Today's appointment might best be described as a piece of paper. In my mind's eye, I imagine that the doctors have this piece of paper, and that it has a bit of information on it. With this, they will tell me what to expect after reviewing my family history. They will draw blood to determine how high the anitbodies have risen, and as previously informed, I will get a sonogram and get to see my little munchkin in action.
Well, that piece of paper is blank. Basically, as I walked into the specialist's office, accompanied by my two men (Vincent and my father), we might as well have been going to war on an empty battlefield, the enemy still in their tents reviewing a blank map, their eyebrows raised as they exchange, "huh"s of wonder. Now most people would side that, "No news is good news." I, however, fall into the vastly underappreciated category. Knowing is always better while not knowing encourages wonder, often uncertainty and even fear of the unknown. If you're going into battle, be armed. If you are going to undergo a new hobbie, take a class. If you intend to work a job you would be trained, correct? Why shouldn't the same care be given to things that directly affect your body or well being? But I digress. I am sure you are tired of hearing me whine about how knowledge and research is important. What I am attempting to emphasize is that I had done the research, made the effort, all the while patiently waiting, yet anxiously aware that this coming appointment was going to be a turning point for me. On a positive note, at least someone would finally provide me information about, well... me.
Instead, I fill about a plethora of forms, all involving family history, medical history. Check here, or here. I became so annoyed by the process I started scribbling all the NO answer boxes down the columns rather than taking the time to check each one.
After compiling all of this information, I am taken into the back where they once again do the prodding. Apparently when you are pregnant, never assume that you can just eat what you want (thank goodness I am dieting!) You'll only feel shame as EVERY SINGLE TIME you go to the doctor's office as you will be weighed and talk about your weight. (As a private side note, at least my diet is actually working according to their scale anyhow). This round the nurse tried to ask how much I weighed before I was pregnant. Hah! I skipped that embarressing fiasco by stating, "I dunno. I never weighed myself," at which time she gave me a scolding look. Too bad for her that was the truth. So she had to pull from the weight my other doctor had taken from my original appointment. I know, I know, they are doing it for my own good. But you try having the same questions asked over, and over, and over and over and see if you don't start getting an attitude. On three of the forms alone I filled out I had to mark the date of my last period. Ummm, doesn't all this go to one file? And if not, can't you just compile all the information neatly into a single file? Why repeatedly have the same stupid questions. This isn't a job interview, I shouldn't be double questioned to test if I'm lying. Sometimes I feel like shouting, "I'm not a cow! I'm not part of a herd, nor am I here so that you can prep me for butchering, comparing me to the perfect cut. I'm a human being, different from everyone as they are from me."
But again, I am getting off topic. Sorry, however, this task is what took up most of my time.
Next, the nurse looks over my family history, at which point my father points out that both he and my mother are A+. He also lets her know that according to my military records, as a child I was claimed as being A+.
"So somewhere a mistake was made," she responds.
"Clearly," begins my father, who proceeds to discuss her all of the things they will be retested for. At this point, the nurse admits that the antibody was not even identified. In other words, not only are they having doubts about my RH factor now, but they aren't even certain what kind of antibody I tested for!
Thus, we are guided back into the waiting room and about ten minutes later the nurse reemerges to inform me that they don't know anything, so there's really nothing to discuss yet. They need to draw more blood, to retest everything altogether, and I am to return on the 21st of December for a follow up. Ummmm, hello? The original lab that drew my blood has one job. To analyze my blood and report back what's in it and to identify any abnormalities. Are you seriously telling me this lab just jotted down a freaking question mark (or some highly technical term which might as well translate to just that) and sent back the forms after taking all those vials of blood?
I was then escorted to the specialist's lab to give more blood, where (upon having isolated me from the boys) the nurse starts to question along with the doctor if I have ever been pregnant before. Again with that stupid question! So, holding my temper, I said, "I've been repeatedly asked that. It's nothing against you, but I am becoming increasingly frustrated with it. Even my last nurse asked if I was sure.."
Luckily for me, this is when they become lighthearted. Perhaps it was the absence of men? Talking to me one on one? I can't be certain, but it might also have something to do with the fact that I was not just a a tool that did something. The doctor laughed, said she understood, that they just had to ask but would assume that I was sure of my own history. The nurse even added, "I know you're frustrated, but we are trying to do the right thing." At that point, I sighed and admitted, "I'm not frustrated with you. I'm frustrated with the situation." She said she understood.
Truthfully, I can't harbor anything against them. It's not their fault they weren't given any information. They were handed my case and have to make the best of it. The only truly disappointing thing to top off my visit? I didn't even get to see a sonogram. Nope, no baby pics, not even a heartbeat or even the witnessing of a bit of movement. In my upset, I have to say, why not!? It takes less than five minutes to do one! I don't understand why the medical feild limits us to as few sonograms as possible especially with the stress. If I want one, why can't I have one? The bullcrap about how much it costs to run doesn't fly with me either, considering how much they rake in per appointment (just to weigh me and talk to me for less than an hour you want how much?! Thanks, I'll stay home...) But no, apparently this particular clinic didn't want to do one unless they could validate a reason (aka. to test if something is wrong), which they won't be able to do until eighteen weeks. Then they intend to look at the bone structure and the growth to determine if there are any abnormalities. So no, I couldn't even see what my little bean had become over the last month. What a waste. I should have at least got it as a "free gift with completion of a**load of forms."
The day continued on, and I must say when one things goes awry, it all does. Next thing I knew, Vincent was texting me, saying that the shirts I washed that he wears have black stains on them. I can't help but feel jinxed. Once, long ago, I had warned him, "I'm the type of girl that wears a white shirt, doesn't eat ANY food, and still manages to get a mustard stain down the front." I don't know why I thought that might have changed, especially with being a mom and all. I actually considered being really upset for a while. I told him, "I understand if you don't want me to touch them anymore. I have the worst luck with these kinds of things. Don't know why I thought it had worn off." Yet for all that bad luck, at least I'm lucky enough to have someone to make me laugh. He promptly decided to tell me jokes. So while yes, Vincent may have his head in the clouds about the seriousness of the whole baby thing, at the least the child in him inhibits my serious nature, making me far more relaxed than I would be otherwise, and making me smile a bit more. I'd say it's a nice balance for this dreary situation.
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