A Big Deal

Me: Hello?
Jessie: Baby?
Me: Hi!
Jessie: I’m not feeling so well.
Me: What’s the matter?
Jessie: I just went to the bathroom and there was some blood.
Me: What?!
Jessie: I think I should go to the hospital as a precaution.

Alarm bells start going off in my head after I got off the phone with the wife. I’ve only recently started to get over the lemon head drama and now this. Bleeding during the second or third trimester is never a good sign. She’s still at work, so I rush out the door to pick her up. 

On the way to the hospital, I try to assess what’s wrong. 

Me: How much blood was there?
Jessie: A little.
Me: How much is a little? My definition of a little could be completely different from your definition of a little. Drinking 6 cans of beer is considered a little for me.
Jessie: Little as in not a lot.
Me: Give me a size comparison! The size of a quarter? A grain of rice?
Jessie: Maybe the size of a pencil eraser.
Me: So not a lot.
Jessie: Yes, that’s why I said, “A little.”
Me: Oh. Well, it’s still important to be specific.

At the hospital, the doctor said there was nothing to worry about. Only some slight spotting, though no explanation for it. 

I’m really beginning to dislike the nonchalant attitude of doctors. I realize they’ve probably seen the whole gamut of problems pregnant women have, but sometimes, I wish they’d show a little more empathy. I hate how they brush aside our concerns like they’re not big deals. Well, I got news for you, Doc. They’re big deals to me! And when I say big, I mean big as in Shaquille O’Neal size big. Andre the Giant big.