Hospital Blues

Today I went in to the hospital to meet with my consultant...only it wasn't my consultant, of course, it was another lovely lady consultant from India. I am beginning to think that all of the OB consultants in the UK might be from India. Not a problem, merely an observation. I am actually starting to wonder if I will ever meet "my" consultant or if she even exists since her name (Ms. Arnold) doesn't sound even a little bit Indian. Maybe she will pop her head in shortly after I give birth to a healthy baby, introduce herself and then take credit for the entire affair. These are the things you think about when sitting in the waiting area of the Ante-natal clinic for at least an hour.

Actually, the first thing I thought upon settling into the waiting area was, "Good Lord, did a truck carrying miserable-looking ladies just drop off a load here?" Forty five minutes later, I was one of those miserable-looking ladies myself. Come on!! My appointment was at 10:00!! Hello!?

There was a TV in the waiting area, which usually annoys me since hospital TVs are never set to a channel that I would like to watch. Today it was showing Jeremy Kyle, a trashy British chat show. While I waited, Jeremy harassed a single mother for not spending enough time with her kids. Then he brought on a woman with terminal lung cancer who was on oxygen and berated her for continuing to smoke. I didn't want to watch, but the noise was so distracting, I couldn't concentrate on my book, Dewey, which was barely holding my attention anyway.

Finally, the doctor called me. When I came in she asked rather abruptly, "Why are you here?" Gotta love the NHS and British hospitality. So I had to go through my whole spiel about why I had been referred to the consultants again since this doctor had never seen me before and obviously hadn't bothered to look at my file. "Right, yes, you do need to be here." she confirmed.

I feel as though anytime I am dealing with obstetrical medical professionals here, I am being tested. They assume from the start that I am a completely paranoid idiot. After I go through my entire medical history, which is required at EVERY visit since I never see the same doctor, their body language changes, and they say something horribly reassuring like, "Right, yes, you do need to be here." Ah, validation...it's a start. Today's doctor said she was going to refer me for scans every four weeks to monitor my cervix and make sure it remains as it should. So I am happy that I now have a longterm plan. I am planning to stick the plan, and will my body to behave itself. (That's what's called the "power of positive thinking," and can't you tell I've got it nailed!?)

After this brief consultation, the doctor turned me over to a student who, for some reason, violently prodded my stomach while I lay on the table. Then she attempted to listen to the baby's heartbeat with no luck. The real doctor came over and immediately found the heartbeat, which sounded as strong and sweet as ever... not that I was concerned as I am feeling her engage in all sorts of acrobatics on a regular basis. Next the student measured my uterus and said I measured at 24 weeks. I chose to ignore this since she obviously has issues.

After that I was off. The doctor did recommend continued "rest" on my part. I have been resting for several weeks now since it is the only thing I feel I can do about my situation. So, unfortunately, you won't be seeing me at that prenatal aerobics class or even out doing the grocery shopping. Perhaps by the end of it all, I will have grown to miss the most treacherous Tesco, but for now I am very content to buy my groceries online.

The first big milestone is 24 weeks, and I have complete faith that 24 weeks will be here before we know it.