Last week Jani had an appointment at Kaiser and I went along with her, as we were supposed to be discussing the birth plan. After a short wait we were brought in and Jani was weighed and her blood pressure was checked. We then headed to the examination room and waited for the nurse practitioner, a Ms. Wolfish. I’m not changing names to protect the innocent. Eff her (that’s called “foreshadowing”). We see the nurse practitioner because Jani’s regular doctor went on maternity leave shortly after we found out that Jani was pregnant. Kind of a bummer, because Jani’s regular doctor is awesome. So, were in the examination room and are both a little bit excited about discussing the birth plan. After a short wait the nurse practitioner comes into the room. We all make with the normal pleasantries, listen to the heartbeat, then Wolfish begins to chastise Jani about not gaining enough weight. It was a pretty horrible experience. There was my wife, feet in stirrups, crying her eyes out while this horrible person was berating here with threats about admitting her into the hospital and feeding her through a tube in her neck. Yeah, that’s a productive way to approach things. It was all over before we knew it and Jani and my days were both ruined. Thanks Kaiser! Well, that’s not fair. Kaiser has actually been OK. Our nurse practitioner, though, is another story.
So, the story is over, right? Wrong. This past Monday Jani and I went to the mid-pregnancy class at Kaiser. We were about an hour into the class when we were broken into groups; men on one side of the room, women on the other. While in the groups we were asked to share our experiences with one another. There were a few specific things the facilitator wanted us to cover, which we did. Then we all just started chatting. I brought up our most recent experience with the fore mentioned Ms. Wolfish. At this point I hadn’t mentioned any names. One of the other fathers-to-be, a very nice Asian (yes, it’s important to the story) gentleman asked me the name of the offending nurse practitioner. I told him it was Ms. Wolfish. He nodded knowingly and said, “yeah, we had her too, but we changed.” My curiosity was immediately piqued. “How was that process,” I asked. He told me it was really easy. I then asked why they changed. He said, “my wife hated her. She said something racist to us… well, sort of racist.” I said, “really? If you don’t mind my asking, what did she say?” He said, “she told my wife not to eat any meat that wasn’t well done. Then she said, “well people like you don’t do that.”" I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. I told him, “that’s not “sort of racist” that’s very racist.”
Well, that’s the story thus far. We’ll be looking for a new nurse practitioner. Nothing personal Ms. Wolfish. It’s not you, it’s me.
Thanks for tuning in,
Papi
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Tags: asian, birth plan, class, fathers-to-be, foreshadowing, kaiser, racist, wolfish