Grumpy Pregnant Lady Gripes about Doctors

Picture it. Almost eight years ago I'm much like I am now. Huge, pregnant, gearing up for a hospital delivery. Oh, and add in a nasty head cold that just won't go away. Three weeks before baby I go in for an office visit hacking and sniffing. "I think my cold has morphed into something wretched," I say. "Uh huh," says the doctor. "We'll want to keep an eye on that."

Two weeks before baby I go in for an office visit hacking so hard my stressed bladder can hardly handle it. "I really think this cold has taken a turn ..." "Yup, we'll keep an eye on it. Try Sudafed."

One week before. "I think I have a sinus infection, maybe." I'd never had one before, but the reading I'd done online sure pointed to sinus infection. "Huh, have you tried Sudafed?"

I go in for the induction afraid to take my Sudafed - what if I'm not "supposed to" take medications? After I get there I ask the nurse, "Could I get some Sudafed?"

It takes two hours for one half-power dose. By which time I'm an hour and a half away from giving birth and more intent on crying and hacking between contractions. Fast forward. Baby born, healthy, I'm coming out of that "labor haze" where the mind doesn't quite work right. I'm trying to feed Fish but have to pass him off to Dr. D to hack and spit green glop into a tissue. To the first nurse who comes in I say, "I really think I have a sinus infection." She explains how my mucus isn't the right color.

The next nurse tells me a nasty cold is going around and I shouldn't worry.

The next nurse asks rather curtly if I really want her to call a doctor up from ER to deal with me.

The next nurse makes me tea and explains how sinus infections always have fever and I don't have a fever. I forget to point out the regular doses of Tylenol I've been taking for afterpains.

I go home with Little Fish and begin hacking up blood instead of mucus. I call the doctor's office. "Um, I'm coughing up blood." "Oh, it's probably just an aftereffect of birth."

I don't sleep at night, even when the baby sleeps. I start to imagine infection bugs coursing through my neural pathways. On Saturday I comment, "This is the kind of thing that killed people ages ago." Sunday evening I have Dr. D call the doctor on call. The gist of the conversation: "Call in an antibiotic for my wife. Now."

Two days later I feel better than I had in a month.

So why is this little story coming back to me now? Because I'm again two or three weeks away from giving birth, again hacking and congested and feverish and feeling awful, again dealing with office staff who refuse to believe that I know what the f@rk is going on with my own body. The only difference, sinus infections have been a regular thing over the past seven years. I know what they feel like, and I know that when a cold "goes away" only to return the next day with fever and cement behind my eyes, I need what I need. Plus I don't care about the rules and regulations anymore. I happen to have an antibiotic in my medicine chest for just such an occasion. And you know what? Even though the nurse says, "We think you need an office visit for this," I can shrug and take the drug I need. By the time of my next office visit I should be feeling better than I have in, well, weeks.

Portrait of a Grumpy Pregnant Lady

I'm deep in the third trimester, I can tell. I spend much of my day feeling annoyed for no particular reason. Oh, I find reasons - the mail being late, clothes left on the floor, no healthy snacks in the house (because I ate them already), rain on the carpet of leaves outside, the dog breathing too loudly. Truth is, I'd be annoyed even if I didn't have to stand sideways to empty the dryer (for example). It's just that point in pregnancy - one I've reached three times before.

The difficulty now is that, when I'm grumpy (which is always), I feel pretty d@rn justified. So if the lady in a hurry in the parking lot speeds through the crosswalk because she doesn't want to wait for the Waddling Wonder and her three kids, well, I might do something a bit rash - say something unpleasant to her closed window. You know, something effective and mature.

My task over the next 5 weeks and two-ish days is to avoid ruining all my relationships. My thoughts go something like: no, don't tell the librarian she's a soulless bureaucrat out to exercise her artificial power to mask her own sense of inadequacy, so what if that guy ahead in line walked faster, Dr. D has only one more trip scheduled before baby - no need to rub in (again) that he'll be missing St. Nick's first band concert.

And wouldn't you know, while writing this the dismal rain quit, the sun emerged, and a ferocious wind is picking up - perfect for drying those unraked leaves. See? Does it really matter that some little vermin is munching away in the wall beside my desk? Does it? Ok, put the sledge hammer down ....

Long Lost Rug

When was the last time I took a photo of my rug-in-progress? Before the finger break, I think. Anyhow, here it is. I'm probably about one third of the way through. Far enough to realize I'll need a two-inch border to tie it all together.

Surprise, surprise - I like it so far. I especially enjoy the meditative act of hooking. Yesterday evening I put on a relaxation track that normally puts me to sleep and hooked. I finished feeling refreshed, relaxed. So in that sense, the doing is more important than the final product.

Enough procrastination! (Taking pictures of my rug, hooking my rug, mowing the lawn, more hooking, writing this post ...) Back to revision.

Picture Book of the Month: In November by Cynthia Rylant

In November by Cynthia Rylant. Harcourt, 2000.

Prose, but superbly poetic language. Take the very first page:

“In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures. The bed is white and silent, and much life can hide beneath its blankets.” 

A lovely metaphor that is vivid and gentle and fully accessible for any child. This continues throughout—trees are sticks and bones, spreading their arms like dancers; berries are the winter birds’ treasures; food smells orange. The story comes back to the bed image in the last line:

“...the world has tucked her children in, with a kiss on their heads, till spring.”

Beautiful, tender illustrations, a gorgeous book.