Huhfusion

There should be an adjective to describe the look that people get when they walk up to our stroller and I spit out a briefing about Lucy's condition before they automatically stick their faces up close to her.
It's a look of confusion, disbelief and huh?
Maybe huhfusion?  Or disbehuh?
I find myself playing zone defense on outings even with people I know, love and trust, with the following disclaimer before I let anyone look at my child, usually said all as one word:
Shehasalowwhitebloodcellcountsoyoucanlookbutnottouchandstaybackfromthestrollertwofeet.
That's usually followed by the look of huhfusion.
Then we sometimes get the: well why are you out in public?
This is why I asked the doctor for a doctor's note when he said we could take Lucy out in public as long as it's not too crowded of a place, such as the mall, grocery store, park, lightly populated restaurants, etc.
Because I knew everyone would think we were making that shit up.
We're not. 
And buh-leave me, I'm glad we're not making it up, because if I had to stay in the house all the time for the first six weeks of her life, I would have gone nuts.
But luckily, threat-level-midnight has been lifted and people can now come into our house as long as they're not sick, and she can be held by people other than us.
We've done such a good job of keeping her healthy, and most people we run into are very polite about her condition and looking at Lucy from a distance.
Until yesterday.  When I learned that I have no problem physically restraining someone getting too close to my kid.
I ran into a former Starbucks co-worker outside of Target when I was wheeling my squalling infant to our car, saying to her, "I told you we were leaving, here we go!"
I was excited to see her, but not very excited when she said, "Ooh you have a baby!" and proceeded to walk up to my stroller and start to open it up all while her face was a food away from the baby.
I grabbed her.  Grabbed her by the arm and told her she couldn't get close to my baby because of her condition.
She looked horrified and apologized, and I made brief small talk with her and then kept on walking.
I couldn't get that mad at her, because she didn't know.
But had to stop her, because a) I don't know if she is sick or not, since I had only seen her for a split second and b) she had five children with her, and children are germ buckets when it comes to my kid.
I think it's incredibly rude to go up to a stroller and put your face in/touch the baby/touch the stroller/open the stroller without even asking.
I would never do that, no matter how well I know the person.
It's crazy what lengths I'll go to keep her safe.  I am extremely neurotic when it comes to people washing their hands and then sanitizing them before touching Lucy.
When she's crying in public, I get scared that a well-meaning grandmotherly type will suddenly appear out of nowhere and try to get to close to the baby and help me.  (Not too far off after yesterday's close call.)
I freaked out at Starbucks last week because someone sneezed while we were there.
Before handing my daughter off to my mother-in-law in Target, I told her once she was holding the baby she couldn't touch anything in the store.  This resulted in consolidating two carts and a basket worth of items into one cart to prevent this.
Whenever I give my spiel to someone I know before letting them see the baby, I feel relief and then immediately I think of how I must look to others due to the look they get on their face, because I know I look scared any time someone approaches her.
The look of huhfusion usually happens with acquaintances/people we haven't seen in awhile, because they are the ones who have no idea what we're going through with her.
This makes me think it's not common for people to guard their newborns as closely as we do ours.  
Sometimes I think people feel we're overprotective and neurotic about her health.
And that's fine, because we know that not taking the steps we have truly is the difference between life and death for our little one.