So women and I don’t really click. (Don't worry, I'll whine about how I don't want a baby shower later). When I was little I was picked on by girls from time to time, and often I went to play with the boys. I think that may be because I was in a military family, and traveling every four years turned my brother and I into closer companions, until we settled down in Corpus where I would graduate. I was lucky to meet a group of people, all of us strange. We were friends, mostly female and two males and we all were together on a regular basis. We had sleepovers and little parties.. one of our friends, her mother owned a storage place and we would run throughout the vast number of little garages at night and try to spook each other. We’d hang out in the empty ones… and it was a good segment of my life that I greatly enjoyed. While there was a core of us, others came and went or stayed a while to make profound impacts.
I miss that sometimes. We changed greatly, each of us, and I do not regret that. However, having a nice variety of close friends was pleasant. I am not sure what it was about those particular females (perhaps because they too were of a unique variety) that made me so well adapt to them. Now is definitely a time when I could use them.
I feel a lack of trust developing between myself and a few of the men in my life, mainly because of the baby issue. One might argue that it’s hormonal however I have calculated and reexamined my logic and I believe I have a pretty decent case developing.
I was really disappointed in my appointment on the eighteenth. My father accompanied me, and I was very grateful because I felt that he would question everything.
I have to wonder if the nurse remembered who I was at all or if she had forgotten. She had another nurse with her who observed her actions. She told me first that I am anemic, and unlike usual in which she simply told me this, she came and showed me the paperwork. She showed how I had dropped from my original borderline measurement of 11.8 down to 9.8. I lost five pounds, which she congratulated me on and then said that I must have “had some swelling going on last time.” She said my blood pressure was good, a little high at 120/70 but the bottom number was good so that was ok. I was very guarded which was obvious, answering her questions with short phrases and not really participating in any conversation she tried to stimulate.
I kept thinking that I had nothing to be nervous or anxious about. Why? I live once, and in this one life, I have a chance to do right for myself and my child, and I feel strongly that my decision is the best and has been well thought out.
So then the doctor comes in. This is the second time we’ve met, and while I know he doesn’t know me I remember him. Upon our first meeting he scolded me about my weight. He likes to talk to me like a child when I’m in trouble, although I’m not sure why that is. This time, he scolded me about my iron levels, asking me why it had dropped so significantly, what had I done? Both times he asked I told him I don’t know, the way someone who’s playing along does. In other words, I just cooed, “I don’t know.” I mean really, I take my prenatal they prescribe, I take another daily vitamin including iron at night. Even when I told him I thought my prenatal had iron, he said he was going to give me more. He questioned if I ate my vegetables.. oi, twice. What a frustration! I’m very aware that I may not eat tremendously healthy, but my dinner almost always includes a meat, and two sides of veggies one always broccoli because that’s what Vincent likes. I don’t think he believed me. He commented that my baby’s growth was quite large… and that the larger the baby, well that “increases your chances of a c-section.” This seemed like my cue to step in.
I told him that I didn’t want a c-section. He immediately said, “Well no one wants a c-section.” I let him know that I was a large baby, my father confirming I was almost nine pounds and even he being large. He told the doctor that on both sides of my family most babies were large, and I told him I was confident I could handle it if my mother could.
Then I let him know I wasn’t interested in being induced. I began by explaining that I felt elective inductions were a bad idea, and that I felt strongly about this and didn’t want it done. He asked, “Well why would we do that?” I told him the nurse had explained that it was typical of the office to choose the day to induce and he assured me, “Well that’s fine.” At which point I felt I hadn’t quite made myself clear. I told him I didn’t want to have Pitocin used at the hospital just to speed up my labor, and suddenly, it was as if I had said something magical.
For some unknown reason, when someone says they don’t want to use a drug (a drug which, by the way, is not even intended for use unless there is an emergency situation) everyone starts in. Suddenly, people feel the need to school you on all these possible scenarios in which you will just have to use the drug.
The doctor began by telling me if I go a week past my due date, well I have to be induced. He and my father decided to tell me that if labor stops then I will have to have the Pitocin. The doctor told me, “I won’t risk your baby…” if there’s any situation he felt he needed it, I’d have to have it.
For someone who has had a normal, healthy pregnancy, it sure freaking seems like I am doomed to have something go wrong. I felt like I had to throw up my arms and say forget it. Instead I tried to keep my fuel by adding, “I understand all that. However, if it’s not medically necessary, I don’t want you to just say that ‘it’s been five hours so we need to go ahead and get this moving.’”
At which point, the doctor smartly replied, “Let me tell you, I don’t do anything that’s not medically necessary.” At which point I replied, “Well, it seems to me that elective inductions would be not medically necessary.” Apparently that didn’t really deserve a response from either party.
Even on the way back to my home, my father began to school me on why I’d need pitocin. He started out saying that in case I didn’t know, when the water breaks, chances of infection increase over time. I cut him off… “I know all that,” I told him, and then explained that most often times, however, the water is broken for you by the hospital to speed up birth, which then puts you in a predicament. Labor that stalls isn’t a big deal until the water breaks, however if a hospital intervenes to “speed up the process” and breaks it for you, well then yes, you’re pretty much screwed.
So why are men so quick to turn to the hospital? Surprisingly it is most often women, however doubtful they might be about your ability to handle the pain aspect, who are more likely to tell you to do it however you want as long as you are comfortable. I am still surprised that my father, a fervent believer in facts and figures, in rechecking and distrusting what any scholar might say, that he was quick to be so understanding of why I’d need pitocin.
My friend explained to me her husband questioned many of their preplanned choices, despite her wishes and their research, because the hospital staff scared him well. It’s not the first time I’ve heard of this. I suppose it’s the male way of maternal instinct kicking in, only it does so in a (forgive my French)half –ass way. I know my father cares about me immensely, but it’s as if all of the sudden, he doesn’t have any faith in me. It’s as though despite the fact women are designed to give birth, men see this need to protect them from themselves and “all the horrible things that could go wrong…” and instead of trusting us to know our bodies or provide support by conversing with us about our decisions and following through, they want to hand us over to professionals for safekeeping. Even if it’s the last thing we want.
I start to feel a little betrayed, and discuss my personal birth plans with my mother and my close friend and no one else. I’ve always been fairly headstrong, and even a little bratty when it comes to getting my way. I can’t tell if Vincent has an opinion, so I assume he doesn’t care one way or the next. This can also be a little disheartening when faced with so much annoyance. Because it leads me to this conclusion: I can’t trust my doctor whose logic I can’t follow entirely, I can’t trust my dad to make the decision I want, and I can’t trust Vincent not to get talked into anything.
I really, really wish I’d gone with a midwife. I wish I had paid more attention in the beginning to my feelings instead of thinking I should listen to what the majority said. Mistake on my part… but all’s not lost yet.. I still have some good advice rolling my way from my mother and my friend.
