One would think that, with your inflated ego and high opinion of your elite baby-delivering skills, you'd have caught on to that by now.
If you had the empathy that God had given a brain-damaged flatworm you'd also know that prancing in and informing me haughtily that "I don't deal with screaming. If you scream I'll walk out" wouldn't fucking help.
Continually barking orders at a woman who is trying to tell you that, no, sorry, her body is now in full automatic and so she can't stop it from trying to push the baby out, and then telling her to shut up and breathe, is counter-fucking-productive.
Maybe if you hadn't sent me home you wouldn't have to scramble to give my daughter the antibiotics I should have had in my IV for four hours minimum - the one that, because you sent me home without even seeing me, I didn't get until two hours before delivery itself.
I've had two kids before this. Never, before you, have I had the urge to kick a doctor in the face, and if my husband hadn't been holding my kicking leg in the stirrup, I would have probably broken that nose you're so proud of. It's prominently featured on all your brochures, after all.
I was really impressed by the fact that you delivered an eight pound, eleven ounce baby without tearing me to shit, but when even the nurses are shocked by your behavior, my sweet and level-headed husband is shooting you glares of d00m, and my ACTUAL doctor is horrified and wishes she could undo the experience, there's something seriously wrong with your bedside manner.
Oh, and apparently? I'm not the only one who thinks you're a fuckwit - my roommate in postpartum informed me allllll about your failure to inform her that she needed to get the test for Down's Syndrome before it would come up automatically positive, and your lovely spanish-speaking nurse calling her up and informing her in broken english, "your baby have Downs, she need go another doctor". The month of terror and the agony from an amniocentesis that would have been fucking well unnecessary if you had done your job was real icing on the cake, along with the fact that you're still billing her for appointments she informed you she'd NEVER keep. Oh, and the sarcastic treatment whenever she asked you a question? Priceless.
I'm going to complain. In writing - not just to the hospital, but to the state medical licensing board. And the head nurse at my delivery is backing me up, as is my post-partum roomie, because a doctor like you could so easily turn what was otherwise a blissful experience into a nightmare, like you did to my roommate. I really doubt my doctor will let you cover any of her other patients now; she was leery of letting you do it anyways, because you're male and she runs a by-women-for-women clinic - the fact that you're also a prime cut of fuckwit only helps.
Enjoy your retirement. I hope it's early and surrounded by the shiny, well-printed brochures that show one picture of a baby - and five of your ever-so-prominent nose.
She's doing great, by the way. I named her first dirty diaper after you.
ETA: Thanks for all the congratulations. She just burped in appreciation.
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