Saturday, October 22, 2011

Some doctors don't have boarders. Mine doesn't have boundaries.

Let me start off by saying this:  My doctor is not a pervert.  Probably.  No, not.  He is NOT a pervert.  And I'm stickin' to it.  I'm just saying that the guy could be a little less... something.

There's something important to remember about doctors.  They don't seem to have strong rules about personal space.  Maybe it happens in med school.  You work with enough cadavers, enough fake and then real bodies, and you just sort of forget that it's a body.  People maybe start looking more like cars rolling into the local mechanic.

And if not in med school, it could start before.  Doctors are basically nerds, right?  So maybe they never got around to learning the more refined points of social interaction.

Anyway, that's enough speculation.  On to my point.

At Maternity Doctor's Appointment One, doctors always insist on groping your chest.  I'm actually starting to think it's how they shake hands in Doctor Land.  But I've been through these things before.  Deep breath, I was expecting it.  What I WASN'T expecting was the color commentary.  "Hmmm, ooh, yeah.  Yes.  Yeah.  Yeah, those are some VERY normal breasts".

... "Thhhhank you?"

And I should note, in his voice, it didn't sound terrifyingly creepy.  I know it may read that way, but that wasn't it.  He really sounded impressed, to be honest.  Impressed by the overwhelming normalcy of my chest.  I didn't know how to take it.  In fact, it happened almost 6 weeks ago, and I only just told my husband yesterday.  How do you break something like that to your spouse?

Now we get to the reason I told him.  I was at Maternity Doctor's Appointment Two, during the "lay back and show the doctor your tummy portion" (gosh this all sounds so humiliating when you lay it out this way), when Mr. Doctor asked if my "body has been changing".  I mentioned that I felt I was getting thicker around the middle and... and that's when it happened.  He stuck his thumb into my belly button and pinched my lower abdominal fat.  He then... give me a moment, this is hard to say... he then wiggled it.  He wiggled it and asked, "See this?  Your body wants to store food in case you need it later."

Yes, my Dear Mr. Doctor, I understand the concept of fat.  I really, REALLY didn't need a hands on object lesson.

I get that to Dear Mr. Doctor, I am just some old clunker who has come in for some minor repairs, but just the same, I'd rather you not spend so much time man-handling the seat cushions and commenting on the tail pipe.  Stick to what's necessary, and remember one thing:  In reality, I am, in fact, a pregnant woman.  And while I probably won't sue you or smack you when you've crossed the boundaries you never seem to see, if you wiggle any part of me again I promise you I WILL start to cry.

I think that's fair warning for the both of us.


  1. I have a chick doctor. She's had 2 kids. She once referred to her son as "a fart in a bucket".
    Doc and I get along just swell.
    Yup, I'm bragging. But I think it's totally fair. This is my first kid, so I'm lost. You're an old pro... that's actually not old at all... oh geez, please don't cry. It will just make me cry, too. And then I'll get really mad about crying. Then I'll just be depressed because I can't control my anger. Yay pregnancy hormones!!

  2. Your doctor DOES sound pretty awesome, but mine is probably not as bad as I'm making him out to be. He's very easy going and jokey, and took good care of me and my daughter when she was born. But really, that's not as, say, gripping of a story as the molesty stuff. Hope you're doing great with this one!


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