I attended my first (and it's safe to say only) OB appointment on Friday, in my 16th week of pregnancy. I say only because it was an un--scratch that--believably unpleasant experience! Well, I can't necessarily say it was negative as far as hospitals go, as I did get in and out without contracting any staph infections or chronic pain, but it was definitely less positive than my alarming pregnancy test four months ago!
I show up ten minutes early, as ya do, though that makes no difference as I am the second one in the waiting room and the fifth one out. Whatever. Hospitals are like that. Moving on. Next, my weight and height are measured, and I am pleasantly surprised to find I've gained less weight so far than I thought, which is not a bad thing at this point.
I am then shuffled into the exam room to be asked the usual questions about any lingering filthy habits by the nurse. After I confirm that I have given up those habits (but replaced them with tastier vices like Dairy Queen and Oreos, though I don't tell her this because who cares about diet in a hospital?), she leaves me and says the nurse practitioner is going to talk to me before I get undressed and go through all the motions.
I shall call her Jane (or shall I?), and she walks in, sits down, introduces herself and asks how I'm doing in that usual 'how are you' sort of way. She never looks at me or offers her sanitary hand, which I find immediately disconcerting. We go through a similar list of questions the previous nurse asked, and then she leaves me to get undressed. I put the hospital gown on, laugh wholeheartedly in the mirror and putz around the office until she returns, by which time I am six months pregnant. I mean, you just cannot leave a pregnant woman waiting that long in a one-sided outfit with no access to a bathroom.
The PAP proceeds as usual, which I am grateful for because I haven't had one in over two years, and it goes rather quickly. We then prepare to listen to the heartbeat...oh weird! She procures the Doppler listener thing, which is handheld, squeezes the hot gel on my byelly, which is a lot warmer than I'd anticipated, and we take a listen. For the first fifteen seconds or so all I hear is outer space noise, and then (gasp)...there it is. Wroosh wroosh wroompsh wroompsh. Then we lost it and found it again on the other side of my melon-sized uterus. Wroosh wroosh wroosh wroosh. Gone again. I thought 'oh, an athlete! Oh no, not a softball chick...' but then I thought of what my potential midwife suggested to me about ultrasounds, that babies seem to move away from the heat, which is evidently fairly unpleasant to uber-sensitive fetuses (feti?). It seems that the Doppler device and ultrasounds are fairly similar instruments, though I pushed it out of my mind to enjoy the extremely new and eye-opening experience because it's early enough for me to maintain a bit of selfishness.
After that weird sort of instinctual joy Jane tops off the appointment with a delightful lecture on the risks of Down Syndrome, Spina Bifida, and my very specific time frame to get the not-always-accurate screening test for these and other chromosomal abnormalities. The lovely visit wouldn't be complete without filling this first time mom-to-be who's never even had a cavity with loaded warnings of sneaky and deforming genetic mutations. Ahhhhh yes.
I know this is all what she's required to tell me, medically, but not once during this visit does she ask me how I'm actually feeling, other than a single query into the caliber of my long-gone nausea. She never even asks if I have any questions or offers any positive insight into my extremely normal yet all-encompassing transformative experience of becoming a mother. The few questions I do ask seems to annoy her, as if the only things I need to know are what she tells me.
In recent years I have really moved away from considering the hospital or standard American medical caregiver as any sort of pillar of support (apologies to both my parents in the medical field) so I had no real expectations that my OB appointment would support any of the emotional or spiritual needs I have during this time, which is exactly why I am hiring a midwife. But for all the millions of women whose prenatal care is solely invested in appointments just like this, I'm surprised at how many babies and mothers make it past the first few months! I can't imagine how terrifying it would be to have any problems that would be considered "high-risk"!
I believe unless there is a legitimate medical or environmental reason to contain a birth or even most of the prenatal care to a hospital, then there really is no reason for that to be the standard for one of the most natural and common human processes. I could go on about my growing interest in midwifery and home birth, but it's 1am, and I will undoubtedly rattle on about this later when I am more eloquent and conscious.
The point here is that I left my first prenatal appointment feeling almost angry that I had been so powerless in that situation. This is my body, my baby, who is doing a lot more work than even I can comprehend, not a clinical procedure that can only be navigated by a stranger with a medical degree.
I admit there is a time and a place for the OB/GYN department, and I am grateful it is there when it is needed, but it is irresponsible to designate this treatment as The Way It's Supposed To Be. Not for me!
