Monthly Archives: June 2010

The Doctor Dilemma

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During my last pregnancy, I had an easy time deciding which OB/GYN office I would go to.  I worked downtown, and would be there 40 hours a week, so I decided to go to a clinic downtown.  I figured chances were pretty good I would go into labor at work, and if not, the drive wasn’t so bad that I wouldn’t be able to make it to the hospital.

I picked a doctor that came highly recommended, and I absolutely loved her.  I had a great experience with the practice and with the hospital, but I didn’t automatically assume I would go there next time I got pregnant.  I didn’t work downtown any more, and it’s quite a hike to make just for an appointment.

So, in January when I came up pregnant, I ended up going to an OB office close to my house.  I knew the doctors and the nurses there, and was comfortable being seen.  I went through both of my miscarriages there, and started to feel like it might be the right place for me to go to deliver my next child.

Until Monday.

You see, Monday I called to make a New OB appointment, and I was informed by the scheduler that ALL patients must first have a ‘confirmatory’ GYN visit, where they do a pregnancy test and ultrasound.  Normally, and if I were a regular person, I would be very excited to get to have an ultrasound to confirm my pregnancy.

Only, my insurance isn’t great.  And they’re not going to pay for an extra ultrasound.  When I told her that I didn’t want the ultrasound, I was informed (over a period of being on hold for nearly 30 minutes) that it is clinic protocol, and EVERYONE must have that ultrasound.  I politely informed her that it was MY RIGHT as a patient to refuse any medical test for ANY reason, and that they couldn’t force me to have an ultrasound I didn’t want.  She told me that if I didn’t want to have the ultrasound, I would have to talk to her manager.  She then transferred me to her manager, who didn’t pick up.  I left a message, and my call hasn’t been returned.  Since Monday.

Quite frankly, I’m disappointed.  The customer service was awful, and it left me hanging up the phone feeling entirely pissed off.  If they had accepted that I didn’t want the ultrasound, they would have been out, what, 200-400 dollars?  But now that I’ve chosen not to deliver there, they’re going to be out the whole cost of my pregnancy.  Just for the record, Ronan’s delivery came to greater than 14,000 dollars, of which we paid 3500 out of pocket.

So, now I’m left with the question of where to go instead?  My instinct is to go back downtown to the doctor that delivered Ronan, but there is some bad mojo there.  One of my former coworkers (that hates my guts) is very good friends with my doctor’s nurse.  That nurse and I had worked together, and moved downtown together, and became close friends.  We used to go out to lunch together every week.  She was there for Ronan’s delivery because my mom couldn’t be, and I wanted someone there that cared about me.  But I haven’t heard from her since I left my downtown clinic.  She’s never returned my calls or texts.  I hate the idea that going there will bring up bad feelings, or even worse, that she would talk about me with someone that dislikes me after my visits.

I honestly believe she’s above that, because she’s a sweet, wonderful, caring person.  I guess all I can do is call, make an appointment, and find out.  If it doesn’t work out, I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I’m not very good at handling confrontation.  And I hate the idea of trying to find a new practice.  But no matter what, it will get done, because I don’t really have a choice.

A Secret.

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So many words in my head…

I don’t know exactly how to get them out.  I never know where to start.

You see, I have this problem.  I want to keep a secret.  And I’m terribly, terribly bad at keeping secrets.  Almost as bad as my mom, who frequently asks, “do you want to try to guess what I bought you for Christmas?  It’s really, really great!  You’re going to love it… … … Okay, I’ll tell you!”

I want to keep a secret, because after having two miscarriages, I’m not prepared for a third.  After experiencing the joy of finding out we were pregnant, and sharing the news – but then having to inform everyone of our loss afterwards – I feel like my legs were constantly cut out from under me.  I would be fine, no problem, happy until someone would look at me sadly and say they were sorry.  I was great, over it, moving on until someone would walk up out of no where and give me a hug.  I was getting on with my life until a lady in the check out line asked me how old my son was, and upon hearing he was 15 months proclaimed, “Well!  It’s time to try again!”

I was tired of being reduced to tears and the smallest of things.  I was tired of feeling that twinge of jealousy over friends that were finding out they were pregnant, or having babies.

So I decided to keep everything a secret.

Only… it’s on my mind.  All the time.  Every moment of every day, all I’m thinking about is my secret.  All I want to blog about is my secret, and related stories.  It’s all I can do not to shout my secret from the rooftops.

I told Brock last night that I can’t write, I have nothing to write because I can’t write about it.  His reply? “Well, then tell everyone!”

So here you have it:  I am pregnant.

Mom, I’m sorry you find this out here.  Jane, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you this weekend.  We were trying to keep it a secret!  To tell everyone once we were out of the first trimester, once we were out of the danger zone.  And then I realized… that’s not what I do.  I write about the good AND the bad.

The good.  Brock and I are pregnant again.

The better.  This time, we have a heartbeat!

The bad?  It’s been touch and go for a little while, with spotting and a subchorionic hemorrhage by ultrasound.

But I am seven and a half weeks pregnant, farther than I’ve gotten for sure with either of my last pregnancies.  I am sick as a dog, tired all the time, excited and feeling positive.

Please, keep your fingers crossed for us.  We’re hoping that this one sticks.

Also, if you work with me… outing this on my blog is the same as going public.  So feel free to talk about me behind my back.  Or to my face.  Whichever.

Sick!

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Ronan has been sick for almost a week.

He’s got a really heavy cough that leaves him gurgling, and he’s stuffed up.  My little mouth breather.  Poor guy.

His temp stays right around 101, but he’s active and happy.  He’s eating and drinking, and sleeping a TON.

Today, he slept in until 9:55am.  I couldn’t even stay in bed that long.  I got up and did dishes, cleaned fruit, and made breakfast.  It was kind of awesome.  It was actually all SORTS of awesome.

Brock and I have both been feeling under the weather, which may be a slightly less robust version of the bug that Ronan has.  But I’m tired of being cooped up in the house.  I miss going to the pool.  Or to the mall.  Or for playdates.

I don’t mind the sleeping, but I’d love to go out and have some fun.  Hurry up and get better, son!

Happy Birthday.

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I debated and went back and forth over and over whether or not to write a blog on my birthday about my birthday.

I tried to be really low key this year, and not point out that I was having a birthday soon every chance I got.  I didn’t talk about all the things I wanted, or count down the days.  I simply waited for it to arrive.

Now, it’s here!  I’m 27 years old today.  27 years young.  Twenty seven.

I don’t know what to say from here.  I don’t feel twenty-seven.  I don’t know how old I feel.  I remember twenty-two being a good year.  But emotionally, psychologically I guess… sometimes I feel forty.

No plans today but to hang out with my boy, spend some time with some girls that I love, and maybe dinner and a movie tonight.  (We got an AWESOME sitter coming.)  Plans we had made earlier in the week fell through because of a sickness, but that’s okay too.  We always make up for it.

Happy Birthday, Me!  It’s gonna be a good day.  It’s gonna be a good year.

Nightmares.

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I don’t know what is up with my dreams lately.

The other night, I had a dream that my mom was having an affair, and she was gloating about it to me.  I wanted her to tell my dad, but she wouldn’t.  I was SO upset by it, when I woke up I couldn’t shake the feeling.  I almost wanted to call my mom and ask her if anything was going on.  I don’t know where it came from, or why it bothered me so much, but it was awful.

Last night, I went to bed knowing that Ronan had a fever.  It was 101.9 at two in the afternoon, and when I checked it at his bed-time, it was 102.3.  It’s the highest fever he’s ever had, and fevers always freak me out a little.  I mean, seriously, besides some Motrin or Tylenol… maybe a cool bath, what really can I do?  I hate falling into that spiral of taking his temperature over and over again, so I don’t.  We put him to bed, and he slept well despite his fever.

But I laid in bed wide awake, trying not to imagine the worst possible scenario.  No matter how hard I tried, my brain kept taking over and pulling my thoughts in directions I absolutely didn’t want them to go.  There were so many ‘what if’s’ that I couldn’t shake them.

What if he isn’t alive when I wake up?

What if I should have him in bed with me right now?

What if his fever is 106 tomorrow morning?

He was sleeping soundly, and I didn’t see any reason to wake him up and bring him to bed with me… except for my own peace of mind.  That wasn’t a good enough reason.  So I left him.  And my brain went crazy.

I imagined waking up and finding him so fevered that his skin felt like it was burning.  I imagined taking him to the emergency room… not the Huntersville emergency room, but down town to the Children’s Hospital emergency room.  I imagined him being weak and tired, and unable to fight back as they gave him an IV.  I pictured them putting ice bags around him trying to lower his temperature.  I pictured being alone in the room with him while we waited for a doctor to come see us.  I held him as I felt him stop breathing, and screamed for help.  I screamed and screamed.  I laid in my bed and imagined myself doing CPR on my own son, that had stopped breathing for no understandable reason.  I told myself, “Stop it Mandy, stop doing this,” as images flashed through my mind.  I watched as my son was shocked with the defibrillators in an effort to restart his heart.  In my own head, I screamed when the doctor pronounced him dead.  I screamed and told the doctor he had no right to stop, and I continued trying to revive my baby.

I laid in bed, sobbing and alone, because I couldn’t stop the images.  I couldn’t catch my breath, I couldn’t move.  It was so real, and it was so horrible, and I just wanted it to end.  I wanted to turn my brain off, stop thinking, stop worrying… and I couldn’t.

All I needed to do was reach over and wake up my husband.  Or walk up to Ronan’s room and touch his face, to let me know he was okay.  But I was paralyzed with fear, tortured with the horror of my waking nightmare.

Last night, I shuddered with the imagined thought of having to call my husband at work, and tell him his little boy had died.  Last night, I rolled over on to my stomach, sobbed into my pillow, and cried myself to sleep.

Today?  Ronan has a fever of 101.4.  He’s active, eating, drinking, and feeling just a little clingy.  But he’s doing just fine.

Huh.

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Mandy, why ain’t you writin’ sumthin’ yet?

Oh oh oh.

Because I’ve been busy.

Ok, so I took a little nap this morning on the floor while Ronan watched Finding Nemo.  Whatev.  He came over every 15 minutes or so to make sure I was still alive.  (I was.)

But after that!  We got going.  We went to the pool for an hour, where Ronan was successfully dunked under the water no less than 5 times.  He comes up sputtering and laughing, so I guess he doesn’t hate it.

After coming home (I always know when it’s time, because he gets out of the pool and doesn’t want to get back in) we changed back into dry clothes and shared a snack.  Then, after a diaper change tantrum, it was nap time.  When someone figures out the magical diaper change that prevents all difficulties and tantrums, please let me know.  I may just sell my soul for it.  (Also, keep watching here for the “standing diaper change” instruction video.  It has helped.)

While Ronan was napping, I cleaned the living room (which NEEDED IT!) and put a load of laundry in the wash.  I also put away the laundry that has been sitting in the dryer since before I left for New York last week.  I did a load of dishes, got my son up, and fed him some lunch.  Ate a little myself.  Now, we wait for the next load of laundry to finish running, the dishes to be done, and we take a grocery trip to Target!

Why not get it all done in one day?  Then I don’t have to worry about it tomorrow.

By the way, Ronan has been dancing a lot lately.  Every time music comes on.  And I love absolutely EVERY second of it.