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It’s Breast Not To Make Things Worse

, , , , , , , | Healthy | November 28, 2022

I’m a new mom. My son wouldn’t breastfeed and I asked for help at the hospital. They asked what the problem was and whether there was any milk. I told them countless times that there was plenty of milk; my son just wasn’t capable of getting it out.

They decided that I should pump some to give to him.

Nurse: “Here: you put one cup on each breast and then just let the pump work. Don’t worry if there are only a few drops; we’ll give him a substitute if there isn’t enough. We only need a very small cup of milk for him.”

Me: “Don’t worry; I think it’ll be enough.”

Nurse: “I’ll prepare some substitute, just in case.”

We started the pump. However, the nurse did not show us how to stop it or say how much we should pump. My husband and I saw the bottle filling up, so eventually, my husband went to find the nurse.

She came back with a small cup of substitute milk.

Nurse: “Hello! How is it going?”

Me: “How long should I keep going?”

Nurse: “Oh, well, the more we get out, the better. We’ll give him this in the meantime.”

Me: “We might need a new bottle soon, then.”

Then, she actually looked down to see the milk. Her jaw dropped and her face went pale.

Nurse: “We won’t need this.”

She stopped the pumping and explained that she’d save the milk, in case it was needed later.

My milk production did cause problems. My son learned to drink properly, and he loved it overflowing — even when he was full, he would just drink and then spit the milk out, just to get the taste — so there was no problem there any longer. However, no protection helped against my occasional (more to say constant) flow of extra milk. I ended up walking around with cups on each breast, made to gather up the extra milk, and I had to empty them regularly throughout the day.

We also bought a new sheet for the bed so the milk wouldn’t seep through to the mattress. I ended up sleeping in puddles of milk, even though I had towels to suck it up. I even ended up in the hospital due to milk engorgement.

Me: “There is milk coming out all the time. How can some of it be stuck?”

Doctor: “Unfortunately, it happens. You should try to have your son drink more if possible.”

Me: “I’ve heard it helps to pump milk. Should I get a pump?”

Doctor: “Usually, I would say yes, but it has a tendency to make the production higher, and in your case, high production is what causes the problem.”

Since then, I’ve had countless people tell me I should give away all the milk I gather up, as there are so many who don’t make enough for their babies. At first, I was surprised the doctor hadn’t told me about it, but it became clearer when it turned out that such milk had to be pumped, not just gathered out of health regulations.

I explained this many times, but the typical conversation went like this:

Person: “Why do you have cups on your breasts?”

I’d explain my high milk production.

Person: “You should give it away; there are many less fortunate people who don’t get enough.”

Me: “I can’t. I have to pump it out, and that would cause my production to get even higher. I’ve already ended up in the hospital for it.”

Person: “I still think you should. There are so many who can’t get enough milk; you should help them since you don’t have problems with it.”

Me: “But I have problems. I just have a problem with too much milk, so I can’t risk getting even more.”

Person: “Look, there are many people who can’t get enough! You shouldn’t whine because you get a lot; that is a blessing!”

Even when I explain why it is a problem, they think I’m just whining about having too much, which I should apparently be happy about. They can come back when they’ve tried bathing in milk every night and ended up in the hospital for days with pain, for which the best treatment is a baby painfully sucking from the place that hurts.

The Only Germ Here Is Stupidity

, , , , , , | Right | November 26, 2022

At the beginning of the global health crisis, I have an elderly woman come in. She is looking at these handcrafted gift boxes, and she suddenly recoils, drops the box, and gasps.

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Customer: “These were made in Vietnam! They have [contagious illness]!”

I stand there absolutely floored for a moment.

Me: “Ma’am, the germs couldn’t survive the trip here. These boxes have been in Canada for months now, anyway. And I, too, was made in Vietnam, so I take offence to that.”

Thanks For The Ableist And Presumptuous Compliment!

, , , , , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: VincentValentina | November 26, 2022

This incident took place when I was three years old, so all of the information comes from my mother.

When I was around two, my parents found out I had autism and ADHD when I went to a doctor’s visit. Like the loving parents they were, they still loved me for the beautiful mess I was. However, the 2000s weren’t exactly the best for someone with a mental disability. Ableists were running amok.

Mama was walking with me in a stroller at a park near my old house, which was a townhouse. I was munching down on some Goldfish crackers (this will be important later) when a woman approached my mother.

Woman: “Awww, what a cute little tot! What’s her name?”

Mama: “[My Name]. She’s my sweet little angel. Right, [My Name]?”

I held up a cracker.

Me: “Fishie!”

My mom cracked a smile as I giggled. But one way or another, something touched me. It could have been a bug or the leather of the stroller, but my little mind began to panic. I started to stim, which back then was me tugging or grooming my hair. The woman noticed this and gasped.

Woman: “What’s going on with her?”

My mom paused and then noticed what was going on. She bent down to my level and stroked my scalp, which calmed me down immediately. I then happily went back to eating my crackers. However, it seemed like the woman hadn’t gotten her answer yet. She looked at my mother with a worried look on her face.

Woman: “Is she okay? Why was she tugging at her hair?”

Mama: “Oh, she was just stimming. It happens when she feels uncomfortable or upset.”

The woman was confused, but then it clicked for her.

Woman: *Looking grim* “Oh, she has autism. I’m so sorry.”

My mom is confused as well, but more importantly, she’s a tad ticked off.

Mama: “I only recently found out — about a year ago. She was diagnosed at [Local Medical Office] by [Doctor].”

The woman’s face turned from pity to disbelief.

Woman: “[Doctor] doesn’t have any medical experience. I brought my daughter to him, telling him about her broken leg from falling off of her scooter, and he said it was just a scrape! You shouldn’t be taking anything from him.”

Mama: *Pauses* “I’ve seen [Doctor] before, and he’s the best doctor I’ve visited yet. He’s the only one willing to see [My Name]. Not many doctors around here are open to those with autism.”

Woman: “But she doesn’t have autism.”

My mother gripped onto the stroller handles, wondering how this lady thought she was the professional doctor around here.

Mama: “What was that?”

Woman: “Your daughter does not have autism. She looks nothing like someone with autism. Plus, autistic people can’t talk, yet she can. [Doctor] probably told you she had autism just to mess with you.”

Mama: *Gripping the stroller tighter* “What are you implying?”

Woman: “You don’t get what I’m saying? I’m saying [My Name] is too pretty to have autism. And there’s another thing I can show you to prove that she doesn’t have autism.” *Kneels down to my level* “What is one plus one?”

Me: “Two.”

Woman: *Standing back up* “See, she can’t have autism. Most autistic people are r******d.

My mom was physically shaking at this point. However, before she could retaliate against all of the woman’s BS, I spoke up.

Me: “Mean shark.”

Woman: *Looking down at me* “What?”

Me: “Mean shark, eat salt!”

I then proceeded to throw goldfish crackers at this lady. The woman was either disgusted or annoyed, as she glared my mother in the eye as she tried to stop me from throwing my snack.

Woman: “How could you raise your child like that?! What little girl throws food at adults?”

Me: “Because the dinosaurs died.”

Woman: *Confused* “What?”

Me: “But one lives! It eats salt.”

The woman was enraged by my answer, but she only stomped away. After all, she wouldn’t want a bad reputation for punching a toddler, would she? Finally, my mom said something to her as she was stalking off.

Mama: “Never, and I mean never, assume someone is too pretty to have autism!”

Getting Healthy Can Be A Heavy Burden

, , , , , | Working | November 24, 2022

Back in college, I was pretty heavy, topping out at around 350 pounds. Toward the end of college, I had a visit to the doctor and was informed that my health was not doing great overall and especially my heart was struggling. This news really scared me and so I decided to get in shape. Eventually, I lost over 130 pounds. I have kept it off for ten years now and my heart is doing much better.

One day, I’m speaking with some coworkers specifically about where we went to college. In the process of telling a story, I pull up an old photo to show my coworkers. 

Coworker: “Holy cow! You look a little different!”

Me: “Yeah, I had some health problems and needed to lose some weight.”

Coworker: “Man, I’d love to lose some weight. How did you do that? Can you help me?”

Me: “Well, when I first started, I was super strict on my diet — lean proteins, veggies, and portion control, mainly just maintaining a deficit. Once I got down to where I wanted to be, I loosed up some.”

Coworker: “I don’t want to change what I eat.”

Me: *Pauses* “Okay, well, I really got into swimming; it was easier on my joints and great exercise.”

Coworker: “I just don’t have the patience for exercise. I get so bored.”

Me: “Well, if you don’t want to change your diet or exercise, what would you change?” 

Coworker: “Just the weight. I want to keep everything else the same.”

Me: “If you can figure out that trick, you could make a fortune.”

An Exercise (Machine) In Futility

, , , , | Right | November 23, 2022

I worked at an inbound call center in 2004 and took orders for dozens of different infomercial products. On one call, I went through the whole script of collecting contact information for the caller so I could send him a free information packet about an expensive exercise machine. I mentioned the name of the machine at least four times.

He gave me his name, his mailing address, and his phone number.

Me: “Would you like your informational video on VHS tape or DVD?”

Caller: “DVD would be fine.”

Me: “Thank you. One last question, sir. Would you like to provide your email address so we can send you some extra details and a coupon by email?”

Caller: “Okay. It’s… Y’know, I don’t know why you’re asking me all these questions. I just want to know what room my daughter is in.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Caller: “My daughter! She just had a [surgical procedure], and I need to know what room she’s in!”

Me: “Sir, this isn’t a hospital. You’ve called the free information line for [Exercise Machine].”

Caller: “Well, why didn’t you say that?!”

And he disconnected the call.