From March 26

(In Which I Narrowly Resist Committing Murder with a Clipboard)

Going to the doctor was surreal. In an 'are you fucking kidding me' kind of way.

Will someone please - PLEASE - tell the nursing staff of the world at large not to greet every woman who comes in having reported a positive home hCG test with "OMG CONGRATULATIONS!!!!" in that sickeningly saccharine way?

Because ya know what? Congratulations are not fucking in order when so far all I've done is make a pink line show up on a stick.

Some of us have histories of complex reproductive problems and miscarriages. Some of us can't believe the home test could possibly be right. Some of us have studied embryology and know all about things like molar pregnancies and completely understand a positive hCG does not necessary mean a baby is on the way. And some of us have heritable health conditions that can take a pregnancy away from us faster than you can say 'it wasn't meant to be.'

And you know what? Maybe I'm just a nutjob with a marker and too much time on their hands. Maybe I just like to go around drawing lines on pregnancy tests.

So shut the fuck up ladies. And while you're at it, how about rethinking the part where you hand me a stack of PINK FUCKING FORMS to fill out that detail things like how I'm going to handle pre-authorization for the delivery with my insurance carrier before the doctor has even confirmed that I'm actually pregnant?!

I curtailed my hormone-fueled rage and instead of using the clipboard in creative ways to kill them all, I just rolled my eyes a lot and pressed really hard with the pen while I filled them out.

But I'm forced to wonder... given the same situation, What Would Nytro Do?