Mean girls. Chances are good that you have suffered their evil at least once in your life. If you’re shaking your head no and saying, “Ellen, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” then look in the mirror because perhaps YOU are that mean girl. Or you have a penis.
We’ve all seen the movies where the mean girls receive their comeuppance – Heathers is the classic example. For all of you too young to know, Heathers is the deranged stepmother of Mean Girls, but with some wicked croquet thrown in. Also notable is the big hair and even bigger shoulder pads. It was 1988 after all.
“Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast?”
But who actually ever gets to witness their nemesis get plowed over by the Karma bus? This girl, that’s who. If you’ve never had the chance to bury your own hatchet, by all means, live vicariously through me. It’ll make you feel good.
My tale of triumph took place during my time as an intern on Labor and Delivery. To be more specific, it was 2 am and I was on call at the private hospital where we did rotations. Working in the private hospital was a little different than when we were at the University. Here, very few patients were “ours.” They mostly had private doctors whom they had lovingly and thoroughly researched, interviewed, and selected. With extreme commitment. Over the course of 3 months. All of this research was frequently laminated and saved in binders nestled beside their 25 page birth plans.
Unfortunately for them, and really me, these ladies often had not read the fine print.
Your doctor has a sweet deal at a teaching hospital. This means he has residents as his scut monkeys to do the majority of his labor (the puns are free). The resident’s job is to stay up for ungodly stretches of time caring for you while absorbing your ire. Your physician will glide in just minutes before your baby is about to crown. He is NOT coming in to triage or supervise your labor because let’s be honest, he’s just not that into you.
Maybe I should have handed these out to soften the blow.
Yeah, no one was ever pleased by that harsh reality and I thought my next preterm labor triage patient was just having this typical run of the mill reaction when I went in to see her. Triage was where I reigned as judge and jury, deciding who got to stay and who had to tuck her tail between her legs and get out. Staying was a good thing when you wanted that alien, er, bundle of joy out yesterday, not so good when you were preterm.
As I strode into the room, the patient jerked up in bed and I swear her eyes popped out of her head. She was 27 weeks pregnant, so preterm labor was a scary situation. My eyes flew to the fetal monitor, but no contractions were registering. In the blink of an eye, I introduced myself, asked the patient if she was in pain, and moved to adjust the monitor on her belly.
“Are you having contractions?” I asked as I moved the monitor around, reassured to see the strong and responsive fetal heart rate.
“No,” she squeaked.
I was scanning her chart to see if she was a preterm labor risk, but her strangled response tore my eyes away from the chart.
“You seem to be in a lot of distress. What’s going on?” I asked.
“I had a little spotting and some pressure so Dr. Yacht wanted me to come in and be monitored.”
“Do you feel any contractions now?”
“No,” she stammered.
“Well that is excellent, but I’m going to need to do an exam with the speculum to see if you are dilated or have any rupturing of your membranes.”
“Where is my doctor!?!!” The squeak was now two octaves higher.
I replied, “It is standard procedure here for a resident to exam you and report to your doctor what is going on. Using this information he will make decisions about your care.”
But in my head I was snarking, “It’s not my fault that you did not understand the deal with your doctor. On a side note, I would not piss me off because I will have my hand up your vagina in about 5 minutes.”
“But won’t he come in for me?”
Poor delusional thing. “No, Sweetie, I’m sorry. And besides, we need to know now if your cervix is changing for the safety of the baby. We can’t wait for him to drive in.”
“You don’t remember me do you?”
Mental Rolodex starts flipping in my head. I am abysmal at remembering people on a good day. I had been working for 20 hours, so I had no hope .
“We were in the same suite in college,” she whispered.
Insert screeching brakes and a twelve car pile up in my head. This was the girl who had tag-teamed with my other suitemates to make me miserable for five months of my junior year. Sleep deprivation was not the culprit here. My brain was functioning under the protection of denial and repression.
At my college, getting into the fabulous upperclassmen suites was an exercise in back room politics. It was all about who you knew. People already living in the suites got to pull other people in. At housing lottery time, the schemes, bribery and treachery flew around like glitter during a pole dance.
After countless hours of wheelin’ and dealin’, I thought I got pulled into the Nirvana of all suites. It was two stories with five bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. I pulled a friend into my room with me. We even had our own bathroom.
Why Mean Girls? Why?
Well, to put it simply, someone porked the porridge and we ended up in this suite with four rooms of the cliquiest Mean Girls whom we enraged with our very existence. We had blocked the final members of their Axis of Evil from moving in and they were bent on making us pay. They were pros at tormenting us. Some of their attacks were blitzkreig-esque like when they threw our pots and pans away or when they dumped our possessions out into the stairwell. Sometimes the torture had more of a “Prisoner of War” flavor where they would place speakers up against our door or they would jack up the thermostat. We counted ourselves lucky when they were just calling us names.
My friend and I lived like hermits behind our locked bedroom door until we could be liberated at the end of the semester. We tried to have as little contact as possible with the other girls.
But here SHE was, about to have a lot of contact with me.
I treated her professionally and thank goodness she was not in preterm labor. But in those wee hours of the morning, as I wielded my speculum, I like to think that I drove the karma bus with style and that a Mean Girl learned her lesson. Big. Time.
This post rocks! I absolutely LOVE the fact that she remembered she first, because it just makes it that much more delicious!! It is such a shame that she was not further along so you could have “lovingly” stripped her membranes! 😉
thedoseofreality recently posted..For the Love Of God…Use the Backdoor
I was NOT on call when she delivered. That would have stretched the limits of my civility. Ellen
Oh.My.Karma!
I got all twitchy just hearing about your mean girl experiences. I am currently building a protective bubble for my girls.
HouseTalkN recently posted..A Brick Colonial…Wordless Wednesday
You know the whole experience strengthened my faith and reassured me that it does pay to be a good person. I’m currently holding my breath for my girls.
This post did just inspire one of my friends to send me a lovely message about how kind my teen has been to her daughter. Whew. Don’t want to be the mother of a mean girl. For. Sure. Ellen
I love, love, love your side note. BAHAHA.
Mean girls be askin’ for it, yo.
PS. Heathers for life! (3 finger salute)
Lady Estrogen recently posted..Vagina on Fire
I had to edit down the Heathers part a lot. My intro to the piece quickly became a post about Heathers. That movie is a twisted classic. Ellen
Love this and how awesome you got to drive the karma bus (and rose above it all)! I thought that mean girls stuff usually stopped in college. Heathers is a classic!
Stacie @ Snaps and Bits recently posted..Fisch
You are a lucky woman that you don’t have any Mean Women in your life. Mean girls sometimes grow up to be mean adults. Actually more often than “sometimes”. Maybe I cured our friend in Labor and Delivery. Ellen
This is just absolutely, positively fabulous!
Mama, you drove that Karma Bus like nobody’s business. That Mean Girl must have been shaking in her slippers, but you handled it like a true professional. Way to go!
Kathleen recently posted..The Dating Game
It is a good story of good triumphing over evil. 😉 Ellen
You were much more restrained than I would have been!!!
Alison recently posted..It’s Not You, It’s Me
I second what Alison said, you were way more restrained than I would’ve been! I want a 2nd installment – what happened?!
Ado recently posted..Sweet Notes
@Alison and @Ado: Ha! Well, I wasn’t all that thrilled to be all up in her business, but she definitely had the worse end of the stirrups.
There really isn’t any more to the story. We had about 5 more hours of awkward together and then I never saw her again because I was NOT on call when she delivered. There was no kumbaya moment or an apology. Just lots and lots of awkward.
And me rockin’ my doctor skills like a boss. I bet she regretted all of the times she interfered with my studying. Ellen
The Sisterhood recently posted..Mean Girls Beware
Holy crap. As someone who went to the hospital at 24 weeks in preterm labor— I can only imagine the compounding of emotions she must have felt realizing who you were and what situation she was in. That was probably my worst moment ever in my life when I went to L&D that night- so I can only say that yeah- Karma. Ouch.
I truly felt badly for her. And she was there by herself because her husband was out of town.
I get hold my head high though because I only treated her with kindness and professionalism. Ellen
I. love. this. This story is fantastic, and you took me right back to residency times. Then your card at the end made me laugh for 5 minutes.
I was only recognized by a patient once that I didn’t remember but who remembered me well. She was an older lady who reminded me that I had done a history and physical on her years ago during and admission “when I had a short coat on” (i.e. as a medical student). When I bent over to palpate her abdomen my reflex hammer and various plastic card thingies that told me how to do things like write a S.O.A.P. note fell on top of her bed.
The next time I saw her I was a fully functioning attending with residents of my own. Her final proclamation: “You’re a lot better and faster now” 🙂 –Lisa
The Dose of Reality recently posted..For the Love Of God…Use the Backdoor
Love this story Ellen! I love how God works. You will probably never know how much of an impact you had on her that day. Even though it was akward you showed kindness and respect to her when she probably felt so out of control and vulnerable- something she never showed you. I’m sure she had a lot to think about after that encounter!! Hopefully it was an aha moment for her! As the saying goes – be nice to your roomates – because one day she just might have her hand up your whoha…(okay that is not sounding right but you get the drift)
Mean girls…. too bad they never really grow out of it. But Karma is lovely:-) Thanks for linking up with us at Medical Mondays!
Jane@FromADoctorsWife recently posted..Today: Medical Monday’s Blog Hop
So she’s a mean girl and a dumbass too? Why, oh why, did she point out to you who she was?
VERY good point! Ellen
If she had any ounce of brain matter, she should have just kept her mouth shut! I am salivating just imagining when my karma bus will pull up and I will take control over the exes! That will be a fantastic day!
Thanks for linking up for Medical Monday! 🙂
Emma @ Your Doctor’s Wife recently posted..Medical Monday! It’s Here!
She is a Mean Girl. You are not. If you had done ANYTHING out of sorts during her hospital visit, you would have joined her in the Mean Girls club. But that just isn’t who you are. I hope she learned something from the experience, but realize that she probably didn’t. But I think you did.
I you should have loudly exclaimed, “Boo-yah” when the Mean Girl came in to deliver! You go girl!!!
OH MY Goodness! As if she wasn’t panicked enough! And tada…. revenge. Mean girls always get their just deserts!
Thanks for hooking up to the Hump Day Hook Up
Molley@A Mother Life recently posted..The Homeless Take Credit Card…? Begging joins the 21st Century
Should’ve just kept her mouth shut. But gotta love that Karma bus. You go!
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