Fundus, The Destroyer

Tuesday I went back up to the Big Hospital for my monthly checkup. I had expected to see Dr. Badass, as that was who I.F. and I had arranged to see. The lady that preregistered me Monday evening said it wasn’t with Dr. Badass, but I didn’t believe her. Apparently Dr. Badass had something going on that week. The NERVE! As if doctors should have lives of their own. Pssh. Pff.

The doctor I did see was very nice, if a bit careless about his vocal decibel level. He is henceforth dubbed, “Dr. Loud.” He and his very fashion-forward nurse were very nice, and very attentive, though; and very, VERY loudly reassured I.F. when I called him, that Tempest’s dangling choroid plexus were nothing to worry about; that they’re very common, and that they resolve themselves an easy 90+% of the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if poor I.F. had had to hold the phone at arm’s length to avoid going deaf.

But seriously, the doctor was very nice, checked all of my current prenatal info with me, showed his intern how to measure my belly (26” from pelvis to the top of the fundus), listened to Tempest’s heart rate, and declared me “perfect.” We arranged to set up my glucose tolerance test within the next couple weeks and that was that.

Speaking of fundus: Hubs has decided that this particular (top) part of the uterus sounds like; and therefore IS; some kind of mushroom-monster. He has declared mine, “FUNDUS THE DESTROYER.” It has to be said in a deep, rumbling, threatening tone in order to affect the appropriate response in the listener. A number of amusing doodles have ensued as a result of this declaration. Ladies and gentlemen, how horribly DULL would my life be without this man? I think I must keep him.