Is it normal for a family doctor to go on holidays for a whole month, leaving his office closed, with no forwarding care or contact for test results? Unbelievable.
Apparently, for my doctor, this is entirely normal and OK. Apparently it's only OCD headcases like myself who are eager to find out if whatever the heck is going on inside of them is a simple matter of OkelyDokelyAllBetter or a more serious matter of HolyCrapNotGood.
Three more weeks and then I can get my results/treatment and my doc can get a piece of my mind.
Showing posts with label soapbox. Show all posts
Showing posts with label soapbox. Show all posts
1.07.2012
11.24.2008
Don't Say I Didn't Warn You. Cause I Did.
It seems that the topic of Babies has been coming up a lot lately. Between being blessed with two expectant Mommies on both sides of my family and some random conversations going all in the same direction, it seems that Babies are On The Brain. Last night, as a girlfriend and I sat over coffee in my kitchen, we began to talk about motherhood and birthing and how the medical profession has interfered in both our experiences of childbirth in ways that we later regretted or resented and wished had been different. I was impacted by the commonality of our stories -- the essential element of Woman being stripped of power and autonomy in the middle of the One life experience wherein she should be experiencing the greatest level of self-governance and personal strength. How does this happen? How is it that we let this happen?
I realize and respect that every woman has different expectations and requirements of the experience of childbirth. What troubles me is that the medical community seems to resist operating outside of their own comfortable parameters when a mother does not wish to be medicated or hooked up to machines. It is rare to find a medical professional who will listen and accomodate the wishes of such a mother.
I was incredibly lucky to have found such a professional when pregnant with the Princess. I presented him with my birthplan and he graciously accomodated whatever was within his power to allow at the hospital I planned to be at. I wanted, as much as possible, a natural childbirth. No meds, no monitors, limited interference with the labor process. I felt that I had a job to do and there was no one better equipped to birth my baby than me, so... leave me alone to do my job. I was greatly influenced by Dr. Robert Bradley's writing on natural birth, and while my own doctor was not comfortable with all of what I outlined, we reached a compromise that I felt was more than adequate.
The Princess' birth was not "perfect", she managed to get herself stuck (apparently missed the memo about not sticking one's hands out the window when in the tunnel) and some help extracting her was needed. I wasn't happy about that, nor the methods used to create some extra, errr.. Room for her elbows and head, but I understood it was necessary. Other than things getting a little squicky and scary at the end, my experience was incredibly amazing and life-affirming. My plan was mostly followed, I was given the space and time to be centered and concentrated during labor. No meds were pushed my way and I felt that both my GP and my L&D nurse were supportive of my natural instinct as a birthing mother.
I assumed that every birth experience would be like this.
Not so. Flash forward to my pregnancy with the Kid. My GP is no longer in the city and I was left trying to find a doctor who would take on another patient. I was referred to the reigning "baby doctor" in town. During our initial meetings, he seemed accepting and encouraging of what I outlined in my birth plan. But, once D-Day arrived... I soon found out that I was just another nameless, faceless Mom in his long parade. I was subjected to the exams of numerous student nurses, doctors... who knows. We were shuffled from room to room and I felt that no one took me seriously. When I told my L&D nurse that I felt I was transitioning, she brought in two other professionals to check and I was firmly told that I obviously didn't know what I was doing as I had at least another eight hours to go. I was exhausted from the previous eight hours, not to mention the lack of sleep in the weeks previous as the Kid seemed to be playing dodgeball in utero each night as I tried to sleep. I accepted their offer of Demerol (which I was told would help my body rest between contractions) and the Kid was born -- not eight hours -- but 40 minutes later. Unfortunately, I really don't remember much of his birth as I had a bad reaction to the drug and was ridiculously stoned.
There are some big lessons in here about listening to the wisdom of your own body and sticking to a plan. I get that. But, I can't help but feel that the medical system and the professionals in it often force their own judgements and assessments upon people using the power of their position, and often disregard the patient's own assessment and instinct. I guess that's what we pay them for... to Know Stuff and Do Stuff That We Can't Do Ourselves. And when it comes to stuff like repairing damaged body parts or cutting out disease (or pieces of glass in one's leg), I pretty much am OK with shutting up and letting them do their thing.
But, I do wish that someone would have believed in me when I was doing something that I was meant to do and could do for myself.
I realize and respect that every woman has different expectations and requirements of the experience of childbirth. What troubles me is that the medical community seems to resist operating outside of their own comfortable parameters when a mother does not wish to be medicated or hooked up to machines. It is rare to find a medical professional who will listen and accomodate the wishes of such a mother.
I was incredibly lucky to have found such a professional when pregnant with the Princess. I presented him with my birthplan and he graciously accomodated whatever was within his power to allow at the hospital I planned to be at. I wanted, as much as possible, a natural childbirth. No meds, no monitors, limited interference with the labor process. I felt that I had a job to do and there was no one better equipped to birth my baby than me, so... leave me alone to do my job. I was greatly influenced by Dr. Robert Bradley's writing on natural birth, and while my own doctor was not comfortable with all of what I outlined, we reached a compromise that I felt was more than adequate.
The Princess' birth was not "perfect", she managed to get herself stuck (apparently missed the memo about not sticking one's hands out the window when in the tunnel) and some help extracting her was needed. I wasn't happy about that, nor the methods used to create some extra, errr.. Room for her elbows and head, but I understood it was necessary. Other than things getting a little squicky and scary at the end, my experience was incredibly amazing and life-affirming. My plan was mostly followed, I was given the space and time to be centered and concentrated during labor. No meds were pushed my way and I felt that both my GP and my L&D nurse were supportive of my natural instinct as a birthing mother.
I assumed that every birth experience would be like this.
Not so. Flash forward to my pregnancy with the Kid. My GP is no longer in the city and I was left trying to find a doctor who would take on another patient. I was referred to the reigning "baby doctor" in town. During our initial meetings, he seemed accepting and encouraging of what I outlined in my birth plan. But, once D-Day arrived... I soon found out that I was just another nameless, faceless Mom in his long parade. I was subjected to the exams of numerous student nurses, doctors... who knows. We were shuffled from room to room and I felt that no one took me seriously. When I told my L&D nurse that I felt I was transitioning, she brought in two other professionals to check and I was firmly told that I obviously didn't know what I was doing as I had at least another eight hours to go. I was exhausted from the previous eight hours, not to mention the lack of sleep in the weeks previous as the Kid seemed to be playing dodgeball in utero each night as I tried to sleep. I accepted their offer of Demerol (which I was told would help my body rest between contractions) and the Kid was born -- not eight hours -- but 40 minutes later. Unfortunately, I really don't remember much of his birth as I had a bad reaction to the drug and was ridiculously stoned.
There are some big lessons in here about listening to the wisdom of your own body and sticking to a plan. I get that. But, I can't help but feel that the medical system and the professionals in it often force their own judgements and assessments upon people using the power of their position, and often disregard the patient's own assessment and instinct. I guess that's what we pay them for... to Know Stuff and Do Stuff That We Can't Do Ourselves. And when it comes to stuff like repairing damaged body parts or cutting out disease (or pieces of glass in one's leg), I pretty much am OK with shutting up and letting them do their thing.
But, I do wish that someone would have believed in me when I was doing something that I was meant to do and could do for myself.
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