Rich Dad, New Dad (or Tales from the OB)

I accompanied my wife to her OB a few days ago and earlier today. These are a few of my tasks as her ever supportive husband. I just did not know it then, but these trips somehow evoke a lot of emotions out of me.

We went to Makati Medical Center (pictured below) to undergo a 3D ultrasound. If you’re not familiar with the hospital, it is a swanky hospital where you are doomed to spend money the minute you step in.


The place was almost like a mall, only with more sick people. It’s been a while since I stepped in a hospital, and the hospitals that I’ve been in were all smaller, and more “regular” (read: what hospitals in the movies look like). There was a gift shop, a few fast food restaurants, and a convenience store. I almost forgot that we were supposed to go to the Ultrasound area. I thought we were going to shop.

The sight of doctors who look and walk like they own the place reminded me of why we were there. Looking at these doctors, I thought they wouldn’t touch me if they knew how much I make. They’ll probably tell me that they don’t help middle class folks or something, regardless of our HMO card. I wonder if the direction of their noses has a rationale too. All of their noses looked like it was pointing in one direction: towards the ceiling.

Some of them are here in this picture

You might say that they’re entitled to it, because they spent years in yada-yada-yada… I didn’t say they weren’t entitled to it, I was just describing them. Hell, even a former classmate who works here as a nurse, was (and maybe still is) an “entitled” rich kid.

Thankfully, my wife’s OB was nice. It took my wife a few laps around the area, a can of coke and a bar of Kit-Kat (all conveniently bought inside the hospital premises) to finally see my son’s face. Plus, it “only” cost us Php3,900. I guess if my wallet had been on a diet, this day was its cheat day. I was not able to bid my money a proper goodbye, before I had to hand it to the cashier. I hope they forgive me.

I also heard two seemingly affluent folks talk about us when we passed by. They were talking rather loudly about their rich-folk escapades, when my wife and I walked by.They stopped talking for a bit, and tried whispering that we look to young to be parents. We still heard them, and I felt good. Imagine, we were able to catch the attention of two, rich people! Maybe I should have asked for financial assistance too, come to think of it.

The next visit was earlier today, this time in another building. I believe it was Medical Plaza. I am just not sure, and Google failed to come up with pictures that looked familiar. This time, it was inside a building with what looked like condominium units converted into business rooms, and medical clinics. There were more people than usual waiting in the lobby. Most of them were dads and their kids. What do you know? Just when I thought I was safe, my overly insecure but observant self started doing what it is known to do very well, compare myself to other people.

These dads look like they got there either by a yacht, or a sports car. They were all sporting just a little frown, accented by the crease in their forehead, where their eyebrows meet. The look of a very busy man. There was a pediatrician’s clinic there, so they might be going for a vaccine or something. There were a whole lot of them there, lots of kids with bright, financially stable futures.

They’re tall too. Big-ass kids with big-ass dads. My wife and I looked more like kids compared to them.

I started thinking, will my son ever grow past the 5’3″ curse of mine? Will they be bullied by tall-ass kids? Will I be able to whoop the dads of these big-ass bullies, considering they are big-ass dads too? Is the answer to my questions an obvious “no”, except this question?

I hope I don’t accidentally teach my son to be a brooding, pessimistic, overly gloomy, despondent, vertically and financially challenged guy like myself. Or maybe the Philippines teaches 90% of its population to be all of those, so he has no choice.

God damn, I’m sorry, Alpha. I failed you genetically and geographically. I’m hoping not financially, but we’ll see.


3 thoughts on “Rich Dad, New Dad (or Tales from the OB)

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