Have been since tuesday when I basiclly begged and insulted the doctor "caring" for me. I'm not sure I adequately described these quacks to you, internet. My main doctor was a ditsy soft-spoken woman who told me she wasn't used to dealing with patients under 60. This put me about 25 years outside her comfort zone. She seemed truly disconcerted by my c-section scar and she was totally antsy everytime she came in when Ethan was there with Husband.
The other main doctor I saw, I couldn't pick out of a line-up. You see, he did his rounds after midnight. Yes, that's right. 12:30 am & my overhead flourescent lights burst on and there he is. I know he has a big head and is exceedingly pale (what with the vampiric hours he keeps), but that's really it. I haven't a clue what he did for me in the 5-6 days I was there. I just know he is the infectious disease guy.
So on Tuesday, when I started truly panicking that my son was forgetting he has a mother, I basically told the doctor of 60 year olds that she wasn't doing anytghing for me in the hospital that I couldn't do for myself at home. Truly, how hard is it to give myself tylenol every six hours and an antibiotic twice a day??? Granted, we are lacking MRI anf ultrasound machines at our house (space issues, you know...), but how many of those little amusemrnt park rides can you go through in one hospital visit? With an ultasound, MRI and chest xray, I really felt like that was enough superfluous medical gadgetry for one stay.
And here I am; at home. With my baby and Husband, away from the creepy vampire doctors and the med students who don't wash their hands or wipe down their stethescopes (did I mention that I got a cold while in the protective care of these professionals?)
I still feel like all kinds of crap, it's good to be home.