Yup. It’s still in full force here.
After a practically balmy weekend, where the temperature managed to climb (barely) above freezing two days in a row, the day of my long-awaited OB appointment, we were hit with this:
Hubby and I walked to the metro station near our apartment in a light flurry. It was cold, but manageable. We found the clinic, just a block from the metro, but when we went inside, there was no one to check us in. When the receptionist finally came out of hiding, I told her I was there for my 1:00 appointment and showed her the letter I was given when we applied for public health insurance, stating that I was covered for pregnancy. She asked if it was a copy and explained that I needed two photocopies for today’s visit and would need to bring an additional copy to each visit, in lieu of presenting my insurance card.
Wish I would have known that before the appointment.
So Hubby and I headed back out into a slightly heavier snowfall to walk across the street, make copies, and come back. Eventually, the receptionist got started on my file, which included many of the same questions I’ve answered over and over throughout this pregnancy.
You will not be surprised to learn that the trend of medical professionals making inappropriate remarks about ART continues. When she asked about my last period, I gave her the date but explained it wasn’t really relevant because this is an IVF pregnancy.
“You just have one in there?” she asked.
“Yes, just one.”
“I don’t know how women walk around with five or six in there. It just doesn’t seem right.”
How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?
Then I reminded myself, it’s just for a few weeks. Just until Thumper is born. I can handle this nitwit for that long.
We finally saw the doctor, and older Indian woman who had lots of questions about my medical records and went on and on about how the US is the only country that doesn’t use the metric system. She wanted me to get all sorts of tests re-done because she couldn’t find the results in my records. When I looked at them, I couldn’t even find the ultrasound we had done at 18 weeks, where we had the anatomy scan and found out the sex.
When she examined me, Dr. K did the group B strep test, but she didn’t do any kind of pelvic exam because she wanted me to get another ultrasound to check on the position of the placenta, information that was also apparently missing from my records. She did listen to the heartbeat (with a stethoscope! I didn’t think anyone did that anymore!) and said it sounded good. She also confirmed again that baby is head-down, and said I shouldn’t have any problem with a vaginal delivery.
Back in her office, she also informed me that she doesn’t do deliveries anymore. That I would get whichever of her colleagues was on call when I went into labor. I’m actually not too concerned about this. Even if I was set to deliver with her, it’s not like I have much time to build a rapport. I’m going to be giving birth with the help of a relative stranger no matter what.
As I sat across from Dr. K, periodically looking out the window to see the snow becoming increasingly heavy and wind-blown, I was instructed to go immediately from this appointment to the hospital down the street, where I was to register, get blood drawn, and schedule an ultrasound. I walked by myself (Hubby had to get to campus to take care of some administrative stuff), thankfully not far, and proceeded to spend the next two hours going from office to office, to labs, to radiology, back to labs, and finally out into the snow for my final walk to the metro station and then home.
By that time, the roads were slushy and slick, and I was grateful we’d decided to take public transportation instead of driving the short distance to the doctor’s office.
Hubby arrived home shortly after I did, and we went over some of the information I’d been given upon registering at the hospital. It was surreal and a bit overwhelming to finally be thinking about actually giving birth. We have a breastfeeding class and hospital tour set up for next week, along with my next appointment with Dr. K and the ultrasound.
As my due date approaches (and really, I know I could go into labor at any time), I’m holding my breath and crossing my fingers that this winter is on its way out. Somehow, I don’t think it’s a good idea to take the metro to the hospital on the big day.