Firstly, thoughts and love to Belle on the Scrambled Eggs blog, who lost her little Pip after a long wait to fall pregnant, at 7 weeks gestation. Thinking of you. Visit and send her your love, say a prayer, send a thought. My little trifling concerns are nothing, and blog silence for a while seems appropriate somehow.
But despite this wish, I have a noisy brain, so I’ll hold off on the bump photo related post I was doing to do, out of respect, dump some mundane stuff on the page, and assure her many of us in the blogosphere are thinking of her.
And a big shoutout to Captain Complicated, who’s off for some vaginal embroidery this week (ie cerclage). Hope the recovery is smooth, your cervix behaves, and you get a nice satin stitch or french knot that you can make a real feature out of.
It’s a busy week in fucked up pregnancy land.
Today, ah today. We managed to confuse ourselves more. I went back on a solo mission to Dr South Korea, just the follow up appointment after the scan.
A land of smiles and choices. I was 20 minutes early. He looked up as he walked into reception, remembered me, said hello, then asked was it ok if we went in early?
He is so warm. Just easy to be around. Calm. Yet still thorough. He asked had we decided what we were doing today about obs, and I said I didn’t know, because we were virtually ready to switch when North Korea sent out the peace treaty to the UN and apologised. He emphasised there was no pressure, he was there if we needed him.
He told me about the recommended screenings coming up at 28 weeks. I thought 27 weeks was third trimester, but apparently 28 is. Whatever. We’re nearly there. He wrote down the tests he’d recommend so I knew what would happen next. He explained about Strep B swabs, and the antibiotics you’d get if this was positive to protect bub against pneumonia. Never heard of that one. Oh good, just when you thought it was boring, there’s more vag action.
He was pleased with my blood glucose levels and my new 30 minute daily walk around the neighbourhood. (Yes people, I’m moving my ass. With doctor’s permission. Finally. Those three blocks perambulated twice a day are a glorious release).
We talked about labour scenarios, about not wanting to go past term due to the diabetes, inducement, c-sections, possibilities of natural labour (which he basically views as a trial at my age, or at least wants me to see it’s a “let’s see how it goes” thing).
He even recommended whoever I go with to pay the big fee before 30 June so we get a bigger tax deduction as they’ve changed the medical expense rules in the federal budget. Geez. Talk about practical. And thoughtful.
The receptionist tried to bill me for a gynecological appointment. She didn’t realise I was pregnant. Apparently even in an obstetrician’s office, I can still hide it sometimes! We chatted after the Doctor had gone about why I was there for a second opinion (I believe I used the words “prick of a doctor” and she laughed. And said Dr South Korea is not only lovely but brilliant….).
He really does talk to me like I’m a person.
And I walked out really relaxed, but confused.
There is something in my head that says to be “good” it has to be “hard”. As though with a more abrupt doctor, you’re somehow getting “better judgement” or more of a “clinician” that might be better in an emergency situation. Rationally, I can’t seem to get through my thick skull that someone could be “good” and “nice”. That I could both be cared for with a great deal of medical ability, and a great deal of bedside manner. My heart feels like there must be some “cost” to this being treated like a human being palaver. I try to picture the labour ward with one, then the other. And I’m just confuzzled. (confused, and puzzled at the same time).
This kind of mental process could possibly explain some of the men I’ve dated in the past………..(not you, hub-in-boots).
I then proceeded to spend three hours thinking I’d lost my Iphone and retracing my steps through the local shops I’d stopped at on the way home, finding it IN MY CAR (oh god you should have seen me trying to ring myself on the cordless house phone from where it would not drop out in the front yard, dumping it on the ground, then running to the car to rummage for the mobile, then running back to dial myself again.). I found the mobile. It would have made a “funniest home video” had I not been in such a ridiculous kerfuffle. I needed the Benny Hill soundtrack.
THREE HOURS later when I went for my walk, after my first circuit of the neighbourhood, I found I had LEFT THE BACK CAR DOOR WIDE OPEN.
Because everyone is completely mad in this neighbourhood, no one even noticed anything out of the ordinary about a wide open car door. Or tried to steal the car. Or anything in it.
One saving grace was I managed NOT to flatten the battery.
Talk to me about baby brain.
We probably need to decide on a doctor before the decision flow chart in my head gets so busy that I accidentally walk in front of a bus.
Gumby is 27 weeks 2 days, rolling over and doing weird shudders more than absolutely belting me all the time now, he weighs 1.3kg, He wakes me up several times a night and my ‘sleep all night’ routine is now punctuated by being kicked awake and near constant peeing.
Given his 5am gymnastics, I think he might be a morning person. So I’m not sure we’ll get along, but I’ll do my best.
I leave you with this book, which summarises our parenting aims. I borrowed it from our local library. I’ll report back on it’s usefulness shortly. The title comes from the poem below, which you may have seen before, but is, nevertheless, a laugh.
This Be The Verse
by Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another's throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don't have any kids yourself