I took one look at Robby yesterday morning, and I knew that he was sick. My little koopa was pale, had deep purple circles and was moving at a turtle's pace. His fever confirmed my suspicions, and I tucked him back into bed for the day.
Typically my schedule is flexible enough to allow me to stay home on days when he is sick. As luck would have it, yesterday I had my own doctor's appointment. The thought of paying the cancellation fee ($50) and rescheduling (which would probably take 3 weeks at a minimum was enough motivation for me to seek out a plan B. I couldn't bring Robby with me, so I picked up the phone and called reinforcements.
It is said that it takes a village to raise a child. In my case, it just takes a very dedicated and loving neighbor. Mr. Bill immediately agreed to watch Robby so that I could make my appointment.
Although I was relieved to be able to keep my appointment, I was not looking forward to going. I enjoy hearing the baby's heartbeat, but everything else about the appointment I find uncomfortable. I am being seen by a rather large practice and it is encouraged that I see each of their 7 doctors at least once before I deliver. This means I get to become up close and personal with seven people instead of forming a relationship with just one.
Each visit starts out the same way. I am always surprised when I see the shock, immediately followed by shame and embarrassment because of the visceral reaction, on the doctor's face when she realizes that I am an amputee. I understand that seeing a black prosthesis in the stirrup might not be a common sight, but the fact that each one responds so strongly is simply an indication that they haven't even glanced at my chart before walking into the room! Every appointment I am forced to recount the not-so-sexy tale of how I lost my leg. I wish I could make it spicier, but I wouldn't want to provide any false information to the individuals who will be delivering the baby.