Tag Archives: Anxiety

OB Visits: A Survival Story

My frist OB visit was about three and a half weeks ago. And I didn’t blog about it because it really wasn’t anything but a glorified and ultra-long GYN visit wherein I was only barely able to contain my homicidal tendencies while I sat in the waiting room under an air vent blasting 20 degree wind (seriously, gale force) directly into my face. I got there, expecting that I would be somewhat comforted to be in an environment where women go for their first confirmation, like a real medical one, that they are, indeed, growing a human. I thought that this, if anywhere, would be the place where I would find some serenity. Internet, OB offices, however frilly and ridiculously decorated they are, are not serene. My OB office struck me as impersonal and pretentious. And you may ask, “Why would you not run for the door the second you made this observation?” And my answer to you would be, “Holy HELL! I don’t know about OB visits or offices or even where another one is located in vicinity to my apartment. I don’t know what they normally look like! Or why the Medical Assistants all have the same haircut! Or why they want to freeze all the pregnant ladies into big ol’ preggo pops in here!  Why are you asking me questions like this?!” (A little crazy, maybe, but this is how I would answer you. And you would like it.)

 

So, two hours after I had arrived, paid an obscene amount of money for all of my co-pays for the duration, been informed that my insurance (due to as clerical mistake on the part of my office) was “invalid”, peeing in a cup and having a lady feel around inside my abdomen and inspect my lady parts, I had been told nothing. I was given a lab order and a prescription for Zofran and sent home with a future appointment. That was it. Did anyone confirm that I was pregnant? Nope. Did anyone do ANYTHING that was of any use or comfort to me? Absolutely not!

 

So, as you can imagine, I didn’t have high hopes for my second visit. (Except that maybe my BP wouldn’t be quite so high that the techs thought I was about to stroke out, I get nervous, what can I say?)  Someone, in passing, had mentioned that the second visit would be the visit where they would let me hear the heartbeat for the first time. But, I mean, come ON, internet. We all know that they would be telling me that this would all be just a cruel joke. You know, like April Fools Day except, in November. And not at all funny, mind you. So, again, denial sets in and I don’t even think about it.

 

Because there would have to actually BE a baby in order for anyone to HEAR a baby. Duh.

 

So, my second appointment was this past Friday. And I showed up early and I sat in the ice box (read: waiting room) and tried not to stare at all the bellies and wonder which ones of them was as bitter about being there as I was. I peed in a cup. I had my BP taken. I did not have a stroke. And then I was put into a room to fester (read: wait for the doctor). She came in after about 35 minutes, thanked me for my patience, went over a brief medical history sheet with me and then told me to sit on that weirdo table thing that creeps me out. I was reluctant. But she was so cheeful and adorable. I wanted to pinch her cheeks and/or kick her in the shins.  I couldn’t decide. But it didn’t matter, both would have been slightly inappropriate.

 

But I did as I was told and I lay back on the table and she put the cold goo on my tummy and we listened. At first I heard this loud “swush, swush” and was unimpressed. I was annoyed that I was freezing and that I could have been at home wrapped in a blanket, watching something uplifting on TV. You know, like Maury. And then the doctor’s face lit up and she said, “The really fast one is the baby. It sounds perfect.” I felt awful because although it was amazing to actually think about what was going on in that room, I really just couldn’t think about anything except bolting up and running out of there at top speed. I thought, for a second, that the doctor’s eyes were welling with tears so I promptly diffused the situation by saying something ridiculous, probably about sandwiches but I can’t really remember because the whole thing is a huge blur.

 

Just like that, though, it was over. There was some real evidence that I had not just spontaneously stopped menstruating and started craving corned beef hash. I am going to have a baby. A fucking baby, ya’ll. For reals.

 

So…like any expectant mom would do, I ran to my car, and started to cry hysterically and contemplate driving my car into the ocean, which, let’s face it, was only three blocks east. I could practically see it. I decided to go ahead and drown my fears and sorrows and all that stuff, not in the ocean, but in way too many dollar menu items from McDonald’s.

 

But me and the “baby”? We made it. We are significantly fatter than last week. But we are alive. And our hearts sound perfect.

Breaking the News

I think that one of the most daunting things about this whole, growing  a human-being thing, is that I will eventually, (not yet, because I am a chicken shit and am only 11 weeks after all) have to tell people that it is happening. I have told a few friends and some family and they have all been very supportive (some, ecstatic and have already started the buying of the baby things) but I am not looking forward to telling everyone else. I have a fair amount of anxiety about doing this for several reasons.

 

1. I am a very private person and have a general distaste for most people. This sounds cold, but I have my close friends and family and I love them, but do I want everyone else touching my belly? No. The idea of having to waddle around my office (full of 23 ladies) and talk constantly about diaper genies, makes me want to stick my head in an oven.  There are a couple of people in my office, in particular, that I would like to avoid talking to about my pregnancy. One of whom is a 31-year-old Mormon who has, by her own admission, never kissed a guy and talks to everyone as though we are heathens and, therefore inferior. (I have nothing against Mormons. I have a lot against really nosy, know-it-all people who are in my business all the time and will inevitably make a huge deal about how I am very vocal about not wanting kids in the first place and GASP! I am not MARRIED! Whatever.  Besides, I have someone who liked me enough to get me pregnant, who’s inferior NOW? Huh?)  I wish there were some way I could turn the baby bump off when I am around people whom I will potentially want to choke. If any of you ladies knows how to do this, please hit me up. I am getting desperate.

 

2. I am not a “kid person”. This is not a secret. I don’t understand people who, as soon as they get pregnant and/or have a baby, instantly forget how to be an actual person. It is like the baby has snatched any ounce of personality and likeability they have ever posessed and they become a walking, talking baby-obsessed freak. I am not afraid I will become that person, but I am worried that people will expect me to. Gross. (I understand that having a baby is a big deal and I don’t take it lightly, but I would like to, at least sometimes, give the illusion that I can still have an adult conversation that has nothing to do with the price of formula.)

 

3. I would like to avoid people, other than the child, calling me ‘mama’. For some reason, the instant you start showing, ‘mama’ becomes your name. Old ladies will call you ‘mama’. I am not above choking old ladies. Just sayin’.

 

I am sure that, if I thought about it more, I could come up with about 3 billion more things that will inevitably annoy the bejesus out of me once everyone knows my little secret, but I will stop here and just be glad in the fact that, currently, my secret is still just that. My tummy, however a little bigger and more annoying, is still just a tummy from what everyone else can see.