Tag Archives: dark humor

Trying To Conceive: An OBGYN I’d Probably Marry

In my last blog post, Just Stare Into My Vagina and Tell Me It Will Be Okay, I wrote about how scared I am to have a baby. Or, how scared I am to try to have a baby, since I’m not actually pregnant, yet. As of then I couldn’t find an OBGYN, with higher ratings than a dominos pizza, that was in-network.

Well, cue the trumpets, I found someone. Two people, actually, and I want both of them to be my best friends. Best friends who have both been elbows deep into my birth canal.

I’m one of those weirdos who Googles everything. Especially healthcare providers and anyone who could potentially kill me or maim me but also pretty much anything because I have entirely too much time on my hands and am addicted to unlimited information. Like six months ago I stumbled on this one OBGYN that has like the highest rating in the state and I was like, I NEED HER. But she was out of network. Well, I checked again recently and she was IN NETWORK! So I made the appointment and was more excited than I’ve ever been to have my cervix aggressively raked. Usually my lady exams are super weird so I’ve written about them way more than a normal person would. Do normal people write about their vagina exams? I don’t know. Anyway.

At the appointment, I was shown to a chair and told to wait for the doctor. After five minutes or so she came flying in, apologized for being late, and proceeded to ask me a zillion questions. But, not in a normal doctor way.

” Do you drink?”

“Yes, wine”

“GOOD! Good for you! And you can continue to do that until your pregnancy test says you’re pregnant. However, that doesn’t mean you can put the test off for eight months.”

Throughout my appointment she was informative and funny. She made jokes about dressing up as a vagina for Halloween. During my pap smear she impersonated Trump, “No, really, nobody respects women more than I do.”

When I told her I was pro-choice she high-fived me and told me I was incredibly badass and responsible. I live in Utah where like 98% of the doctors are Mormon and super republican. And while I have many friends and family who are both of those things, I am neither. And I was pretty excited about having a doctor who I didn’t feel like I had to pretend for. I also really liked her because when I told her about my experience with an Italian gynecologist she said, “That’s horrifying. Do you know how many women are sexually assaulted? That would be traumatic.” She also explained absolutely everything that she was doing, why she was doing it, and gave me a forty minute explanation of why they do a pap smear (cervical cancer screening, caused by the HPV virus). Seriously, it was the most thorough, thoughtful, kind, and hilarious appointment I’d ever had. She’s exactly who I’d want by my side while I pushed a giant baby out of my lady garden.

However. I’d just discovered, the day before, that while she is in my network, the clinic she works in, is not. Therefore, she couldn’t be my OBGYN without my having to shell out a lot of money for the out of network stuff. Sigh. I told her all of this and she listened and said, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’ve got you! One of my best friends is an OBGYN in your network! You’ll love her. She’s super progressive and funny!”

Sold.

I haven’t met her yet but I have talked with her nurse a few times on the phone and she is amazing. When I told her who referred me she laughed, “Oh, she’s awesome. Yeah, her and Dr. So and So are like best friends. You’re going to love her, she’s so great.” So, I’m actually excited about my doctor now. Sounds super trivial for most of you, I know, but for me it’s a huge relief. Which is good because I can’t be over here chugging entire bottles of wine.

I have no idea what I’m doing. Oh my God what am I doing?

 

It’s A Hard-Knock Life: Interview With My Grandmother From 2007. Excerpt From My Memoir

I met my third husband Dean when I was twenty-seven. Dean and I went together for two years, got married, and two years later had another son Darren. Dean was amazing in bed. By far his best quality was his love-making skills. At first we had a decent marriage. Then I found out he was going to bars and telling his friends he wasn’t married. We used to fight cause he was out all the time, and he started hitting me. He would grab my hair and hit my face into objects and walls, pulling out my hair in huge chunks. I would comb my hair over the bald spots. The cops were around every other week, and at times he would knock me out and I would wake in a pool of blood with my children standing over me.  

 

We divorced after I couldn’t handle it anymore. After that divorce I spent a lot of years alone, raising my children as a single mother. I worked at a school cafeteria to support them, and while things were tight with five children on those wages, I managed to keep their bellies full. 

Book Excerpt: Nice To Meet You, Dad

Meeting ones father is a strange concept for most people. One doesn’t meet ones father, one just knows him, don’t they? Not always. My father was introduced like a new neighbor. I was forced out of propriety, uninterested and slightly weary. Thanks to my mom I knew that a kind face could easily mask a fervor for homicide, or an obsession with quilting and scrapbooking both highly probable if one lives in Utah. Also, because she’s a dick, my mom made sure I was terrified of my father. The night before I met him, my mother made me watch, “Not Without My Daughter,” a film about an Iranian man who takes his American family for a “visit” to Iran and then essentially kidnaps them and holds them hostage after turning into an abusive lunatic. After the film was over I sat wide-eyed staring at the credit, feeling very confident about being left alone with this stranger for an entire weekend. She walked into the living room, “Oh, it’s over! Anyways, your dad is a nice person but this is your father’s people, so, you know, don’t get on a plane with him or whatever”…