I left my last doctor's appointment with a bad taste in my mouth. It wasn't his fault; really, the hormonal, irrational part of my mind had taken over that day. It had been a long one; the kids were coming off two full days of testing and were acting accordingly and they seemed to know that my energy levels were dropping, so they preyed on me. My appointment was at 3:30 but because my doctor had a delivery that morning, it was an hour behind schedule. I had been sitting in a hot waiting room with loud voiced people and I was on edge. The nurse called me back and took my stats and made a comment about my blood pressure being elevated. That comment probably elevated it even more, as I've taken pride in the fact that my BP has been perfect all 500 doctor's visits I've had. Then, I'm taken to an exam room and told to get ready for a pelvic exam, which basically means take off your pants and underwear. I did that and proceeded to wait for 45 more minutes with just a paper sheet covering me and nothing to read nor my cell phone. I didn't want to risk getting up and getting it because what if the doctor walked in at that same moment and I was rustling around the exam room with no pants on? And it's not like you can rest on those little cots that are angled in a weird way, you can't really sit up for a long time on them nor can you lay on them for a long time. Especially when you're pregnant and it takes a few pillows, a squishy bed and your baggiest pajamas to make you feel comfy. So, I had a bad taste in my mouth before the doctor entered the room. Then he came in the room, his normal jovial self, but I found it hard to reciprocate the attitude. He then proceeded to "fish hook" me, as my husband so lovingly puts it, all the while talking while I am gripping the bed in pain. Only then do I hear, "well, Virginia, nothing so far, see you next week." And he was gone. I was in that office for two and a half hours for a five minute exam and no progress. I vowed to never come back, then realized I had to. I was dreading yesterday's exam, but bolstered myself because I knew hubs would be with me.
The office was only about 15 minutes behind schedule and don't ask me why. I will never understand the inner workings of a doctor's office, even though I have reason to believe yesterday's delay was due to the well dressed pharmaceutical reps that were walking around with their wheeled suitcases. Hubs was with me, so that was nice. We chatted and watched SNL skits on his phone while we waited for the doctor. He fish-hooked me again and my husband lost all the color in his face, which I would have found amusing if I weren't in a large amount of pain myself. He then said, "oh, you've made progress, you're 2 centimeters dilated." That's all I needed to hear. It doesn't mean the baby is coming today or tomorrow, but it means that something is happening down there, which I didn't think would happen. He then seemed so concerned about this new development that he said he wanted to see me again on Thursday. I was dreading the phrase "see you next week," because next week we'll be back in school again and I would REALLY like to not go back to work.
So, Dr. Kelley and I are back on good terms. He probably never had the slightest inkling that anything was amiss, or maybe he's really good at ignoring pregnant ladies and their full-term attitudes.
Two centimeters down, eight to go. We can do it!