The Goldies' First VD
Over the last week or two, I haven't been around the blogosphere much, and for that, I apologize. I am slowly starting to ramp back up and catching up on all of y'all's awesome posts that I have missed.
I'm such a slacker, I disgust myself.
ChinchillaBoy and I went to Petland once again, to play with more dogs, and almost got eaten by a 12-week-old Newfoundland puppy. She chewed on my church pants; she tried to attack my purse; and she ripped ChinchillaBoy's jacket. That's the first time I have ever seen my son ChinchillaBoy afraid of a dog. I am impressed.
ChinchillaBoy is now rethinking his lifetime dream to get a puppy. That is good. The bad part, of course, is that he still wants more pets. He's been thinking of breeding chinchillas. I'd pick a dog over that anytime.
Anyway, on to my post.
I just could not resist posting this story today… The temptation was too strong. You will soon find out what I mean.
This happened in May of 1996, when ChinchillaBoy was still nursing. On a chilly day, I ran outside in my T-shirt and, right away, I came down with mastitis. It wasn’t diagnosed soon enough, so two days later, I ended up in the hospital, with a 103 degree fever and an IV in my arm. I left the kids at home with Mr. Goldie. He was not happy and that was totally understandable. How are you to stay at home with a baby if he doesn’t eat or drink anything other than his Mom’s milk, and you are not his Mom – you are, in fact, a guy? It didn’t make things easier that none of our friends were available to help Mr. Goldie with the kids – it was a national holiday and everybody was out of town visiting their families for the long weekend. Our families couldn’t help, either - mine was halfway across the world, and his, about a thousand miles away. Mr. Goldie was terrified and sleep-deprived, and therefore did and said a few things that you don’t normally say and do to your sick wife. I was upset, but said nothing, as I had bigger problems at the moment.
The doctor wanted to keep me in the hospital for two weeks (yay for free medical care!), but I had to check out as soon as I felt well enough to stand up and walk around, because I had to go home and take care of the kids. I signed a form saying that I wouldn’t hold the hospital responsible if I dropped dead on my way home, and was told to come in and get shots twice a day for two weeks.
Getting shots was easy. I would drop LilProgrammer off at daycare and go straight to the hospital with ChinchillaBoy. I’d stand in the middle of the doctor's office, holding him in my arms, and the doctor would give me a shot. Then we’d come back in the afternoon. Worked great for everyone.
On my fourth day, I came in for my morning shot and all of a sudden found the staff all staring at me and whispering to each other. Finally, after a few uncomfortable minutes, the doctor came and called me into her office. But, instead of giving me the shot, she told me to sit down.
“Your test results just came in from when you checked into the hospital four days ago. I have to say, I was surprised. I really hadn’t expected to see that!”
“You hadn’t expected to see what?”
“Goldie, you have gonorrhea.”
“Oh, this can’t be. This is all a mistake. Let me take the test again and we’ll clear this all up.”
“Nuh-uh, you cannot take the test again. It will come back negative now, because you’ve been on antibiotics for four days. But, when you checked in, that’s when you had the infection.”
“I couldn’t have. Where would I get it from? I’m happily married and I have two kids – a three-year-old and a seven-month-old. I honestly don’t have the time to run around catching STDs.”
The doctor looked at me with pity, and sent me down to the ER. There, I had to talk to a short, scrawny, older guy that, for who knows how many years, had been working in the ER as a venerologist. Over the years, the man’s profession seemed to have given him a somewhat disillusioned outlook on life.
I sat down and told him the same thing that I had said to the doctor – that it was a mistake, there was no way I could have gonorrhea, and that, between two kids, I just didn’t have that kind of time. The venerable venerologist sighed.
“Therein lies your problem. When was the last time you had sex with your husband?”
“Um, I dunno, a week, two weeks?”
“See? That’s how it all happened. You cannot even remember when you had sex with the man! No wonder he’s been looking for it somewhere else.”
“Wait a minute, no he hasn’t,” – I objected. True, I was mad at Mr. Goldie, but not that mad. “My husband happens to be faithful to me. He is a believer, and goes to church. He couldn’t have done it.”
The look on the venerologist’s face was just too much. He gave me this tired, tired look that said, “yeah, that’s what you all think” and “if I had a nickel for each time I heard this”, and a lot of other things likewise unpleasant to me.
“Here’s the name of the doctor you need to see. And, when I say you, I mean you both. Make sure your husband goes to see her right now. Trust me, you don’t want the militia* coming to your house and leading your church-going believer out in handcuffs. Do you agree?”
Breaking the news to Mr. Goldie was, to be honest, a bit of a treat.
“Hey, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Mr. Goldie actually stopped and paid attention. I must have sounded convincing.
“I just got back from the doctor, and they say I have clap, and that I got it from you. They said for both you and me to go see this other doctor as soon as we can, or else the militia will come and get us. You go first.”
He left as soon as I was done talking, and came back an hour ago, looking troubled and puzzled.
The new doctor had told him, in a very strict voice, to list every one of his sexual contacts. She said she wouldn’t allow him to leave her office until he gave her the list. Poor Mr. Goldie didn’t have a list. His sexual contacts were limited to one person, and that person was me. The new doctor would have none of it. She needed the list. Mr. Goldie told me that a thought had even crossed his mind to make a few names up, but then he thought better of it.
The new doctor did let him go home, but said to come back in another hour with the list.
By the time Mr. Goldie left again, I was feeling sorry for him, and worried. Although, I confess, I was also, deep inside, afraid that the doctors might be right. What if my husband had, indeed, been cheating on me? Even so, I clutched ChinchillaBoy to my chest and prayed as hard as I could for Mr. Goldie. Very soon he came back from the doctor’s, but this time he was happy.
Apparently, the doctor had had a change of heart. Her office was right next to where we lived, and she told Mr. Goldie that she saw us almost every day from her window, going places with the kids. So, she concluded, after giving it some thought, she had decided that there has, indeed, been a mistake, and she woudn’t pressure Mr. Goldie for a list of contacts, as he very obviously had none. But, she added, we both needed to complete a course of clap-curing antibiotics, “to keep the authorities off our back”.
So we did. We each got a very painful shot, and a blood test. And that was the happy ending of our VD story. A few days later, our friends came back from out of town, and we were a big hit with a tale of our unbelievable adventures. We had to repeat it again and again and again. I thought that our whole experience with the doctors had been quite amusing, but Mr. Goldie had had a few scary moments.
Moral of the story, be nice to your wife, especially when she has a 103 degree fever. You just never know when that instant karma is going to hit you.
* - Russian police.