Monday, September 8, 2008

Boring doctor stuff and girlie things

BH contractions like crazy. They don't hurt, but they are more intense and more frequent than they have been. Of course, that could be because I've not had quite as much water as usual today.

The baby moves like a hyperactive chimpanzee at all times now. I don't know when she sleeps, if ever. It's pretty cute.

I think the baby had another growth spurt this week. I was suddenly exhausted and starving at all times from about Wednesday until Sunday.

I went to the doctor on Friday, had another ultrasound. She's still measuring very large. 8 pounds (at 35w6d). They estimate based on head and belly circumference and femur length.

After the ultrasound, I went back out to the lobby to wait for my visit with the doctor. I never thought this would happen, but my favorite of the bunch is a male doctor. There are four of them--two men and two women. I like them all, but I really, really like this guy. I can't say enough good things about this place. If you live in the Madison area and want to know where I go, just ask.

Anyway, I sat in the lobby for about 5 minutes before they called me back. Got to the exam room, the nurse took my blood pressure and said, "Ok, Dr. M will be here in a minute. He's just going to do a strep B culture and check your dilation." Do what? Up 'til then, the only person who'd messed around with my girlie bits was the nurse practitioner. Even my first ultrasound (internal) was *ahem* begun by me. The tech did absolutely no fiddling around with my person. And then they just spring on me that I'm about to have an actual doctor do what he's supposed to be doing?

I flipped out. Internally. To the nurse I chirped, "Okay!" Like a strep B culture is my absolute favorite thing to do of a Friday morn. Then I sat. And sat. And sat. For like half an hour. I would have been pissed, except that (a) this clinic has never made me wait more than ten minutes, and it's almost always more like five and (b) I was grateful for the time to mentally prepare for the coming invasion.

After half an hour of learning all about postmenopausal osteoporosis (brochure) and muscle cars (I think some husband left that book in the room by accident), I got a knock on the door. A nurse said nervously, "Um, Naomi? Um, Dr. M just had to run down the hall to get a second opinion. He'll be right there." I think she was expecting me to flip out on her for the long wait.


She laughed. "Of course!"

I said, "Um. All I have is this drape." I'd been sitting there the whole time with a white sheet wrapped around my lower body.

"That's okay. It happens all the time." She kept watch for me until the nearest bathroom was unoccupied, and I scurried down the hall with my pumpkin shirt (must post a picture) and flappy white sheet and dark grey socks. Dignity!

I got back, Dr. M came by shortly. "So. How do you feel about this big baby?"

I said, "Um."

(This is going to sound weird, so I'll try to explain: I'm really not scared about it, but it's not because I'm cocky or think I'm really tough. Labor is a vast unknown to me. It's going to be far worse than I can imagine, I'm sure. There's no point in worrying, so I don't. I can honestly say that I haven't stressed out about it at all. And adding a slightly larger baby to a vast unknown doesn't really change things. Make sense?)

He said, "Okay."

I said, "Should I be worried?"

He looked relieved, like maybe he'd been preparing himself for Hysterical Female. He said, "Well, there's a chance the ultrasound could be off, of course. And the size of the woman doesn't have much to do with it. I've seen tiny little women deliver ten-pound babies and big, tall women have trouble with six-pound babies. Until it happens, we really don't know." Well, that's good.

I asked him about intervention. He said that, with a baby this size already, inducing would only make labor more difficult. It's better to wait until my body is ready and starts doing things on its own. Then, if there's a problem, there'll be a C-section, but they aren't going to schedule one or anything.

Then we had the strep B culture (woo-hoo), and he checked my dilation (nothing), poked at my belly and said, "You know, she really doesn't feel all that huge."

"You know, my husband and I are both huge-headed long-legged freaks of nature, and have been since we were kids." I didn't say it quite like that, but he got my point and told me that could definitely skew the weight estimate. Of course... huge head is still not comforting.

So, I left happy, despite the, uh, unexpected aspects of the exam.

The same doctor is giving a birthing class tomorrow evening, and we're going. We didn't think we'd be able to fit one in, what with the house and distance and one car thing, but I saw the notice on the wall and had to sign up.

It's strange that my favorite of the bunch is a man. Doctors are not quite up there with spiders; they're closer to dark basements. Female doctors don't scare me as much, but I still don't care for them. I never, ever thought I would ever be okay with a guy who is not my husband looking up my hoo-hah, but there you have it. I still have to mentally prepare, but I don't run screaming from the exam room or pass out like I always thought I would.

I think it's because this guy is very funny and talks to me like my IQ might possibly equal his. Not that the other doctors are boring and condescending. They're not. But it seems almost automatic that people treat me as young as I look. When the other doctors explain things to me, they don't bother to go into as much detail. They explain less and just give answers. I'm really, really hoping he's the doctor on call when we have the baby. But even if he's not, I feel like I'm very good hands with all of them. If we have more kids, I'd like to stay with this clinic despite the driving distance. It's totally worth it. Unfortunately, James's insurance is changing again, and I have no idea if they're in the new network. They better be.

No comments:

Post a Comment