Tag Archives: Appointments

On Progress

This morning I had my second (and hopefully final) phone interview for my second (and hopefully final) application for Medicaid. I have to say, it went so much better than the first one. My first experience with a live person at the Medicaid office left a very sour taste in my mouth. I spoke with a seemingly very bitter, very impatient woman who clearly had no compassion or people skills. This time, the lady was calm, helpful and wished me a good pregnancy (what’s left of it) and a good day. This may not seem like much to you, internet, but then, you may not have to deal with the Medicaid office. Trust me. Being wished a good day is almost as good as her handing me a wad of cash at this point.

I feel good. I feel like she explained to me EXACTLY (and not in a roundabout way) what I need to submit to them. (And I plan to submit it daily for the next ten days and then phone stalk and/or in-person stalk them for that same length of time.) I have all the information they need and I am pretty sure that there is little to no room for error at this point. (I am aware, however, of who I am dealing with and have not let out that sigh of relief just yet.)

I have an appointment with the county health department on Monday morning. This resulted when I spent over a week trying to get proof of my pregnancy correctly sent to the Medicaid office by the Health Department and was told by a gentleman from the department itself that his employees at the Health Center were incompetent and that I should not leave that office until the information has been sent directly to him and I have been given an appointment to see a doctor. This worked, but I had to wait two weeks and now really have no idea what kind of an appointment this even is. I know it will last two hours and that I’d better not be late. Or else, says the incompetent lady with the bad weave.

Either way, things APPEAR to be going in the right direction. And I am still optimistic. And I haven’t murdered or mamed anyone yet! Hooray! If you think about it, ladies and gents, send some good juju or prayers (or whatever good vibes you believe in) this way. I gotta get this thing going! My little bean is already a black belt in karate!

Related articles

On the Edge

I have been a bad blogger. I know, I know. Don’t hate me.

The truth is, I have been a little stuck inside my head lately. I have, throughout everything that has been going on, held on to the hope that my situation will work itself out and that, at the end of the day, things will be fine. This has been easier said than done. I applied for Medicaid at the start of this whole ordeal, after having losing my job and health insurance and have been not-so-patiently waiting and submitting all sorts of ridiculous paperwork to the powers that be, trying to secure medical care so that I don’t have a baby with 3 arms. At first, I truly was optimistic. Because I have heard that Medicaid can be a life saver, and even though I am proud and a bit too stubborn to readily accept help from people or even admit that I need it, I pressed on. I held my head high knowing that I am doing what is best for me and the baby. The health of my baby is more important than feeling defeated (because sometimes, internet, I do feel defeated and more than that, betrayed by a company that I was loyal to for years for firing me just days after the announcement of my pregnancy. Because, really?! How do they sleep at night?) I let my guard down and admitted I needed help. And you know what? The Medicaid system sucks.

After everything I did and all the waiting for results. Still nothing. Not only nothing, but now I find out that they denied my claim because they “did not receive all necessary documentation”. Mind you, their online system shows that everything WAS received over three weeks ago. BOTH TIMES THAT I SENT IT (just to be on the safe side). And I’ll be damned if I can get anyone on the phone who isn’t a total BITCH or who speaks English or who knows how to work the computer. (Seriously. This is not a joke.) So, there are unreturned calls and 45 minute hold times that end in absolutely NOTHING. Meanwhile, our little bean is just kicking it inside my belly. (And by kicking it, I mean kicking the hell out of ME.)

And I am six months along today. And I am starting to panic. Because I have no idea what to do. I have never felt more helpless in my life.

My Beloved has been wonderful. He reassures me that we will do whatever we have to do. And if he has to work 3 jobs, he will. I can be comforted by this for about 3.5 seconds, until I feel a kick or a hiccup and then I want to hurl many glass things at many walls and stab people and all sorts of other violent things. (This could have something to do with hormones…)

I desperately wanted to write a post about the Zaxby’s commercials about the fried pickles that makes me salivate and be all charming and funny, but I can’t. The reality is, this situation is sucking all of the charm and wit out of me and making me a big, panicky psychopath and I really just want some effing fried pickles and a prenatal OB appointment.

A Reality

Being knocked-up hasn’t been the easiest thing in the world for me to accept (yes, I know that you are all very surprised to hear this). It has been quite the process of coming to terms with things for me. I mean, I never wanted to have kids in the first place. The anxiety of the whole thing was almost too much for me at first. For someone who is really private about her personal life and seriously uncomfortable about letting just anyone in, it was quite the announcement to make that I was pregnant. (i.e.: “Hey! Guess what everyone! MB and I had sex a couple of months ago! And pretty soon, a child is going to come out of my lady parts!” Awkward.) Then, to top it all and add insult to injury, as soon as I felt confortable announcing my pregnancy to the masses and my employer, I was fired (coincidence? I think not.) from my job of almost four years! Naturally, this hasn’t been the best and brightest of experiences thus far. And I struggled so much with the reality of becoming a parent atop the loss of employment, insurance, stability, pride and many, many other things, that it was almost just easier to pretend it wasn’t happening to me. Even when I heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, six weeks ago, I was still kind of in denial. I cried my face off, worrying about how on earth I could do this whole motherhood thing. And for the first time, even despite all the vomit and heartburn and fatigue, it was actually starting to become a real thing. A REAL THING, ya’ll.

I can say that, through it all, most of my friends have been super fantastic. (I say most because some of the people who are my “best” friends have been little more than a faint memory since I told them about the pregnancy. And to them I say, “Screw you, bitches.”) They have kept me from slitting my wrists on more than one occasion and forced me to look at the positive aspects of having a baby.

1. I can eat McDoubles often and without excessive guilt. (There is guilt, but it is outweighed by the pure joy that the satisfaction of a McDouble provides to “the baby”. Because, all of us preggos know that it isn’t actually US craving the disgusting food, it is “the baby”.)

2. I can take naps. And not only do I not feel guilty about naps, but I also feel justified in taking them. After all, there is a foreign parasite in my pelvis. It is sucking the life out of me.

3. I am going to have an actual baby. Like, one that I made. I MADE IT. Granted, I did not do this alone, but whoa. I have some effing talent, for REALS.

Over the Christmas holiday, MB and I were able, through a gift from his sister, to have our first sonogram. For the first time, we were able to see this weirdo thing we created, as it rolled around in my belly (which, by the way, is totally the weirdest feeling in the entire universe).  I have to say, while it was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, it was also one of the most miraculous. Who knew that I would actually feel love for the squishy, little bean inside of me? Who knew that I would be so happy to see it wriggle around. I knew something was in there and I was reminded nightly when I lay down in my bed and felt the “quickening”, but it still wasn’t…real.

 

Well, internet…it is real. And it’s a GIRL! I’m gonna be a momma!

HOLY CRAP.

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.