My OBGYN thinks I’m lazy. Or a whiner. Which I think might be worse.

Yesterday, Husband and I went to my 17-week appointment to listen to our bell pepper’s heartbeat, see how much fatter I’ve become, and verify that I still have a ridiculously healthy blood pressure. I also planned to discuss with her the episodes I’ve been having of stress-related cramping that won’t go away until I lie down in a dark room.

THE VERDICTS:

1. Baby’s heartbeat: 155.

2. Mommy’s weight: FRIGHTENING.

3. Disgustingly great blood pressure as per usual. This makes me feel better about #2.

4. My doctor mistook my concerns to mean that I was asking her for a note to get me out of work.

5. I’m still mad at her about that.

Husband sat in the corner holding my purse as I tried to succinctly explain my concerns. I mean, I know she’s busy and I didn’t force her to listen to a drawn-out speech. I kept it simple. I thought I did a decent job. But her response, and then my responses, must have been comical because by the end my purse-holder was cracking up. He never did explain to me what was so funny. Maybe it was the way I bristled when she cut me off toward the end and said “there is no reason for you to not be able to go to work.” 

WELL … no shit, doc. That’s not what I was asking you. What I was asking, was if I should be concerned that whilst working, and getting screamed at via the telephone, I start to cramp. Or really if I’m in any kind of stressful situation.

Apparently the fact that I have great blood pressure and carried ONE to full term without any problems means that I won’t have any problems with this baby. At least that is what she said. But that information doesn’t mean anything to me, because I miscarried my last baby … a fact she never seems to recall. My doctor, who probably hears women complain every day of the exact symptoms I described, dismissed them. On one hand, it made me feel better. She told me if I can manage the stress on my own then that is best. There is no need to prescribe me preggo prozac at this time. 

I have a very dear friend who is a doctor, and I try to think of her when I’m speaking to other doctors … but honestly, I hate them. All of them, except for my friend, and the nice man who looked like Santa Claus dressed like Dexter The Serial Killer who delivered ONE. I feel like doctors are always in a hurry and intimidating and I ALWAYS feel like an idiot after asking a question. Why? Because I get a generic, canned answer. I could have saved myself the trouble and just looked it up myself in my battered copy of Back To Eden.

We left, I angrily snacked on a cheese stick that I unearthed from my purse and told Husband that from now on, I’ll do what she said: I’ll manage my stress in my own way. I’m going to birth this baby in my own way. I am going to listen to my instincts. I’m annoyed and I’m hormonal … and maybe THAT is why he couldn’t stop laughing at me.