Possibly the Most Foul-Mouthed Entry I've Ever Published & That's Fucking Saying Something
October 02, 2008
Oh my God.
Oh my FUCKING God.
No, seriously. Sit down. Are you sitting? I have to tell you something. I will probably sputter and swear and knock over your coffee. Then I'm going to need you to stand up and shake me. Or slap me across the face.
So I had an OB appointment this morning. Not with my regular OB, but the new doctor he just brought on as a partner -- you know, just in case I go into labor before my SCHEDULED C-SECTION and my doctor isn't available. I liked her! A lot! She took her time, asked a lot of questions, let me listen to the heartbeat for longer than usual and determined that the baby is indeed head-down (yay!), biggish but not 10 pounds biggish (yay-ish?), and my cervix is still closed (boo!).
She asked if I had any questions, and at first I was all, noooo, and then I was all, oh yeah! About that SCHEDULED C-SECTION? On the 15th? Less than two weeks from now? Uh...what time am I supposed to show up for that, and stuff?
The nurse looked at me kind of strangely. "Didn't <Office Manager Person> call you about all that yet?"
Uh...no! Should she have?
Okay. So...here's the thing about SCHEDULED C-SECTIONS. They do not, apparently schedule their own damn selves. At some point in the scheduling process, SOMEONE needs to call the hospital and like, actually fucking schedule the fucking c-section.
Mine was not scheduled. There's a nice little note on my chart stating that yes, I am to have a scheduled repeat c-section on October 15th and...that's it.
At this point, I do not really KNOW that my surgery was never scheduled. I put my pants on and go out to the waiting room, hoping that the forgotten phone was just the one to ME, not the one to the HOSPITAL, I mean, COME ON. I adore my OB and have put up with a LOT of disorganization from his office staff over the YEARS AND YEARS I have been a patient, but...seriously. No way. Somebody fucking called the hospital. I'm sure they did.
But then the nurse is there with a prenatal vitamin branded pen and a pad of IUD branded post-it notes, asking me for the best number to reach me at and...WAIT FOR IT...whether or not I felt "strongly" about my regular doctor being the one performing the surgery or would I be okay with the other doctor -- WHO I JUST MET FIVE MINUTES BEFORE FOR THE FIRST TIME -- because that would just like, make this sooooo much easier for them, you know?
I just stared at her. And stammered. Because...wait. BACK THE FUCK UP.
"It was never scheduled." I said. Just to make that clear, since she seemed like she kind of wanted to skip over that part.
"No." she said.
I waited for an apology. She asked me again how strong my preference for my own doctor was. I became vaguely aware of brain fluid leaking out of my ears.
After I stated that yeah, uh, I wanted my own damn doctor, full stop, she smiled and said she'd go ahead and tell <Office Manager Person> that I needed to be scheduled with my own damn doctor. Like she was doing me a favor. You know, because I'm 38 weeks pregnant and clearly a little wrapped up in SILLY INSIGNIFICANT DETAILS, like actually caring about who performs major abdominal surgery on me and delivers my child.
My doctor is, surprise surprise, overbooked. The hospital is likely booked at this point as well. I am waiting for them to call me and let me know what they've been able to work out. I am to call them if I don't hear anything by 3:30 this afternoon, which...DUDE. YOU DO NOT WANT TO MAKE ME DO THAT. YOU WOULD BE WISE TO CALL ME OF YOUR OWN ACCORD.
I am also mentally apologizing to Katherine Heigl's character in Knocked Up, because I called her a bitch prima donna for getting so worked up about her doctor being out of town when she went into labor, like whatever. God. Also fuming. And pacing. Also composing an email to my doctor about what happened this morning, which is not going well. Wording suggestions would be welcome, since I have lost the ability to form coherant sentences without a lot of FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK CAPS LOCK GAH SMASH and the like.
*glares angrily at phone*
I realize, of course, that this is not the end of the world or anything. It could all still work out fine, with my doctor, hospital and date of choice all being available after all. There was always the chance of going into labor on my own and ending up with a different doctor, of being rushed into surgery instead of a calm, scheduled appointment, of booking across town in the middle of the night to drop Noah off with friends instead of having grandparents already here and in place and ready to go. If I'd met today's doctor a few months ago instead of a FEW HOURS, I'd probably be just fine with her performing the surgery. I could go into labor tomorrow (FAT FUCKING CHANCE THOUGH) and push the kid out just fine (PFFT) and laugh heartily at this whole fiasco because babies! They do like to fuck with you, don't they?
WHAT. THE. FUCK. This is a fucking heap of bullshit, and it's making me stabby.