Before scrubbing in for a cataract extraction, a scrub nurse begrudgingly handed me my preferred scrub size after asking me twice whether or not I was sure I wouldn’t be more comfortable in a larger size. Then she said, “Are you sure you’re not having twins??”
Me: Why? Do I look particularly large for 8 1/2 months?
Her: You look…huge.
Me: <overly apparent eye-roll> Thanks. I’m flattered.
She didn’t get the sarcasm.
What I really wanted to do was unleash my bitch and tell her flat out: “Look, I’m one day shy of being full-term. And at 28 pounds heavier than my normal weight (some of which I insist must be water weight considering my 2+ pitting edema in my ankles), I think I still weigh less than you, nearly 5 inches shorter than I am. You work in health care. Haven’t you learned at some point how to talk to a pregnant woman without making her feel like a fat cow?”
I swear, I’m normally a pretty nice person…
