Opiates and the City

Although it has been a month since the last posting, I am blowing the dust off the keyboard and getting back to the usual. Apparently, people are actually reading this, and the MESSAGE IS RECIEVED folks: I should do some more of this with a more dedicated sense of committment. I agree with you, and I am glad that at least some of my circle finds my life interesting enough to check into this blog every once and a while.

And so much can happen in a month, don't you agree? Gosh, where to start? With the confinement of bed rest? The hit-and-run car accident Handsome experienced in front of the bookstore (he is okay)? The tale of the asshole doctor who misread my tox screening and accused me of smoking MaryJane during my pregnancy? My impression of the latest Murakami (that could be its own posting for sure), Kafka On the Shore?

Well, I am sure that you are thinking that drug conspiracy theories would be the most interesting of the listed options above.

Handsome and I are quietly raising out fists in victory in successfully making it to week 34, which means that should the Bean decide to debut today, she is "technically" no longer considered premature. Right on little girl - keep on keepin' on. We want to keep her in there for as long as possible, obviously, which is why my then-nice doctor confined me to bed rest for a few weeks upon the discovery of some minor dialation.

Anyway, so bed rest: mixed bag, boredom, frustration, secret elation at not having to work, cats hate me being on thier couch all day, and I still suck at all Xbox games even though all I have to do is try to hone my skills right now...typical complaints. Until this past Thursday when my "nice" doctor morphed into an incompetent bitch.

While still experiencing the wonders of the dialation internal exam, Miss OB mentioned that there was something that we needed to "discuss" after I got dressed. Assuming that she is referriung to some possible problem with the Bean, I encouraged her to divulge the situation immediately, while my legs were still in the stirrups.

"Well," Bitch began, "your tox screening revealed that you have pot in your urine".

Excuse me? Wait - "Pot?" I asked.

"Yes, THC, in your urine."

"Uhm. I know what THC is. And absolutely no way, missy, you got the wrong urine. Lets run that again."

Bitch suggested that I put my pants on so we could discuss this further.

For a blind three minutes I sat alone waiting for the Bitch to return and ran through the list of ways that MJ could have made its way into my urine. I don't think I even KNOW anyone who smokes pot anymore - could I have eaten it somehow? Was it concealed in the mac-n-cheese that I had for lunch? Was the Arizona Iced Tea laced with THC and that's why I crave it so?

Bitch returns and laughs her way into the room as I realized that I still hadn't put on my left shoe and was holding it up like it needed to be examined for MJ as well. "Oh, sorry. It's not POT that we found in your system, its OPIATES!"

I looked at my left shoe and neither of us were exactly comprehending what the hell was going on here. Is this going to be like the Seinfeld episode where Elaine got fired for having opiates revealed in a drug test because she ate a poppy seed bagel? Does that really happen? I haven't had bagels in some time anyway. And what is an opiate exactly?

"Lets talk about the drugs that you have been putting in your body."

I stared at the Bitch and ran down my short list of Flonase and Sudafed. And coffee, if that counts. And probably an illegal amount of Tums.

"No, I am looking for something else here...like prescription drugs?"

And it dawned on me then, in a wave of relief, that this screening must have something to do with the Tylenol 3 pills that this stupid Bitch doctor approved for my personal ingestion when I had a wisdom tooth extracted a few weeks back. And which should clearly be a part of my chart, that's right, the one that you are holding in your hand, Bitch.

"Oh, right! How ridiculous that I wouldn't have remembered." Bitch bit her lip. "Unfortunately, though, this screening had to be reported to the City since you tested positive. A social woker will be visiting you in Labor & Delivery to discuss this, but don't worry, no one will be taking away your baby."

I'm sorry, what the FUCK are you talking about?

So I said just that, three times, I think. Two for sure.

Bitch assured me that she would note on the report the misunderstanding and that this should be sufficient for the social worker.

NO really, what the FUCK are you TALKING ABOUT?

There was a bit of storming out of the office on my part, cell phone in hand furiously contacting my sister-in-law who works in a law firm to get advice, my mother, and anyone else who would listen.

After much freaking out and a Twix bar (okay, and a Peppermint Patty), and two hours of sleep, I registered a complaint with the office, and got copies of the "amended" tox report, in which Bitch scribbled "Meds taken for tooth extraction pain" and her curley-que type initials.

Unfuckingbelievable, truly. And I am supposed to be on bed rest, to be avoiding all types of stress...thanks, Bitch! Your inability to properly read the tox report or to research through my chart before accusing me of inappropriate drug use during pregnancy are doing wonders for my stress levels.

And really, folks, I don't feel the slightest bit of regret for calling her a Bitch. Even if it is juvenille. She is a bitch.