We're Having A...Foot. And a Car Accident!

Yesterday was our Level II ultrasound. It was...expeditious. We arrived for our afternoon appointment just before 3 o'clock, which apparently was also the last one of the day. They called us back quickly and we were placed in a small room, with a small Russian technician, with a big accent. She asked me to lay down on my back on the table and the moment I sat on it I knew I was in trouble. It had the cushy looking vinyl wrap on in, but there was NO padding. It pretty much felt like laying on a slab of granite. History here would tell you that I have a bad back, which had actually been fine, until I got pregnant and then sciatica kicked in. I'm not that big, I really didn't anticipate issues this early, but it is what it is right? So I asked our little babushka for an extra pillow to support my back, and she kindly did so. She squirted the jelly on my stomach and studiously got to work without saying a word to either of us. Brian was able to see the screen but I saw very little. At this point Brian thankfully pointed out that we didn't want to know the sex and would prefer that it didn't go in our chart. Her reply was:"Ahhh biiig seekeret". She continued taking measurements, and only offered up the fact that things were measuring well. I tilted my head to one side almost to the point where I was reading the screen upside-down and began guessing what we were looking at.


"Is that the head?"


"Yhhis."


"Is that the heart?"


"Yhhis. "


I heard the printer go off at various points and assumed we were going to have a new whole book of photo's to oogle over when we left. But when she wrapped things up a whole twenty-five minutes later I noticed that Brian only had two small slips in his hand. Oh well, I'm sure they're great, I thought to myself. Then when she left the room he showed me two pictures of a foot, a shot of a femur, and the other picture is undecipherable. That's all we got. I had Brian help me up, but the pain from being on the steel bench for so long left me almost in tears. At that point another technician came into the room, and asked me to lay back down for a few more shots, then a doctor came in. They went over all of the measurements with each other, barely telling us anything. My placenta is a little on the low side but it's not covering my cervix, and they didn't seem too concerned. All the other measurements look great. When we were cleared to leave, the lights in the rest of the office were dimmed and the receptionist was gone. We walked out of there staring at the picture of our child's foot, bewildered by how disheartening the appointment was. We were expecting someone who would give us a chance to ooh and ahh over our growing child that we worked so hard for, but instead all we have to show for my back pain is a picture of their foot.


From the day I had booked this appointment we had planned to take the rest of the afternoon off and head down to a giant baby store about 40 minutes south to do some recon on baby gear. Then we'd grab a little dinner. We started to joke on the way down there about how we'd apparently only have to register for shoes, since we're only having a foot. And that's when the stop-and-go traffic started. We only got maybe five miles down the freeway when we heard some ones breaks lock up and then BAM they hit our car. The impact itself wasn't terrible, but the sound and the feeling of the belt locking up on my belly scared the crap out me. The damage to our car looks minimal, though his was considerably worse. I actually doubt his car was even drivable afterwards but we didn't stick around to find out.


While Brian was getting all of his info, I was on the phone to my OB's office. Yes, the one I had just unofficially fired. Interestingly enough there is a little something I should tell you about him. He called me. To apologize. Well technically he called to see if I was even offended first. He said his nurse told him he was a little subversive, and that I seemed a bit offended. I told him I was glad that he called, because he did come off a little harsh. He apologized and said that no matter what his job is to help me bring this baby into the world safely, and that he would be happy to do it with the method I had in mind. I have to say I was pretty impressed. Even though it sounded like he was being poked in the back by his wife in order to get the apology out, it took some balls on his behalf to call me and follow up. But the points he earned were too little, and too late. I'm still going to look for someone else. However, I needed them at the moment. When I called they told me to go straight to the ER. When we got to the ER, they said because I was over 20 weeks, they wanted me to go straight to Labor & Delivery. Gulp. They checked me in and and put us in a room. They hooked me up to a fetal monitor and a machine to measure contractions. Double Gulp. But as it turned out everything was fine. They asked me to take today off, which I did, gladly. And to get an appointment for another u/s with my OB. All of the u/s techs on L&D had gone for the day.


I called first thing this morning and got an appointment with my favorite nurse practitioner. She's very warm and friendly, just what I needed to put my mind at ease. When she sat down I told her about our horrible Level II and she agreed that the appointment sounded unacceptable, especially since we only ended up with a picture of a foot. She gladly set up the u/s machine and snapped a few pics for us, though there machines are no where near as high tech as the other one so the pictures aren't great. She wrapped up and asked me to stay put. When she came back she just wanted to let me know that I should expect a DVD copy of our u/s in the mail within the next week. She said they wouldn't be able to get the pictures back, but at the very least we could have a movie. Man, I'm going to miss her...


So. Other than that, things are good. I'm good, baby's good. Brian was wonderfully supportive and sweet. I know it was scary dear, but you were great. New pics in the photo gallery!

You're Fired.

Well the appointment I had yesterday sealed the deal. I’m done with my OB. Nothing explosive happened, but the in-depth conversation I had with him regarding childbirth plans pretty much gave me all of the ammunition information I needed. 

O.V.E.R. 

He’s a lovely doctor, and I’m sure that our baby would be delivered safely in his care, but I evidently wouldn’t have much of a say in it. So here’s the first part of what you should know and where things went wrong. 

I’m hoping to deliver this child naturally. With no epidural, and minimal medical intervention. 

What my dinosaur doctor heard was: I hate Doctors and hospitals and I plan to be as uncooperative and insubordinate as possible during my delivery, so good luck with that. 

He started off by suggesting I stay away from reading materials. Explaining that they can be quite dogmatic and contradictory to other sources, and that my body will really know what to do because it’s programmed into our DNA. Okay, I get that school of thinking. I can appreciate the theory of the power of suggestion, and I just so happen to agree 100% that delivering a baby is probably built into my DNA. But I also believe that you can prepare yourself for something like this. I will be experiencing a level of pain to which I have never known. Not even after sitting through the entire showing of Sex and the City II. I think I should know what’s coming. And the more I sat there listening to him, the more it sounded like he was saying “This is what can happen if you let women learn how to read…” 

When I say I want to deliver with no epidural and minimal medical intervention, I do not mean: in a barn. I am not Anti- Doctor, or medicine. Obviously, we did IV-fucking F. I’ll do whatever means necessary to get my desired result, savvy? And I am also not stupid. I realize that I can make all the birth “plans” I want, and things could end up 180 degrees differently. (Hi Murgdan!) So aside from preferring a completely natural delivery, our other plan is to know our options. So in Scenario A, B, C, or Q, Brian and I will have some kind of idea of what my preferences are so I won’t have to deliberate a life changing decision in the midst of a contraction. Or if I’ve checked out completely, (not dead, but incapacitated) Brian and I will be on the same page. 

When I mentioned this to him a few months ago, I’m guessing he yes’d me on the au natural part. But today when I talked to him about studying The Bradley Method, the mood all changed. He told me that the Bradley Method was somewhat “Anti-Doctor”. Which is interesting because so far what I’ve gotten out of the book, is that it’s really about husband/partner coached labor. When I explained that my main idea’s behind using this method is that it took so much medical intervention to get me pregnant, I really like the idea of giving my body back the control. Not to mention taking some of the work load off of my poor kidneys. On top of that I think this could be a really amazing experience for Brian and I as a couple. I don’t believe that labor has to be scary and dramatic. I know it will be painful and hard work, and potentially very long. (that’s why they call it labor, no?) But I also believe that I am capable of doing it without much involvement from medical technologies. 

I asked him how many of his patients delivered naturally, he said 20-30%. And then he said the percentages were lower with his Bradley patients, and that I might want to consider getting a doula to assist us. (Which I’m totally not opposed to, I’m actually trying to find one that will take my insurance) And continued on that ‘no one really wants medical intervention, but sometimes it’s just necessary’. I interjected with: I actually know women who would sign up for an epidural now, if the release form came with their hpt kit. True Story. And then what I should have said but wasn’t quick enough to think of is: Odd though that if no one really wants medical intervention, how come 70-80% of your patients end up with

 it???? 

Please know, I am not against Medical Intervention. Epidurals. Hospitals. Doctors. Nurses. Vaccines. America’s Got Talent being renewed for yet another season, even though I truly believe it is a crime against humanity. DO WHAT IS BEST FOR YOU. To each, his own. All god’s children, yada yada... I’m just saying this is my preference and I’m going to find a licensed medical practitioner who will do their damnedest to help us prepare for it, and hopefully see us through a delivery the way we’d prefer, while in a safe and legal nature, resulting in an insanely healthy live baby being born. If there are one hundred and forty two things I've learned from Infertility, number two on the list is being your own advocate. Good day to you, Sir.