This is the magic word when it comes to finding an OB with a smidge over three weeks until my due date.
My appointment at the walk-in clinic was at 11:00 this morning. Which meant that it was just after 12 before the nurse called me back. Hubby went with me, and I explained the situation. She seemed confident that everything would be fine. I’d get a referral that day and deliver at St. Mary’s, the hospital with the best reputation for labor and delivery, which also happens to be 5 minutes from our apartment.
The doctor told a slightly different story. Yes, she could write us a referral for an OB consultation–she’d even label it “urgent”–but it would still be up to me to find a doctor. She would give me a list of hospitals nearby, including St. Mary’s, but I’d be on my own from there.
She did measure my belly and listen to the baby’s heartbeat, which she called “perfect” three times. But that was it. We were sent on our way with a “good luck” and a smile.
So I dropped Hubby at the metro station so he could go to work and came straight home to make some phone calls. The first few places brushed me off with a curt, “We’re not accepting new patients.” It wasn’t until I started dropping the U-word that people made the slightest effort to help.
Two hours, 11 phone calls, and one crying fit later, I have an appointment for Wednesday afternoon. With an OB that delivers at St. Mary’s.
I finally feel like I can breathe.