I had a few nasty contractions last night and realised something quite profound: I can handle dull, severe pain, but not sharp stab-you-in-the-ovaries-and-up-to-your-gut pain. Of course, they amounted to nothing and weren’t close enough together to justify any hasty judgments. I was awoken at 3:30 a.m. (‘please no, I need some sleep’ I murmured) and then again at 5:30.
Just after 9 a.m. I made a call to my doctor’s office.
“Hi, I just wanted to confirm my appointment this morning – I can’t find my appointment card.”
“Oh hi Siobhan, I was just about to call you next…Dr. Montgomery is out today ill.”
“Oh…”
“Would you be interested in seeing Dr. Jennings?”
“Not to be rude, but no thanks.”
(I’d seen him 3 weeks previous and he ‘rubbed me up the wrong way’. I didn’t want to have to talk to him again and hear his snide remarks – I’m assuming he was trying to be funny. Or something.)
“How about Monday morning with Dr. Montgomery?”
“Well, I’m due on Sunday though.”
“Would you like to see one of the Nurse Midwives? How about 11:30?”
So we went and saw her and that was definitely a new experience. I’d never had my uterus measured before or heard the heartbeat just through a sonogram. She was also pretty persistent on me not having an epidural and wanted to know how many classes I had attended and how much I had benefitted from them.
I’m definitely of the persuasion that if God made mankind smart enough to develop ‘the Cadillac of pain medication’ (as my previous doctor coined it), then I’m going to use it. I don’t think I’m any less of a woman for not going natural or that that somehow makes me a bad mother.
After she checked me (still 80% effaced and dilated to a 2-3), she asked me something I wasn’t expecting.
“Would you like me to strip your membranes?” I stared at her blankly. (And did I look that desperate?) Then she continued, “do you know what that is?”
“Yeah, I know. No it’s okay, I’m fine, I think I’d rather wait.”
One, she’s not my doctor, and two, I wasn’t ready to go through that, especially since we had Ian with us and no one around close to watch him if I suddenly went into labour.
So we left the doctor’s office a little forlorn that I hadn’t progressed any further along and made another appointment for next Wednesday at 4:15 in the off-chance I may still be with child.
We picked up some more things around town while we were there, and while Bryan was outside trying to jimmy the car door lock open with a bent coat hanger to get to his keys out of the ignition*, Ian and I walked around Costco slowly (not by choice, I swear the baby’s head is resting under my pelvis) and got a few things we needed. And a few things I thought we needed too. I was just about to head up one aisle when a sweet older lady who was approaching me, smiled and enquired:
“When’s your baby due, dear?”
“Sunday.”
She made a funny “OooOooh” sound and her hand quivered over her mouth – which I thought was a nice touch – and then she added, “you’re brave!”
“Well, I’m in Missoula, so I’m okay!” I laughed.
The ironic thing is, on the way in, the door attendant exclaimed, “when are you due, tomorrow or the next day?!”
“Sunday.”
I think she was joking when she asked, but her face fell a little when she heard my response. Then she added, “I can’t deliver babies, I don’t do that…!”
So, we’re just getting on with things til the little one decides on making an appearance. Bryan’s going back to work tomorrow (again, hopefully this time for longer than 30 minutes) and Ian and I will play puzzles and make 2-piece jigsaws and colour. Other than that, I’m hoping for a fairly quiet day.
And in the meantime, our packed bags sit on a couch close to the door out to the garage.
* There was a lady in the car park who’d called a tow truck and Bryan snagged him while he was still around to get the door open. Goodbye another $35.
a Brit different 