One time a few years ago, when we went camping, which you all know I hate, I was helping slice lemons to put on the fish we were grilling for dinner. I was using a shitty dull serrated knife, which slipped and sliced my palm. It bled a lot, and all of a sudden looking at it I felt really light-headed. I thought I was maybe going to throw up, and then I thought I was going to pass out. I actually laid down in the dirt in the campsite and breathed really deeply. Andy told me later that he had never seen me react to blood like that and that he wondered if I wasn't maybe being overdramatic so we could stop camping. This story will be relevant in a minute.
Today was another doctor's visit (this was the third, for those of you keeping track). The baby's mom was supposed to show up, but didn't. She called the worker an hour into the visit to say she wasn't coming. The worker had also left her messages suggesting a visit for 1:00 yesterday afternoon, and never heard back from the mom. So that's fun.
Anyway. Today's doctor's appointment would have counted as a visit if the mom had shown up. Instead, I was told she hasn't gained any weight since last Friday, so we should start waking her up every three hours during the day to feed her. Then two different people had to look/poke at these weird pimples-turning-into-scab things she's had since we got her, which of course made the baby scream a lot. Then I got her settled down just in time for them to give her three different shots. I actually teared up at the second one. It sucked. They also scheduled ANOTHER appointment for Friday morning, to check her weight again, and they referred us to a dermatologist for the skin stuff.
About half an hour after we got home, they called to tell us the dermatologist had an appointment this afternoon, so I got to go home, sit down for twelve minutes, then head to another office seven minutes from the doctor's. I was there for over two hours. First we had to strip her, so two different people could come in and look at her skin (separately, of course, for maximum discomfort). Then they did a scraping of one of the scabs, and I got to hold her while she screamed. The results were not definitive, so they did a biopsy. This involved a shot to numb the area, then fucking punching out a small circle of her skin while I held her still. I looked over at the wrong time, and started to sweat a lot. Then I felt dizzy. Then I looked over while they were putting a stitch in the biopsy wound, and then I had to go sit down. Then I had to lay down on the examining table while a nurse got the baby dressed and swaddled. Then I spent twenty minutes deciding to finish the apple juice they brought me, not barf, put my shoes back on, and slowly sit up. Not a little embarrassing.
We have to go back in a week to get the stitch removed, at which time they'll have the results. In the meantime, it was probably the worst day the baby has had in her entire life, and I'm eating pizza and drinking wine and going to bed early.
Tell me I'm not the only sissy about blood. Please reassure me.