Let’s see if I can remember how to do this. This tab that says, “Write Post”. I think I’m supposed to click that. These tappety things with letters on ‘em that my fingers are on. Hmmm. They make words! And then there’s gotta be a button that has “Publish” on it somewhere. Oh! There it is! I’ll save that one for later.
Here’s the deal. Drama. The deal, people, is drama. Drama everywhere.
There are two things that I’ve been consumed by in the last couple of weeks. One – This pregnancy. Two – Work. There have been no posts because A – seriously? Who really wants to see another belly picture? Or hear me complain about my swollen feet? Or hear me whine about the bitchy nurses at my OB’s office? Or talk about how I have stopped sleeping past 2:45am as a rule? Oh, but that last one is completely due to B – work. Which I can’t and will not write about here except to say that I think Maternity Leave should start at 30 weeks.
Drama.
I do have a pregnancy related story though. And as much as I didn’t want to write it here, I feel like there might be some good advice in my readers, but if you don’t want to hear it, please feel free to skip the rest. That’s if anyone other than my Grandmother is even still reading this.
Friday’s 32 week appointment was by far the worst experience ever. Again, I stupidly went alone. My cousin had offered and planned to go with me, but there was a scheduling issue and they were leaving on vacation and I felt bad because Lord knows I hate packing and schlepping for vacation when I’m traveling alone – and she had a 20 month old she had to pack and schlep for. So I told her not to worry about coming. That? Was the dumbest move ever.
Because my practice is so big, they encourage you to see all the doctors (9!) during the course of your pregnancy so you’ve at least met them all and aren’t totally weirded out when one you haven’t ever seen is the one on call that pulls a screaming human being from your crotch. Or something. I’ve mentioned before how much I love my regular doctor (Dr. H), and the midwife there. I haven’t seen either of them since, God. I don’t know. Feels like ever. So this time it was another Dr (a male one) that has no idea who I am and has never met me before.
I mentioned the recent life drama right? Backs up to about 3-weeks ago? It’s continued since then and things have just been generally hard. Thursday was a REALLY, EXCEPTIONALLY, AWFUL day between the hours of 8am and 4:30pm which was when I just couldn’t take it anymore and left work before I started sobbing at my cubical. I can’t get into the issue, nor do I want to re-live it, but I reached a point. A point that sort of plateaued and lasted through that entire night and into the wee hours of morning when at 2:45am I just gave up. So I go to my appointment after a horrid day (week actually. Okay, month), and after getting roughly four hours of total sleep to meet with a doctor I don’t know. A 32 week hormonal pregnant woman. Bad month. No sleep. Doctor I’ve never met. Following me?
I pee on my hand in a cup, get on the scale, become totally horrified at the number, blood-pressure (a little high), and start answering the nurse’s (a moderately kind one) questions. When she asked how I’d been feeling, I answered fine and then immediately started crying when I knew it was a lie. I told her that I’d been feeling pretty stressed out and had been dealing with some hard things. Things that an 8 month pregnant person really wouldn’t choose to deal with. After being ushered into one of the exam rooms and told Dr. So-and-So would be in soon, I tried to compose myself. And I did, until he started questioning me too. Tears streaming from my eyes I told him about the last 3-weeks and how I’ve just taken on too much and I was starting to feel like it was all coming to a head. Plus, I hadn’t been sleeping, work was stressing me out, yadda yadda.
The next words out of his mouth? Man, I hope you’re all sitting down.
“You need to see someone. If you don’t deal with this now, you’re a candidate for Post Pardum Depression. I’m going to give you a referral and I want you to call them immediately. If you can’t get an appointment today, call me back.”
So much for a hormonal woman having a bad week. I was immediately In Need of Professional Help.
Now before you peg me as someone who is that Everyone Needs Therapy But Me type person, let it be known that I have absolutely nothing against therapy. I’ve gone during many times in my life. And it’s helped me significantly. I don’t have anything against it and I am the first to recognize the need to go. This was NOT one of those times.
Basically what he did was add to my pile of things to freak out about. He only asked one more question about where I work and I what I do and then he scribbled a note and handed it to me. It read that I’m to reduce work to three days a week (yeah, right). The next note he scribbled was another Dr’s name and the note – The Referral. He didn’t talk to me about how I deal with stress. He didn’t tell me to try meditation. He didn’t explain that lots of women feel anxious at this time in their pregnancy. Apparently I’m just crazy.
He checked out the kid. Of course she’s fine. Heart rate is good. Her head is down. Her activity level is good. He chalked my blood pressure elevation up to the stress – hence the two notes. And the only other thing he said was that I was to rest all weekend. Not bed rest, but more like House Arrest. Very limited activity, no lifting, lots of napping.
My head spun around like it was on a swivel. Saturday I was supposed to attend a bridal shower on Long Island for one of my closest friends. Her wedding is 3 days after Blinkie’s due date so we’re pretty confident we won’t me making the wedding. I HAD to make the shower. More guilt set in.
I left there knowing I wasn’t calling the psychiatrist and knowing there’s no way I’ll only work 3-days a week for the next 8 weeks. I figured if I wasn’t going to listen to that much, then why listen to the House Arrest piece either? I cried most of the way home making it impossible to stop for a McFlurry and literally causing my eyes to swell up so bad that between the tears and the lack of sleep, they were slits. I called EHH and told him what happened. He agreed that I wasn’t a crazy person (as did everyone else I told about it), but he did think that resting this weekend was a good idea. I scoffed, but he warned. He reminded me that I get uncomfortable driving and that I’d be spending close to four hours in the car round trip. Here you go, have some more guilt.
I called my friend’s Mom who was throwing the shower and explained why I couldn’t come. I felt awful. But she was SO understanding and when I hung up I started to feel better. I had about given up on there being another kind and understanding human in the world, but after I talked to her, I felt a little lifted. I still feel AWFUL that I won’t see my friend until after her wedding and after Blinkie’s born, but I guess timing for this is just pretty sucky and I’m trying to focus on the fact that we’re both going through such awesome life experiences at the same time and that we’ll be there through them and after them for each other anyway.
So what would you have done? I’ve made a couple of decisions based on this whole experience. 1 – NO MORE DOCTOR’S I’VE NEVER MET! That’s it! I’m only seeing Dr. H or the midwife from now on. And I will pray every single day that this kid is still cooking that it’s one of them on call when I go into labor. If not, I guess I’ll just keep asking for pain medication until I stop caring who it is on call. 2 – NO MORE SOLO APPOINTMENTS! I will arrange my appointments so that someone will always be able to come with me. And I’m going to try my hardest not to feel like I’m inconveniencing the nominated accompanier.
There’s the story. And I’m sorry it’s not about something other than this pregnancy. Since all my promises mean nothing, I won’t promise to write more. I won’t promise to write at all.
And then maybe the rebel in me will.
