It Happened on the Way to the Midwife, Part 2.

I know some of these things are going to seem nitpicky, and under other circumstances, I wouldn’t bother with them.  But rather than try to make this super interesting by trying to decide what’s important and what mundane, I’m just going to tell you what happened.  So here it is...

I got there.  I filled out paperwork.  I wasn’t sure what to think when the paperwork asked me question like “What is the nature of my problem? How long have I had this problem?  Is there pain associated with this problem?”  I think you get the idea.  I’m filling out paperwork for a pregnancy and nowhere did I answer questions like “When was the date of your last menstrual cycle? When is the estimated date of conception?  When is your projected due date?”  Oh, wait.  I’m not supposed to know these things, right?  Heaven forbid I know what my due date is before the almighty doctor gets out his magical wheel or gives me an ultrasound.  (See what I mean about being nitpicky, but things like this drive me crazy!)

While I was waiting, I heard the receptionist (Or is it a nurse?  I don’t know.) on the phone with a lady saying, “I know you’re getting big, but the hospital isn’t scheduling any more inductions this week.”  Okay, I know I don’t know the whole story here, but I’m still amazed that people ask for inductions!  I could go on about this, but I won’t.

So after waiting over an hour in the waiting room, I finally get back to the exam room.  They weigh me, but I’m not sure why since they didn’t take any vitals.  The nurse gets out her magical due date wheel and calculates my due date.  Then she says, “So you just want to get Dr. Miller’s opinion on homebirth, and ask him to be  your back up doctor.”  This is where I started to suspect things were not going to go as well as I hoped.  I didn’t get that degree in Literature for nothing; I know foreshadowing when I see it.

By the time Dr. Miller comes in, I have been waiting over an hour and a half.  There are a few pleasantries like “Where does my husband work, What does he do,” etc.  He asks a few medical questions like “Am I taking prenatal vitamins?, Was my last birth full term?, Who’s taking care of me?”  Then he asked me why I want a home birth.  This is the part where I’m kicking myself now, because my answer was total crap.  I don’t know why I was surprised that he asked me that.  I don’t know why I didn’t give him a better answer.  Honestly, I don’t think many people have asked me why.  Most people who have known me more than five minutes can figure it out.  So I told him that my first birth didn’t go the way I wanted.  They didn’t follow my wishes.  And of course he gave me the classic OB line, “But it was a good outcome, right?”  Yes, nobody died.  That’s the rubric by which I measure everything, of course.  Seriously, Dr. Miller should be the poster child for “typical bad OB that you always hear about.”  I also mention that I don’t like hospitals.  So he counters, “What will you do if you get appendicitis?”  A little dumbfounded as to how you can compare having a baby to appendicitis (and I speak from experience here, my mom almost died from a ruptured appendix), I told him that I would of course go to the hospital.

So at this point, I’m feeling like I’ve just been presented with a pop quiz, and I’m failing miserably.  This is when he looks at my chart (not at me) and says, “Well, I’m sorry but if you want me to help you with a home birth, I’m going to have to decline.  I don’t think they’re safe.”

I’m going to leave off here for tonight.  But let me just make a quick commentary on what I’ve written so far.  Even though, I can already tell that this man would not, under any circumstances other than a life or death situation, be the doctor I chose to help me with anything, I respect his right to make his decision.  It is how he handled telling me his decision that I have a problem with.  More in Part 3. 

It Happened on the Way to the Midwife, Part 1.

In order to keep this from being too long, I'm going to assume that you know me.  But if you don't, I would be happy to tell you about my previous pregnancy and birth experience, my strong belief in natural birth, or about how I live in a town where it seems the majority of people (including doctors) don't bother to pick up books and educate themselves or in the rare case that they do, they don't bother to do any research on the credentials of the authors that they are reading.  Where to start?
I am planning a home birth.  In a perfect world, OBs would be willing to work with midwives so that home birthing mothers have a back up OB who is not a complete stranger in the event of an emergency.  But we don't live in a perfect world, we live in a country with a very broken system for maternity care.  Nevertheless, I was advised by my midwife to visit the local OB who has provided unofficial back up for her in the past.

I'll say this right now, I was not excited about having to meet his man.  I'm not excited about anything that takes me onto the property of the local hospital.  Ridgecrest  Regional Hospital scares me.  I was even more apprehensive when I went online to get  Dr. Miller's phone and saw the absolutely terrible reviews of him.  But this was a hoop I had to jump through, so I picked up the phone and dialed.  I left a message with them.  I said, "I am planning a home birth, and I would like Dr. Miller to be my back up physician.  My midwife said that I might be able to just talk to him on the phone."  They called me back a couple of days later and left me a message with their phone number and office hours.  Helpful, aren't they?  I called back and left another message.  The next time they called I was home to answer.  They told me Dr. Miller didn't do phone interviews, and that I would have to make an appointment.  I made the appointment.  The earliest appointment they had was a month from the  day I called.  I reminded them once again that I was having a home birth with a midwife and that I did not want an exam.  They said it would just be an appointment to set me up as a patient and talk to the doctor.  Okay.

I wanted to be prepared for what to expect.  I didn't even see an OB when I was pregnant with my first child.  I saw a nurse-midwife during my pregnancy and a family physician attended his birth (all within the military medical system, so there was no drive for profit - it makes a difference).  So I called my friend who had a home birth with my midwife in May.  She told me he would make you thankful for our midwife.  But he was used to this and would talk to you, offer you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and an ultrasound.  But overall, he was friendly, and it wasn't that bad.

Since I actually have to leave in a few minutes for an appointment with my midwife, I will go ahead and post this.  I'll get the long story of the actual meeting up as soon as I can.

The Joke Continues..

I spent a lot of time looking at this after we found out we were moving to China Lake.  Look at all that brown.  I gave up complaining for Lent, so I'm just going to leave that as a simple statement...look at all that brown.  There it is.  

I cried for the first week.  Now I've thrown myself into moving preparations in order to stay in a state of denial.  Ignore the problem, and it will go away, right?  I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way when it comes to "the needs of the Navy."

The general reaction from people who actually know what or where China Lake is is something like sympathy.  You see the face.  The "ick" face.  Then they remember that you are about to move there for three years, and it changes to the "sympathetic head tilt."  "Well," they say, "there's no humidity."  Or..."Well, at least you can say you lived in California."  (I already have lived in California, by the way.)  

 

So the other day, I said to the dear husband, "Just once I would like to tell someone we're moving to China Lake and have them say something positive."

 

Skip to the next day, I am at my dentist's office telling my hygienist that we're moving to China Lake.   Behind my chair, I hear her assistant say, "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful."  What?!  Finally.  In disbelief I say, "You've been there?"  "Nope," she replies, "but I watch HGTV and the Travel Channel, ya know?"  HAHA, God.  You got me again.  Someone said something nice about it.  Never mind that the places she's thinking of are probably hours away.  

 

Lest I insult someone, I'll put this out there.  I haven't been there yet, so for all I know, it is beautiful.  And I know some people find absolute beauty in the desert, but I'm sorry, I just don't.  It's not you; it's me, Desert. We had never had a chance to start with. 

Great Expectations

So a week ago, I was working on a great post about how I finished cutting the fabric for the Quilt Along and it only took me an entire week:

 Or how I failed at my second attempt to make bread:

And then Monday morning happened.  The gods of the Navy stepped in and decided to through us for a loop.  I was lying in bed trying to get back to sleep despite a huge headache (possibly from the three glasses of wine I had the night before - it only takes two to get me drunk so...) when my phone started honking at me to let me know my dear husband was calling.  I squawked out a hello, and (it all gets a little fuzzy here) I remember him saying, "Well, it's not Lemoore, but...we're going to China Lake...in the mountains...it's kind of like the desert (go ahead and imagine a dramatic echoing there because that's the word the needle in my mind has been stuck on for four days now...desert.)  We hang up.  I hit the "Maps" button on my phone and type in "China Lake."  There is a large span of land between that dot and the blue stuff I so love living near.  Okay.  I hit the satellite view and everything turns tan.  Nasty, yucky, dirty tan.  No green.  No blue.  Desert.

Okay, I should backtrack here.  We thought we were going to Monterrey.  At the very worst, we thought we were staying in Jacksonville with a seven month hiatus in San Diego (the two trips across the country in less than a year being the bad part).  The most warning we got was a message a week before the orders that said, "We might have a flying billet for you."  That's it.

I should backtrack further.  Three years ago, as were driving through the desert, I said, "This is ugly.  I can't imagine why anybody would want to live here.  I never want to live in the desert.  Don't ever ask for Fallon.  Seriously, I don't care how much you love your career.  I will not live in Fallon."

One more step.  Almost four years ago, when we were dating, I said, "I don't ever want to be landlocked.  I'm from the water.  My people are from the water.  I cannot be landlocked.  You're in the Navy so that shouldn't be too much of a problem, right?"


Now, fast forward to now.  Desert.  Well, crap.

With all that being said, I will admit that I know it could be worse.  He really should have started the conversation with, "It's not an IA."  Because it's not.  It's not a separation.  And there are so many things for which to be thankful.  God has a plan (other than playing jokes on me, which He loves to do - in fact if the joke's on me, that's how I usually know it's straight from God).  But sometimes, it takes a while to see it.  And it takes a while to adjust to the idea of spending the next three years in the desert (two hours away from civilization as you know it) when you thought you were going to be in beautiful places (at least my idea of beautiful places).

So I guess there's a new chapter opening on The Writing Fox.  The first of which will be about how to get a toddler, an old dog, a grumpy cat, two adults, two normal cars, and a Frankencar from Jacksonville to China Lake and still keep your sanity.