Category Archives: Ewww

Will You Be My Doctor?

WANTED: An OB/GYN doctor. Sees patients on time. Doesn’t pass judgment on nontraditional pregnancies. Orders the correct bloodwork. Small hands preferred.

I’m searching for a new doctor because I’m tired of mine screwing up bloodwork.

My doctor wanted to test my progesterone levels, which have to be tested on Day 21 (during ovulation) of my cycle.

So on December’s Day 21, I had blood drawn. A nurse called with test results.

Nurse: Your pregnancy test came back negative, and your blood type is O negative.

Me: Uh…I know that. I thought my progesterone was being tested.

Nurse: Hmmmm…the doctor ordered blood typing. Did you have a Rhogam shot after your miscarriage? When you’re pregnant or miscarry, the hospital tests your blood type and they give you a shot so you don’t have problems with your pregnancies.

While I was pregnant, I read about this shot. But since Kiefer and I were both negative blood types, I didn’t need it. I knew that.

But when someone with some medical background says you’re supposed to get a shot so you don’t miscarry…and you’ve already miscarried…you start flippin’ the eff out.

And if you’re me, “flippin’ out” means tearing up while thoughts run through your mind that the miscarriage could have been prevented.

A couple hours later, the doctor called me back saying the nurse was “confused”; I didn’t need the shot, but I should come back next month on Day 21 for the progesterone testing.

More needles. Fantastic.

Right before my next blood draw, I ate a piece of chocolate to calm me down…yes, just one because I don’t really like chocolate anyways I have excellent self-control when it comes to sweets because only one piece was left.

Chocolate

“Discover how much your heart can hold” turned out to be a prophecy for my blood work saga.

So I was chocolate-pacified and ready to be stuck. Except the doctor forgot to write up the order. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

I waited in an office full of pregnant women and mothers with babies.

And I remembered why I was there…why I was having blood drawn…and I started to tear up. And then I remembered that needles freakin’ hurt, so I started to get upset at the anticipation of that.

Finally, they called my name…and it was the most painful blooddraw yet.

Lady, my veins aren’t deep! STOP DIGGING!

And I thought that was the limit that my heart could handle. I almost passed out. But I didn’t.

Unfortunately, the blood wasn’t drawn while I was ovulating, so I have to go again next month. And every month until my blood is drawn during that 2-day window when a woman ovulates.

I thought that was the limit that my heart could hold.

It could take months to have blood drawn on the right day. Why am I still doing this stupid testing? I’m single!

Really? A few pricks were upsetting me? What happened to the woman who was completely prepared to raise a child on her own if Kiefer didn’t propose? What the hell happened to 32 and the turboslut turkey baster method?

I’m gonna kick that needle’s pointy little tushie! See you on Day 21, biatch.

Turns out my heart can hold a bit more.

Favorite Comments From Last Post:

  • “Asshat. x10.”—Blissful Britt
  • “I’m sure he only pinched you to make sure you were ripe.”—Skipping Stones
  • “Immaculate conception by leprechaun? The Bible kept that part quiet….”—Bevchen

A Leprechaun May Have Impregnated Me

Saturday night I went out with some girl friends. Because it wasn’t actually St. Patrick’s Day, I thought it would be safe. I was so wrong.

Drunk Guy: ::Says something I don’t understand::

Me: What?

Drunk Guy: I just wish I knew if it was my baby.

Me: Whoa…. Who’s pregnant?

Drunk Guy: I just don’t know if it’s my baby. And they can’t raise a baby. But you…you’re smart. I can tell. We’re going to name our baby “Evan.”

Me: I’m pregnant?

Drunk Guy: Are you?

Me: I’m very unpregnant.

Drunk Guy: Freaking nihilists…. ::babbles something about nihilists::

Me: What?

Drunk Guy: They can’t raise a baby. But we could. I mean, you could because you’re so intelligent. Intelligenter than everyone here.

Me: Did you just say “intelligenter?”

Drunk Guy: We’ll raise the baby together. I’m going to kidnap you now.

Me: WHAT?

Drunk Guy: I’m going to do it. ::puts down his drink and gestures that he’s going to throw me over his shoulder::

Me: Um…no. Uh…you should finish your beer first.

Drunk Guy: I’m going to kiss you now.

Me: HOLY CRAP! IS THAT A LEPRECHAUN OVER THERE?

And that, my friends, is how you escape crazy drunk people on St. Patrick’s Day weekend.

It wasn’t entirely a fool-proof plan because he did manage to pinch my butt as I was walking away. But at least I managed to escape kidnapping.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “My fervent hope is that somewhere in the mass of pub-crawling St. Patricks Day asshats* that are going to be totally boning my commute tomorrow, a leprechaun like this will create pandemonium on the platform. The hundreds of drunk people will run away, and I will catch my train.”—JM Randolph

*Putting the word “asshat” in a comment is pretty much a guarantee you’ll get Favorite Comment. That word cracks me up.


If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say…

As I was crossing the parking lot back to my car, I passed 3 older women. Right after I passed them, I heard…

Old Lady: Town whore.

My thoughts: Wow, she sounds pissed off. Is there going to be an old lady smack down?

I kept walking.

Old Lady: ::even louder:: Town whore!

My thoughts: Uhhh…is she talking about me?

What I Wish I’d Said: Takes one to know one!

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she was talking about me. What the….

I just ignored them because there were 3 of them…and they were bigger than me and had weapons. One of them had a cane, and all I had was a cup of chicken noodle soup.

How rude. Is my sweater dress a little short? Probably. But my ass isn’t hanging out. It passed the fingertip test.

Passed the fingertip test with a couple inches to spare!

Passed the fingertip test with a couple inches to spare!

Or maybe it was the boots? Is it because they’re knee high? Because they have ties in the back? I always thought they were pirate-like. 

Ties = Whore not Pirate

Ties = Whore not Pirate

Maybe it was my makeup. I was only wearing mascara, but I did layer it on pretty thick. Two coats.

So there you have it: The new definition of “whore” is having sex with 1 person for the past 4.5 years.

Since when does someone’s clothing reflect their sexual actions? I suppose if I had been raped while wearing it, I would have been asking for it, too.

Grrrr…why are people so flippin’ mean? If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

What should I have said? Obviously, I need more practice with comebacks.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I’ve got a ring but is there a Give-The-Husband-The-Cold-Shoulder-Till-He-Unloads-The-Dishwasher-Day?”—Tori Nelson 


Just a Prick

I hate needles. But pregnancy and miscarriage mean lot of needles and blood taking.

Really it’s a wonder I have any blood left. I gave like 12 vials of blood, and I heard the human body only holds 15 vials of blood. Even vampires don’t want me.

Behold the dark humor from a blood draw.

Lab Tech: You’re here for….

Thoughtsy: I’m having blood drawn.

Lab Tech: I see. But you just had blood drawn 2 days ago?

Thoughtsy: Yes, but I’m pregnant. And now I’m bleeding. (I couldn’t bring myself to say “miscarrying.”)

Lab Tech: Congratulations! (::realizes what I just said::) Ohhhh. (::awkwardly changes the subject::) The doctor only wants 1 vial?

Thoughtsy: Thank goodness. I don’t need to give up any more blood. (::attempting to laugh::)

Lab Tech: Why only 1 vial?

Seriously? Kiefer explains that the doctor only wants my HCG level (on the nearly nonexistent chance I’m not having a miscarriage) before going upstairs for our appointment. Finally, she takes us back to the room.

Thoughtsy: Just so you know, I tend to pass out when I have shots or blood drawn.

Lab Tech: Well, you’re just going to have to grow up and get over that.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: W. T. F.

Lab Tech: Oh. I forgot the sticker for the vial. I’ll be right back. Have a seat.

When she returns…

Lab Tech: Please put out your arm. Oh…wait…I need to put on my gloves.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: First the sticker, now the gloves. I hope she forgets the needle.

Lab Tech: (::she ties off my arm::) Oh. I need a holder. (::she unties my arm::) Oh. Here it is.

At this point, I wanted to request a new tech because I was sure this lady was about to amputate my arm. But no one else was available.

I had to settle for Kiefer watching her like a hawk. Luckily, it didn’t hurt. And blood didn’t squirt everywhere.

Lab Tech: See? Just a prick.

Thoughtsy’s Thoughts: I want to prick your face. 

Any tricks for having your blood taken? What’s your worst blood draw experience?

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “The husband and I dressed as Santa and a dominatrix one year and went as a subordinate clause.”—Prttynpnk


When You Gotta Go, You Gotta Go

On Saturday, Kiefer and some friends ran the Warrior Dash; I did not. Because I don’t like mud. Or wet shoes and socks.

Look at how much mud is on Kiefer. ::shudder:: 

No, Kiefer, you will not be receiving a finish line hug from me.

Once we parked, people kept walking by us into the woods. Thinking it was a short cut to the starting line, I headed in to scope it out.

Only it wasn’t a shortcut…it was a bathroom. And not just for guys, women were doing it, too.

Thoughtsy: (running back to Kiefer whispering) Oh my god, people are peeing in there!

That’s when I realized I had to pee. So I had a choice: Wait in a long line at nasty port-a-potties, or drop my pants behind a tree.

I opted for the tree. Because I didn’t want to be seen pantsless To be polite, I waited for everyone else to vacate the woods before heading in.

Do I really want to do this? I can’t even remember the last time I peed in the woods. Why break a 20-year-plus streak? 

Maybe I should ask someone to come with me? Girls pee in pairs, right? And this seems like a horror movie. What if there’s a crazed killer in these woods? I can’t run away with pants around my ankles. I can see the headline now: Blogger Dies In Her Own Pee.

Ewwww…wet grass just touched my ankle. DID SOMEONE ELSE’S PEE JUST GET ON ME?!?! Please be dew, please just be dew…. 

Finally, I did it: I peed behind a tree. Then some lady came traipsing into the woods, so I cut it short. At least my bladder was half empty (this is the only time “half empty” is optimistic).

Afterwards, my only comfort was Kiefer. He’s hoping to go camping soon, and my only input into the trip has been: “There has to be a bathroom and shower.”

Kiefer: I can’t believe you did that. I’m so proud of you. I’m seriously impressed. You just made my day.

I think he’s potty training me to go camping.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Serves them right for eating healthy dessert.”—Miss Four Eyes