I will warn you, the “glow of pregnancy” is actually grease.
This is when strangers will start to touch your belly and ask questions. Because the national pastime is scaring pregnant women to death, they will give you wrong and scary advice, tell you horrible stories, and you will call your OB in tears multiple times. One major plus: you get to feel the baby moving. Sometimes your partner can’t feel it yet and gets really jealous. Another bonus: you get to find out the sex of the baby. Or you may argue vigorously with your partner about whether you are going to find out the sex of the baby.
9) Planning For Delivery: you will be terrified of the impending delivery until you are so uncomfortable near your due date that you no longer care – you just want that baby OUT. If you are gung-ho, you will most likely have read at least 8 books about pregnancy and delivery, all of which made you more terrified than you already were. If you are really intrepid, you may have created a birth plan, or you may have gotten a doula or a midwife to attend your delivery. This is all OK with us, but OBs have a cynical expression:  “Birth plan + doula = C-section.”. This is not because we want you to have one; we want you to be happy with your birth, but it seems that the universe always conspires to make those who really want a natural birth need a C-section, which sucks for us and for you.
10) Delivery: I won’t delve into this much because everyone’s experience is different. This is a good time to give yourself a pep talk about control. As in, you don’t have any. We happily try to accommodate you, but what we need to do in labor is completely dictated by the baby’s well-being and by what your body does, and you can’t control either. This will help you to accept that you will have no control over most of your parenting either, because kids are little people and they often have other ideas about how any given day may proceed. Also, during your delivery, your partner may or may not pass out.
11) Bringing baby home: a properly installed car seat is a must. Then there is that moment where you pull up your driveway with a whole new person and you look at each other and think, ” Holy crap, what did we just do?!? “. And so it begins…

How To Survive A Trip To Your Gyn

This post may seem somewhat redundant, and rather lengthy.  I am putting this out there because every day a search term such as “do you need to shave your legs to go to your gynecologist?” is the predominant search that brings people to my blog.  Obviously people are desperate for information.
And you men.  I see you about to click out of here.  Not so fast!  A truly wise man will absorb the wisdom here so he can a) sympathize with a woman when she is about go through this frightful experience and b) look like a totally cool guy who pays attention to women’s issues, which may get you laid.
So.  How to survive a visit to your Gyn in a few easy steps:
1)  Decide to make an appointment.  This may seem obvious, because we women can come up with two hundred thousand excuses not to go.  You need to go.  Go.  We may catch something early that will save your life!
2)  Make an appointment.  Do not overlook this important step, friends.  Making an appointment is NOT “just popping by because you were getting groceries up the street.”. Dropping in will make your Gyn grumpy.  And you don’t want a grumpy pants poking a speculum at you!
3)  Show UP for the appointment.  Otherwise you totally wasted steps 1 and 2, and you will be put in the Gynie Book of Shame.  (Just kidding.  We don’t have that book.  But if we did, you would TOTALLY be in it.)
4)  Don’t sweat the small stuff.  Literally.  We don’t care if you shave your legs.  We won’t even NOTICE that you didn’t shave your legs.  Unless you apologize for not shaving, in which case we will feel obligated to look.  It’s not your legs we’re looking at, ladies.  Also, don’t fret that it’s been a long day and “you’re not that fresh down there.”. This is a concept invented by the feminine hygiene products corporations.  And they sold you on it, didn’t they??  Unless you smell like a Tibetan Yak after a goat milk bath, which would be exceedingly rare, we don’t notice that either.  Last, don’t attempt to scrub away any “odor” with toilet paper.  It rolls up into little balls that get all tangled up in your pubic hair, and we have to figure how to work around them without embarrassing you by telling you they are there.
5)  We don’t care what you’re wearing.  With ONE exception.  If you are wearing leather shoes or boots without socks, your feet STINK.  Trust me.  And that smell can render an exam room unusable for a few hours.  PLEASE wear socks (plus, you can wear them for your exam so your feet don’t get cold – we’re not looking at your feet either) with any footwear, and try to avoid that pair of stinky Sperry’s you’ve been wearing all last year.
6)  We want you to tell us anything that might affect your female health.  If you’re a lesbian, speak up.  There are some health issues and screenings that are different, believe it or not.  You being gay is just a piece of information we need.  We are discreet.  We are NOT going to out you.  We will not put up a billboard.  I PROMISE.
7)  Please feel free to tell us about any of your sexual practices and habits that you think might be “unusual”.  Trust me.  They’re not unusual.  Unless you’re having sex with llamas, in which case, we need to talk.  We need to know because there is knowledge that you need regarding certain things that we do.  We aren’t fishing for information so we can tell funny stories.  Again, I promise.
8)  When it’s time to get undressed, the nurse will tell you exactly what you need to do.  If you’re confused, please ask.  Many doctors will leave your clothes on until we chat, because we know it’s a little disarming to meet someone when you’re stark naked.  We may have you immediately undress when you arrive if we know you, because it saves time.  But if you prefer to leave your clothes on until the actual exam, then ask the nurse.
9)  You are totally not expected to dress up for us.  After all, it’s not your clothes we’re looking at.  We don’t care if you’re wearing your best underwear.  We aren’t even going to see it.  Clothes that have at least been washed in the past week would be nice though.
10) We can’t do a very good breast exam if you leave your bra on.
11) Equipment:  if you’re just having your yearly, and not having specific problems, we don’t need much.  The main object of terror is the speculum.  Your friends may describe it as “the duck” or “the clamp.”. It is not a duck.  It kinda looks like a duck’s beak, I guess.  But there will be no quacking of any kind.  Now, about the clamp thing.  It is NOT a clamp.  It is the opposite of a clamp.  We just use it to hold your vagina open enough so we can see your cervix up there.  If you are clamped by a speculum, we are doing something wrong.
12) Other equipment:  if we are doing a pap, all we should need is a tiny brush and a jar to swirl the brush in.  On occasion, a q-tip may be used.  None of these are scary.  There is no cutting or pinching or whatever Gothic fear you may have about what we are doing up there.  We just sweep (in a circular motion) with the little brush.
13) Special equipment.  If you are having a particular problem, we may need some different equipment.  A lot of the time, the nurse will have these terrifying-looking implements laid out on a tray.  Do not look at them and panic.  Most of the time, we aren’t going to use all of them.  They are just there in case.  If you want to know what one is for, ask.  Some patients prefer to know NOTHING about what is going to be done.  If so, just say so.  I will stop the discussion about the Kevorkian biopsy forceps immediately, and I will distract you by talking to you about your cat, or your kid getting expelled from school, or any other topic you care to introduce.  If you are too terrified to talk, I will talk.  I will talk your ear off.  Many times my patients say, ” aren’t you going to use that q-tip?”, to which I will reply, “I already did.  While we were talking.” Gynies learn to be very good talkers, because a distracted patient is a more relaxed patient.  On occasion, I have a patient laughing so hard that I tease them that they are about to cause my speculum to fly out in my lap.  Which has actually happened on a couple of occasions.  Which was very funny.
14) You can bring someone in with you if they help you to relax.  Just be warned, I am going to assume that if you don’t mind being naked in front of them, you don’t mind me discussing things in front of them.  If that is not true, please let me know when I walk into the room.
15) I love to teach people about their bodies.  Unless you’ve been to medical school, there are TONS of things I can tell you about which will be really cool to know.  I’ll start with one now: the female parts on the OUTSIDE of you, the parts anyone could see if they just looked down there are called the vulva.  Not the vagina.  The vagina is the part on the inside.  That’s the part that we have to put something in there to see.  That’s where the tampons go.  Vulva = outside.  If it itches, or has bumps on it, it’s probably your vulva.  Because you can see and feel that part.  Vagina = inside.  You’d have to stick something up in there to feel it.  Now you will look really really smart when you next talk to your Gynie, and she will be very impressed.
16) Your Gynie should notify you of your test results somehow, by mail, or a lot of offices are going to email or web sites.  The old “no news is good news” system does not let you know if your test might have been overlooked or lost.
17) Some of the rules of testing have been changed.  You may be told that you don’t need a pap every year.  Don’t worry.  Be happy.  Same deal with mammograms.
18) More bleeding is usually more worrisome than less bleeding.  At worst, less bleeding might mean pregnancy or menopause.  Increased bleeding can be any number of things, some of them not benign.
19) We like to quiz you on which you hate worse, your gynecologist or your dentist.  People seem to be divided on this.
20) Please pay us.  I know people think we are rich, but we are paying the nurses, the receptionist, the coders, the billers, the phone people, the transcriptionist, the schedulers, the ultrasonographers…  You get it.  And we’re paying their health insurance, their 401k, our staggeringly horrifying malpractice, and on, and on…
21) Don’t panic!  We want to make this easy for you.  Also, if the receptionist was mean to you, or you had to wait 5 hours, please tell us (nicely) – we need to know.
22) Please no drama.  No fights in the lobby about whether the guy with you is the father of your baby, or yelling on the phone to your old man because he’s in jail, fistfights – we’ve seen it all.  And calling security is such a bummer.
23) We keep your information secret.  Not just because it’s the right thing to do, it’s the law.  We get fined around $10,000 if we give out any information.  A corollary to this:  we give you a form when you come in where you list the people we can give your results to.  If the person is not on the list, whether they be your husband, your sister, your teenaged kid (we are only allowed to give out a minimum amount of information, even though they are minors.  Otherwise kids would be too scared to ask for birth control, or tests for diseases, or pregnancy tests), we can’t tell you anything.  Not even that the person is a patient here.  We’re not being jerks.  If they sign that Mom can get all results, then we’ll tell you.
24) You’ll feel so much better when you’re on your way out the door!  Granted, you will have the icky gel stuff leaking out of you for the rest of the day, but your health is totally worth it.  I trust we’ll see you soon!

Things Your Doctor Really Doesn’t Want To Hear

1.  It’s been 17 years since I seen a doctor.
2.  I brought you some articles to read from the internet.
3.  I have a list.
4.  Sorry about all the blood.
5.  Isn’t there just a pill for that?
6.  Why do I gotta pay my copay up front?  Don’t ya trust me?  (No)
7.  I just got back from Liberia.
8.  What do you mean, herpes?  I’m married!
9.  I think I lost something in there.
10. I’ve already seen every doctor in town.
11. It’s all a conspiracy by the medico-political establishment.
12.  Hell, no, I don’t vaccinate my kids!  They might get sick from the shots and y’all are just trying to make money off us.
13. No, I can’t pay my bill.  I just bought a new truck!
14. It smells like road kill down there!
15.  Yes, I do feel like killing someone!  Like, today!
16. Why did I have to wait 3 hours?  I was only an hour late!
17. I hate doctors.
18. I may as well just tell you, I’m not gonna take these.
19. Sorry, I’ve had diarrhea and been throwing up all day.  (Why the hell did you come in for your yearly physical?)
20.  I think my ex followed me into the waiting room.  I’ve got a restraining order, but he looks really pissed.
21. I had to bring my 3 year old.
22.  Can you test me for everything?  (What?  No!)
23. We’re going to need like 4 people to get my mom up on the table.
24. She’s pretty calm in the group home, but if you piss her off she bites.
25. The aliens have been texting through Morse code even through my safety hat.
26. My other girl I got knocked up is right up the hall.  Can you make sure they don’t see each other?
27. I don’t believe in deodorant.
28. I think I’ve got them crabs.
29. That drug is dangerous.  I know because I googled it.
30. Can you put something in my chart so I can sue my other doctor?
31. Can you get the guard to just take these shackles off, doc?
32.  Hey, what’s that?!  What are you doing?!
33.  I’m not asking for me, I’m asking for my friend.
34.  I pass out when I get pap smears.
35. Can you tell if my daughter is a virgin?
36. Can you please tell my husband I haven’t been cheating on him?
37. Can you take me off work?  I can’t stand up at the cashier’s desk, seeing as I’m 7 weeks pregnant.
38. (At 3AM) Naw, I’ve had this about 3 weeks now.
39. I want all natural bioidentical hormones.
40.  I won’t put any chemicals in my body.  (Doofus!  Your body is MADE out of chemicals.)
41. I know I’m allergic, but today I really had to have some catfish.  Can you get the swelling to go down before my job interview?
42. I don’t have a phone, but I’ll give you the number for the guys down the street.
43. My pimp said you’d get me fixed up.
44. Hey, doc.  Can I just get a few lortabs for the weekend?
45. I’m allergic to the stuff you just put on me.  I forgot to tell you.
46. I’m pretty sure I’ve got poison ivy down there.
47. While I’m here, can you look at my toenails?
48.  I know I don’t have an appointment, but I just went ahead and came.
49. No, I don’t have my insurance card.  Why would I need it?
50. No, I don’t really drink.  Just a case or so on the weekends.

American Girl

What is the story with these American Girl dolls?  I don’t like dolls myself, never have, so these things have not been at the forefront of my conciousness.  At least not until my daughter went crazy over them and just had to have one.  She has been making secret phone calls to her grandmother requesting an American Girl doll ASAP.  I guess she knows I won’t be planning to buy her one unless forced to.  She has even been online on Amazon looking at dolls and prices.  She keeps hollering at her dad and me to hurry upstairs and look at “MacKensie” or some such thing.  We keep refusing.  She has been informed that no American Girl doll will be forthcoming until Christmas, and possibly not even then.  As I pointed out, last year she HAD to have a Baby Alive that wets because her cousin has one and they had a great time having that doll pee all over the bathroom.  She got the Baby Alive and played with it for like a week.  I happen to know that if $129 is spent on an American Girl doll, after a week it will sit on the floor of her bedroom and never be played with again.  Now she claims all sorts of wonderful things about these dolls:  you can get their ears pierced, you can buy clothes for them, they have distinct personalities and you can “collect all fifteen”.  Great.  That’s what we need, fifteen $129 American Girl dolls, all sitting unused on our daughter’s bedroom floor.  And as usual, she only wants one because the girls at school have them.  Just once, I would like her to want something because SHE found it and SHE wants it.  (I admit, there is one thing.  She loves the Lego Friends lego sets and puts them together all by herself.  Some of her friends have them but that’s not why she wants them.  She is totally protective of them and will not allow anyone to break them or take them apart.)  So I have a funny feeling that Grandmama will be buying her an American Girl doll for Christmas and I will have to put up with that hideous thing cluttering up my house.

So here is what I know about American Girl dolls:  there are about fifteen of them, you can get their ears pierced, they are supposed to each have their own personality and there is a multitude of extremely expensive clothes and accesories available for them.  In other words, the perfect racket for little kids:  there is always more to buy and always another new one coming out.  I can only imagine A begging for an “American Girl poncho” or some such cheesy thing, that is, if she is even interested enough in it to play with it at all.  I imagine she will beg for accessories in fits and starts, wheedle us into something, and then put the doll back down.  She will also beg to take the stupid thing to school.  One of her classmates actually told her she would give A her American Girl doll if A would give her half her brownie at lunch.  Really?  I am so sure that that girl’s parents would be thrilled to help her keep up her end of THAT bargain.  I told A she could forget about getting someone’s $129 doll for half a brownie.

So A has been making furtive phone calls to her grandmother to attempt to wheedle her out of one of these dolls.  The way Grandmama spoils this kid, I have a really strong feeling that A will be getting one for Christmas.  I can’t wait.    I am sure I will hate the thing even more in real life.  Especially when she is so much expensive debris cluttering up my house.  Ugh.  If anyone knows anything important about these dolls (like the creepy things come to life at night), please let me know so I can adjust my life accordingly.  Because one is coming.  It is just a matter of time.


Since my child discovered she had an opposeable thumb, she has been crazy about rocks.  I have never seen a child so obsessed with them.  She used to try to put them in her mouth.  When she outgrew that, she begin picking up rocks out of parking lots and driveways.  It never made a difference whether they were attractive or unusual, she just liked plain old gravel rocks.  She begin to stuff her pockets with them.  A lot of our clothes became “stone washed” because I couldn’t manage to keep those rocks out of those pockets and out of the washing machine.  There was constant rattling when loads of laundry were run.  We fished pebbles out of the dryer lint.  When she was old enough to go to school, she filled her backpack with rocks.  They were alway ugly, mousy rocks and they looked all alike to me, but heaven help you if you threw one away.  She would know in a minute and squawk indignantly.  The rocks wore holes in the corners of her backpack.  I understand her love of rocks as I have always loved them myself, but I have never been attracted to ugly rocks, only beautiful ones.  My favorite stone is agate, which turned out to be my zodiac stone.  Who knew?  I attempted to shift her attention from ugly rocks to pretty rocks by giving her a grab bag of smooth, colored tumbled rocks.  Those promptly found their way onto the carpet and into the vacuum cleaner.  We took her to see an exhibition of rocks and minerals, which she adored.  She promptly demanded the purchase of yes, more rocks, from the gift shop.  I have been showing her pictures of attractive rocks and minerals in hopes of sublimating her interests away from gravel rocks, but she still loves them and picks them up anyway.  As far as precious rocks go, her birthstone is the ruby which is lovely.  Her father finally had to forbid her to pick up or bring home any more rocks.  I guess we will make an exception if she finds something rare and beautiful.  Fortunately, as she has gotten older, her interests have turned more to boys and drawing and coloring and music, so the cheerful rattle of the rocks in the washer, dryer and vacuum are pretty much gone.  Maybe one day she will bring home a nifty fossil or a colorful mineral and we can set up a little display for her.  In the meantime, the rock habit seems to have burned itself out for the time being.  We are invaded by rocks no more.


I don’t know how many years Sonic has been open here in the United States, but it seems to have become an American institution.  At least in the South, it might be the last of the drive-ins, and like the restaurants of yore, you pull up to a stall with a big menu and a big red button that you push.  A disembodied voice comes to you almost immediately through the speaker and asks to take your order.  No matter what you order, the voice would like to know if you would like tots with that.  Sonic is one of the few places that I know that actually offers tater tots as part of their menu fare.  Then, usually unbelievably quickly, a skating (yes, SKATING) car hop comes out to your car with your order.  You can drive away, or you can sit and eat your order there.

Sonic has been a part of my life since I was a child.  It was one of the big cruising spots where I grew up, and it was not unusual to see the place packed on Friday and Saturday nights.  I was not immune to the novelty of this and I decided I too would cruise the Sonic.  My father collected antique Chevys, and I was not yet old enough to be embarassed about them.  He was currently driving a 1960 Chevy station wagon, white, two-ton, with red interior.  V-8, of course.  The thing looked like a giant white hearse.  My mom, dad, and best friend were in the wagon (I callled it Christine) one Friday night and I persuaded them to take us to the Sonic for an ice cream.  Little did they know my nefarious plans.  (Mua ha ha).  As we drove around the Sonic looking for a station to park in, there were older kids laughing and honking their horns at each other as they cruised the drive-through.  “Honk the horn,” I told my dad.  “I want you to honk the horn.”  “Absolutely not, said my proper mother.  “We will not be honking any horns.”  Having had my grown-up cruising plan crushed, I quicked rolled down the window and yelled out of it.  “HONK,” I yelled.  “HONK HONK!”  My friend and my mother promptly slid down in their seats.  I had people looking at me!  I was cruising!

Sonic continues to have some of the yummiest fast food around.  And they do awesome things with ice cream and drinks.  Sonic became a big part of my life again when I was pregnant with my daughter.  I became ADDICTED to their fresh fruit lemon-berry slush, size Route 44 (read, giant 44 ounce).  I got one of those damn things nearly every day while I was pregnant.  That stuff is manna from the heavens, people.  If you have never had a lemon-berry slush, I urge you to go get one immediately.  There are frozen strawberries and fresh cut lemon slices in the bottom.  The taste is AMAZING.  I don’t even want to think about how much sugar they put in there.  I just persuaded myself that it was NATURAL, what with all that fresh fruit and whatnot. 

The first time my daughter went to Sonic she was days old.  I had been trapped in the house alone with a newborn for days, as my husband decided that my time off from work was time for him to do some of his consulting on the road.  Now, my daughter hated her car seat.  She hated the car.  She hated her stroller.  She hated the summer heat.  She was, in fact, a nightmarish colicky child, and I needed a break.  I decided to brave the screaming that would ensue if I put her in her car seat and by God, I was going to Sonic for a slush!  It wasn’t all that far up the road.  By the time we arrived at the Sonic, however, the screaming was at a fever pitch and there was no distracting her from her misery.  I was shaky and weak and I had postpartum depression, and when I pulled up to the Sonic, I burst into tears.  I was a terrible mother.  I was forcing my child to ride in the carseat in the car when I clearly knew she hated it, just to gratify myself and get myself a slushie.  After sobbingly ordering my drink, I hopped out of the driver’s seat and went around to the back seat of the van to try to comfort my daughter.  At this point, the carhop arrived with my drink.  And she knew me.  “Hi, Dr. Beadstork!” she said cheerfully.  I could see her looking me up and down, at my bloated red tear-covered face, at my bloated post-baby body and at the screaming little baby in the back and I could just tell she thought I was a terrible mother too.  At the very least, she thought I was losing my mind, which in fact I was.  It is amazing the craziness that goes through your mind when you are a brand-new mother and those hormones are raging and you haven’t slept in days.  In retrospect, it was crazy that I felt guilty for going out for a slushie, but at the time…

I took my daughter to the Sonic for the first time for a slush when she was about three.  She decided on green apple (NOT a fresh fruit variety) and I ordered it for her along with my giant lemon-berry concoction.  Now, if there is one negative thing Sonic is notorious for, it is their flimsy styrofoam cups.  I know multiple people with children who at one time or another, have had their kid ram their straw right through the bottom of the cup to release an entire slushie into their laps and the car seat.  I did warn my daughter about the cups.  I DID.  But she was only three, and sure enough, that straw went right through the bottom of that cup.  Bright neon green ran right through the bottom and into her lap, and all over the van.  She was wailing about the cold and about the loss of her slushie.  To shush her I let her slurp out of my Route 44 lemon-berry slush (whilst carefully holding the cup so she could not push the straw through it).  To this day there are green stains on the rug of my van.  One strike to Sonic for the flimsy cups.

My latest Sonic obsession:  chocolate malts.  Now I love a good chocolate malt about as much as I love anything.  Never mind that they are about three thousand calories apiece.  I have travelled the world tasting chocolate malts, and the Sonic malt is the best that I have found.  It is better than Dairy Queen, and that is saying a lot.  It is so thick you need a spoon to eat it.  It has real whipped cream on top – not that fake stuff that Dairy Queen uses.  And the large is SO large that even I can’t finish it.  Wow.  I can’t say enough about those chocolate malts.  And they go really well with fried mozarella sticks.

Another good thing about Sonic is their specials.  They are always having specials.  Shakes and malts are half-price after eight PM.  I have never felt the need to have one that late at night, but if I do, I will know exactly where to go.  Sometimes when I get a breakfast burrito, they have two for the price of one.  That is not necessarily a good thing, because I will always take the free one if offered.  Also, before four PM every day is the drink happy hour.  I can get a 44 ounce slushie for a dollar and some change!!

Sonic definitely has a dear place in my heart and has since I was a kid.  If you have never been to Sonic, you owe it to yourself to pull up over there, introduce yourself to a skating carhop and order some tots and a malt.  See you there!  I’ll be in stall number two.

Things I Have Wanted To Say To Telemarketers

1.  What?  Really?  I donated money to you before?  I must have been drunk.

2.  No, I don’t want to donate money to your school.  I paid six thousand dollars a year to go there.  Don’t you think that’s enough?

3.  The last time I donated to you I didn’t get any of the little gifties in the mail that you promised me.  No gifties, no monies.

4.  (Hands phone to three year old) Here honey, it’s Santa Claus!

5.  No, Mrs Beadstork isn’t here.  This is just his mistress.  How may I help you?

6.  Wouldn’t you like to get a job where people actually WANT to hear from you?

7.  I’d love to talk to you but my husband and I are busy having sex.

8.  I’d love to let you talk to him but he died.

9.  I wouldn’t donate money to you if you were the last telemarketer on earth.  (Then flush toilet)

10. Hey!  Why don’t you donate some money to me?  My husband and I are in a rough patch right now.  Can I put you down for, oh, say, a thousand?

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