Self Medication and the EVIL doc

This is becoming the I'M SICK blog. M. thinks if I whine enough I'll wring some psuedo sympathy out of someone. I'm finishing up my dinner of instant miso soup and sherbet then I'm going to knock myself out with red grape dimatapp so I can wake up at 0400 and see if I need to call in or not.

I love red grape dimatapp. And don't get me started on theraflu. Mmmmmm, theraflu....

But first, I'll infect the keyboard just a little more.

M. told me this horrid story about lesbian parents who ventured out of their supportive environment to the wasteland that is Nevada and their baby got sick. I guess they ended up at the mercy of a real ass of a pediatrician who a) didn't take their concerns seriously and b) actually had the chutzpah to ask how they conceived.

As a nurse who works in a hospital where the Handmaiden to the MD role is NOT reinforced (yes I call docs by their first names and yes, I have yelled at them when they almost sent my patient into respiratory distress), I cannot tell you the holy hell that would rain down on any doctor who fucked with my not-even-born-yet baby.

Time to take my poor aching bod to snuggle under my wonderful covers.