There is probably a really good method for choosing your OB when you’re expecting. It probably involves some research, maybe knowing where you’d like to deliver, some interviews with doctors to see if you mesh well, or internet stalking and background checks for some people.
I didn’t even know what kind of appointment I was signing up for. My thought process was more like ‘Well, I went to this clinic last time, I think it’s a hospital.’ So I called them and told them to sign me up for something to check that I was pregnant. My main goal was getting an appointment after work so I could avoid telling my boss about being pregnant.
Wednesday, June 26 at 4:30 pm.
I had Nathan come along because it’s the first baby appointment and we hadn’t told anybody yet, it seemed like it would be special to share together. It started out well enough, lots of questions about family history and finding out what kinds of genetics we have, that sort of thing, we even got a book on pregnancy. Then it turned into a full-on gynecology appointment.
Giant, awkward, paper-napkin sheet thing that doesn’t really close or cover much of anything and always seems drafty, but in a lovely pale pink. So I’m laying there trying to stay relaxed as the OB is looking up my napkin skirt with her giant flashlight and poking around at my uterus – she could at least buy me dinner first. Then as I think she’s about done, she offhandedly mentions, “This is always the worst part.” and before I can wonder what she means, I realize there is a finger in my butt. I don’t even know how to react to that, she says something about a backwards-tilted uterus, but I’m just kind of laying there a little shocked and kind of giggling at Nathan as he’s wondering what’s going on down there. She must have found whatever she was looking for because she stood up and, while removing her medical gloves, asked if we had any more questions. Do I have any questions? I don’t remember, I’m still trying to decide if I feel violated by your finger up my butt!
After she left I told Nathan what was going on, he seemed to find it funny until I reminded him he’d need yearly prostate exams later.
At this point I figure the worst is probably over. I just need to get a little blood drawn, which historically hasn’t gone well for me, but I’ve learned to deal, and after the butt incident, I’m practically home free.
Wait, no – now I’m sitting in the chair, why do hospitals always smell so sterile? It’s unnerving. Do they keep all the blood in that refrigerator? I wonder where the needles are, oh look it’s that rubber band thing they put around your arm to make your arm all squishy…. Okay I’m freaking out now. Just calm down, it’s just a little bit, and Nathan is here to distract you.
The nurse asked me if I’d prefer to lie down, “Oh no, I’ll be fine, I just need to distract myself.”
She starts with my right arm which I guess wasn’t bloody enough because she asks if we can do the other arm.. Okay. sure. I’m still good. As she’s moving her vampire supplies to the other side of the chair, I notice a box of vials. Probably just where they store them.
My left arm was the winner and the blood starts flowing while I avoid eye contact with anything and everything on the left side of my body. I’m talking to Nathan, we start talking about a house we’re planning to look at the next day, and what we’ve liked so far of the houses we’ve seen already. Things were going pretty smoothly. Then I started to feel faint and told the nurse. I figured they had to be close to being done, they’d been draining me for awhile. I guess after I mentioned something all the blood drained from my face, I was ghost white pale. They grabbed an ice pack to put on my forehead to keep me from passing out while assuring me they were half way done. Only halfway!? The life is being drained out of me right now, this is what it feels like to be dying while extremely hungover and cold, and sweaty. Was the chair this wet when I sat down?
After about an eternity of this torture, they finally pulled the needle out. I was told they took 8 vials. EIGHT. I can talk myself into three, more than that is apparently pass-out-and-die-slowly land for me.
I threw up after that, in a fancy bag they have for people just like me. It may have been during, time moves strangely in the blood-sucking dimension.
They recommended liquids, protein, and an early bed time. So we went to Culver’s – my comfort food of choice. Then drove up to BP to catch the last 2/3 of my brother’s baseball game. I had to remove the bandage before we got there and pretend that I didn’t just have the most traumatic experience of my life.