Archive for July, 2008

The Last Date

Jason is coming with me to Paradise tomorrow. We’ll go to my midwife appointment and introduce him to everyone. Then we’ll have dinner somewhere. After that we’ll attend the water birth class and get to know the birth center and hospital a little bit.

I realized last night that it’s most likely going to be the last time we go out together without a baby for a long, long time.

I can’t say I feel sad about that. It seems like the needy-baby age just goes faster and faster.

We should take pictures.


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Naiah, Big Sis

Me: Naiah, what are we going to do with a baby when she comes out?

Naiah (age 3): Oh, I’m going to rock her. . . and sing to her. . . and pick her up. . . and put her down. . . and feed her. . . and talk to her. . . and give her a blanket. . .

Me: Are you going to help her so much?

Naiah: I take care of her all the time.

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So I had occasion to make a little trip to the local E.R. recently. (It was no big deal, but I’ll explain further on the baby blog when I get the chance.) To clarify, this is the local hospital where I will NOT be delivering a baby next month, unless something goes very, very wrong. It is, in fact, the hospital I sought to avoid by driving two hours out of my way once a month or more to find sensible prenatal care at the hands of midwives who are female and nurturing and not prone to conducting frequent blood tests on pregnant women or cutting them open during labor. That hospital.

So I head up to Labor and Delivery, get checked into a smallish, run-of-the-mill labor room, chat with the lovely nurse, and get hooked up to the monitor in bed. The nurse says I will be attended to very soon by Dr. D. The same doctor everyone in town says is the doctor to go to. Not that they have a lot of choices when it comes to OB’s, but of the available options, they say he’s the dude. I am as pleased as I can be, in a hospital with a C-section rate close to fifty percent.

So Jason and I watch TV for about two hours.

I get tired of waiting, unplug myself from the monitors, and head to the bathroom.

Dr. D enters the labor room. Starts up a jovial conversation with Jason.

I return. He introduces himself, asks a question. I answer.

He interrupts me to talk to Jason.

I try to finish answering.

He makes a joke to Jason.

I feel a little awkward and shut up.

He asks another question. And then talks to Jason.

I give up.

He doesn’t mind. He excuses himself to the hallway to talk to the nurse about a patient in the next room. She is an unhappy patient. A loud, laboring, unhappy patient. She moans and screams every few minutes and insists that “She’s coming NOW!” quite vehemently. Dr. D asks the nurse about her progress. The nurse says she’s just now at a good five, but progressing. Dr. D says he’ll check back in a few hours. Poor patient in the next room.

Dr. D returns with a stethoscope and more questions. He asks about swelling in my legs.

I tell him I have none. But before I can complete a sentence, his hands are suddenly groping up and down both of my legs without so much as a word. I refrain from hitting him.

Then he manhandles my belly as if it were a foreign object somehow detached from my person. And he talks to Jason.

I decide he will not be conducting any pelvic exams.

He doesn’t try. He does, however, question bitterly why I drive two hours out of my way for prenatal care, when he and the C-section-happy hospital are right around the corner. And again, ignores me. And leaves as quickly as he came. The nurse frees me to go home.

Now, let’s compare this to the midwives who

A. Knew my name, face, and history by heart within one visit.

B. Talk to me as if I might have something to say in return.

C. Do not touch me, except to measure my belly with a tape, and only with permission.

D. Insist that I talk to them, and listen when I do.

E. Wait up until midnight for me to call them at home, to tell them I’m okay and leaving the scary hospital.

Call me crazy, but I’d say that’s worth a two-hour drive.

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Looks like staying home is actually starting to pay off!

Who knew? I’m proud to have done our part by not going anywhere. Restores my faith in the power of supply and demand.

And it’s just in time for all those trips to Paradise next month.

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If Anybody Needs Me

I’ll be stuck here, on this squishy couch.

Don’t worry. I have the laptop.

If I go into labor, I’ll email you.

Bring a winch.

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Naiah (age 3): Mommy, can we go back to the fair today? Please?

Me: No, baby. The fair is gone. They left on Sunday.

Naiah: What the daisy?!

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I’m going to read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. As soon as I find it. Which probably means internet shopping. And I refuse to pay for shipping on books. So it could be a while. But I have a plan and a direction, and I’m excited about discovering new authors.

Look at me, all up into the current novels! I made it out of the eighteenth century!

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