The nice thing about blogging is that we get to choose our words. We get to take a simple thought like, “I had an OB appointment today” and decide exactly how far we want to expand upon that thought.
Right now, I could keep it short and sweet and tell you that everything was fine. I heard baby girl’s heartbeat, chatted with my doctor for a few minutes, and was on my way.
Except that wouldn’t really be the WHOLE truth. It wouldn’t include how it took me forever to find a place to park, and then there was a LONG line for the elevators. You wouldn’t get to imagine the look on my face when I got to the right place just in time to check in for my appointment and found a line of 20 women ahead of me waiting for a single receptionist because all of the self-check in kiosks were down.
And if I kept it simple, I wouldn’t get to vent about the nurse. The nurse who took my already lousy and frenzied day and made it worse.
She guided me back to the sink where they check urine samples, and as we walked, I was reprimanded for being late. “The doctor told me to ask you to please be on time in the future because you were really late today and she doesn’t have time to wait for you.”
This hormonal pregnant lady was handling the insanity pretty damn well up until that point.
So I snapped at her that I WAS here on time, but that I was stuck waiting in line for 20 minutes because THEY couldn’t get their sh*t together. (OK, not my exact words, but you get my point.)
“Oh,” she says. “I’m so sorry about that. How frustrating.”
Too little too late. She has already put me over the edge.
Next, we visit the scale. My favorite. And I have gained 1.7 pounds in the last two weeks, which is sort of disappointing, but also not totally insane. It could be better, but it could be worse.
Then, it’s time for blood pressure. And if you’ve read all of the above, you can probably imagine that I was already pretty high-blood-pressure-y at that moment. She puts the cuff on, starts the machine up, and then asks, “What was your fasting glucose level this morning?”
“Oh, I just assumed you were diabetic. You’re not?”
FUCK NO, I’M NOT. Innocent until proven guilty! And my trial doesn’t even start for another 7 weeks!
Mind you, the blood pressure cuff is on the whole time this exchange is taking place.
“Hmm… your blood pressure is on the high side today.”
No shit, lady! Maybe if you weren’t so busy making snap judgments about my health based on my waistline, my blood pressure would be closer to where it normally is.
(Allow me to pause here so I can take a few deep breaths and calm myself down because I’m getting pissy & indignant again just thinking about it.)
And you know what? It takes a HELL of a lot to ruin a day that starts out with sex. Even if it was 4 am sex. (Because neither one of us could sleep, so why not?) In almost ten years together, I can honestly say that 4 am mutual insomnia sex is a first for us. Partly because I am NOT a morning person, and partly because Catch usually sleeps like the dead.
Fortunately, that was the end of things with Nurse Stupid Face. All that remained was a perfectly lovely conversation with my OB that included statements like, “Your weight and blood pressure are good” and “The anatomy scan and your second trimester screen were both perfect.”
Also, baby girl’s heartbeat. And let’s face it, that little thump thump adds a silver lining to even the lousiest days.