Tuesday morning was my 14 week obstetric check-up, and boy did it bring up another valid point of pregnant: your control is severely limited at this point. Those women that make a birth plan, type it on colored paper, print multiple copies (for the nurses, desk staff, doctors, and ice chip fairy), and laminate them all…uh, yeah, your big ol’ surprise is comin’ ladies. Because pregnancy is a time when you pretty much have zilch in the way of control. Oh, you can plan…and of course, I plan to plan…but don’t bet on God handing you labor & delivery in a nice, neatly wrapped little package. We already know it doesn’t always happen that way.
And what might have resurrected this point of pre-congnizance, you might ask? Oh, a little ol’ 6’4″ bundle of smiles named Dr. Fishman. Okay, that’s not really his name, but for anonymity’s sake, I’m changing it to something that closely parallels his true moniker.
Dr. Fishman, bless his heart – he walks in the room with the posture of a frightened cat, and then unleashes the least compelling personality I’ve ever encountered. I wasn’t sure what to say. He asked how I was feeling, I answered “a little light-headed at times, but good,” and he replies with “But you’re KEEPING FOOD DOWN, right? Right? Because if not, you NEED nausea meds! So are you keeping food down?? And LIQUIDS, too??”
Egad, Lurch, you seem to need a slathering of that grimy ultrasound gel, cause you have gotta cool down. Like, yesterday.
While I won’t go into it in too much detail, the man was just highly agitated or irritable or something – I think it was his “time of the month” – and didn’t really ever loosen up in the 5.5 minutes that he was in the room with me. Baby’s loud heartbeat filled the room, NO expression. Just “Okay, so that’s good.” Totally straight face! And then when he suddenly wanted to move my practically pre-scheduled 18-week ultrasound to 19 weeks and I (very politely and gently) requested that he not do so merely on account of the fact that my husband would be traveling at 19 and 20 weeks, he seemed REALLY perturbed! Hilarious! I bet if I’d pinched him at that moment, he would’ve squealed, the man was so high-strung!
But “lolzlolzlolz,” briefly agitating him was worth it, as he gave in and allowed me to keep my already set ultrasound date. April 12th, 9:15 am, baby better be ready to spread ’em because momma wants to know if it’s a boy or a girl already. This is no time for modesty, kiddo!
But you know, my funny and slightly unsettling appointment with Dr. Fishman – because, ya know, there is a 1 in 8 chance that he’ll be the doc on-call the day/night that I go into labor – brought me to recall an even funnier memory of male gyno/ob docs. Anyone ever heard of Steven Lynch? If you get a chance, google the song “Dr. Stephen,” and that’s exactly what was playing in my head (against my better efforts to shut it off) when Dr. Fishman started the nausea meds freak out. Ooooh dear….
Until next time, peace and love!