So I got a phone call from the doctor's office on Thursday, telling me that they wanted me to start on antibiotics because of the results of my urinalysis (I had an appointment on Monday and had to pee in a cup for them while I was there). I assumed I had a UTI, so I called them back on Friday to find out more about it. Turns out that it's not a UTI. I tested positive for Group B Strep, so they wanted me to start on antibiotics to treat that. So I asked them why they were going to treat that now, when I'm only ten and a half weeks pregnant ("Isn't that something that you usually give abx during labor for?"). They said they wanted to treat it now, and then, of course, they would have me on abx during labor if my 36-week swab came back positive also.
So, first of all, I'm not going to be getting that 36-week swab because I stop seeing the doctor around 24 weeks, after I have the "big" ultrasound. And, if for some horrible reason, I did have to go have my baby at the hospital, I would not consent to abx during labor for gbs. The chances of my baby getting sick from it are small, and there is conflicting evidence as to whether abx actually help the baby, and, in the event that the baby does get sick, receiving abx during labor can make the gbs resistant to abx, thus increasing the risk that the baby will die. So there's that.
Also, gbs tends to colonize transiently. As in, I may test positive today, and negative tomorrow. So why would I subject myself and my nursing toddler to unnecessary antibiotics in my 11th week of pregnancy, with no apparent benefit?
When I thought it was a UTI, I asked the nurse which antibiotic they had prescribed. My husband is allergic to amoxicillin, and on the off chance that the baby has inherited his allergy, I don't feel comfortable taking that antibiotic while nursing. So then, I get a call back from them a little while later, and they told me that they decided to wait until next month (my next visit with the doctor), to treat the gbs. So it's obviously not all-fire important to treat it now, so why were they rushing me to the pharmacy to treat this right now!! if it's not that big of a deal?
Then, while I was on the phone with the nurse, she also pointed out that I'd had glucose in my urine, and asked if I'd been watching my blood sugars, and she said it in a very implicating way. And you know what is annoying about this? It's that when I really needed their help, they were all like, "Screw you, lady!" and now that I just want to go about my pregnancy, they're determined to get all up in my business. Well, I'm telling you now: butt out.
August 18, 2012
August 15, 2012
What You *Really* Need for Breastfeeding
So I had another "first" prenatal with another doctor the other day, and they sent me home with another prenatal pack with info for new moms. I was actually semi-impressed with this pack--there was only one publication that contained formula advertising in it, and I couldn't find anything that was actually published by formula companies. It appeared that the hospital self-published much of their materials, and contained some fairly good information. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure none of their doctors have actually read said materials, because when I birthed there five-and-a-half years ago, they pretty much didn't do any of the good stuff. Which is why I now homebirth. Different topic, though. Anyway.
So they included a copy of the Babytalk pregnancy planner, which I ignored at first because a)most mainstream pregnancy publications suck, and b) this is not my first time around the block. But, yesterday, in a fit of procrastination, I picked it up. And it was every bit as appalling as I'd expected.
First thing a saw when I opened it was a full color double page spread ad for Similac. Now, I know they have to have advertising, and I know that lots of moms formula feed, and I know that since breastfeeding is free, no one can really make any money advertising breastfeeding, but, still. I'll give them a pass on that, though, for the above reason, and because it's a mainstream publication, and all mainstream publications advertise formula, and all kinds of crap that no one actually needs or use for their babies, but it makes you all warm and fuzzy feeling when you flip through it as a hormonal pregnant woman, so whatever.
What caught my eye, and, consequently, my temper, though, was the breastfeeding supply list. It just screamed "I was written by someone at the formula company!" Here is what the spring/summer 2012 edition of the Babytalk pregnancy planner says you need in order to start breastfeeding (this list can be found on page 39):
You don't need a breast pump. Not at first. If you're planning on going back to work at some point, then yes, you'll need a breast pump. But you don't have to go out and drop $250 on a Medela before you've left the hospital in order to succeed at breastfeeding. If you are having supply issues, your hospital can rent you a hospital grade pump to help your milk come in (and often, your insurance will pay for it). You can also hand express (the first time I tried hand expression, I was actually shocked at how effective it was. So effective that I had clean milk off the opposite wall when I was done). You can use a "much less expensive manual pump" if necessary. Really, though, if you're having supply issues, your best bet is not to go out and buy a breast pump, but to contact your local LLL representative and get help. Immediately.
Obviously, if you don't pump, you don't need freezer containers or bottles, since those would be absolutely useless to your breastfeeding baby. So I'm really not sure why these are on a list of things you need to breastfeed. Maybe they mislabeled the list for "Things You Need for Pumping."
Before my oldest was born, I bought a huge box of nursing pads, because all the lists told me that my breasts would turn into geysers after my baby was born, and I would soak through my clothes, and embarrass myself. I never used them. Not one. Granted, I know some women who do leak, so I'm not saying you absolutely, positively will. not. need. them. I'm just saying, wait. Find out what your body does with milk before you buy stuff that you won't ever use. Like I said before, the only things you need to start nursing is a baby and a boob.
Nursing pillows are--well, I hated mine. Hated it. It didn't sit right, and the baby would slip down between me and the pillow, and it never quite propped him up high enough, and it was so bulky that I could never take it anywhere, and at home I had free access to all kinds of pillows (which I could arrange to work much better than my nursing pillow did), so it was totally a waste of however much money the lady who gave it to me spent on it. Again, I know some women who love their nursing pillows. Wouldn't go anywhere without them. Can't imagine breastfeeding without it. That's fine. But wait. To get started breastfeeding, all you need is (let's hear it, ladies) a baby and a boob.
Nipple cream, of course, falls into the same category as nursing pillows and nipple pads. When I was first starting out breastfeeding, my nipples did crack and bleed and hurt like holy heck. I honestly didn't find that nipple cream helped me (it was a latch issue, and often is. Breastfeeding should. not. hurt.). Half the time I forgot I even had it, so, whatever. Some women probably find it really helpful, so I'm not saying it's not something that you may need. I'm just saying that, well, first of all, if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, or constantly sore, contact your local LLL representative and get help. And second, all you really need to breastfeed is--yeah. You get it. Right?
Nursing bras I can actually understand. I mean, I don't wear them anymore because I can't find one that's comfortable that I don't have to mortgage my house to pay for, and I've found it's quite easy to slip my boob over the top of my regular bra, and pop it back in when I'm done. I'm an experienced breastfeeder, though, and I'm not positive I could have done that with my first couple of kids. Also, I may have ill-fitting bras. But, a nursing bra is not something that you need in order to start breastfeeding. I mean, I don't know about anyone else, but the first two, three, fouryears weeks after my babies are born, I don't even wear a bra. At all. So I certainly don't require the services of a fancy, expensive bra in order to feed my baby with my boob.
A can of formula is something that a beginner breastfeeder (or any breastfeeder) should never, ever, EVER have on hand. Those first couple weeks of breastfeeding your first baby are, well, hard. I won't sugar-coat that. Depending on how much support you have, you may have people telling you that baby is starving every time he screams, and that you need to top him off with formula to make sure he's getting enough. You'll obsess over diapers ("Is this poop the right color? Is he pooping enough?"). You'll cry because you just fed this kid six minutes ago, and he wants to nurse again. It's a mountain, and if you're going to breastfeed, you'll have to scale it, at least once. Probably. And let me tell you, a can of formula will hold you back. It will sit on your shelf and taunt you. It will remind you of how inept you are at feeding your baby with your boob. It will ask you if you know for sure that your baby is eating enough, and laugh when you stammer back that you th-th-think so. It will glow in the dark when you get up for those great many middle of the night feeds, and remind you that statistically, formula-fed babies sleep for longer stretches of time (it will not elaborate on whether this is actually safe, however). It will sabotage you.
Incidentally, I find it (kind of) funny that the list of breastfeeding necessities is eight items long. Eight things that you're supposed to need in order to start breastfeeding. You know how long the formula-feeding list is? Six items. Six. Because last I checked, you need a lot more than a baby and a boob to formula feed.
Breastfeeding is--amazing. I've been doing it non-stop for five-and-a-half years, and I'm currently tandem nursing (while pregnant. Do I earn points for that?). I know whereof I speak, ladies. It may take some effort to get started, it may take some fortitude, some determination, some bull-headedness, some focus. But really, it just takes a baby and a boob. That's it. Now go for it!
So they included a copy of the Babytalk pregnancy planner, which I ignored at first because a)most mainstream pregnancy publications suck, and b) this is not my first time around the block. But, yesterday, in a fit of procrastination, I picked it up. And it was every bit as appalling as I'd expected.
First thing a saw when I opened it was a full color double page spread ad for Similac. Now, I know they have to have advertising, and I know that lots of moms formula feed, and I know that since breastfeeding is free, no one can really make any money advertising breastfeeding, but, still. I'll give them a pass on that, though, for the above reason, and because it's a mainstream publication, and all mainstream publications advertise formula, and all kinds of crap that no one actually needs or use for their babies, but it makes you all warm and fuzzy feeling when you flip through it as a hormonal pregnant woman, so whatever.
What caught my eye, and, consequently, my temper, though, was the breastfeeding supply list. It just screamed "I was written by someone at the formula company!" Here is what the spring/summer 2012 edition of the Babytalk pregnancy planner says you need in order to start breastfeeding (this list can be found on page 39):
Okay, so here's the deal. Really, the only thing you need to get started breastfeeding, is a baby and a boob. That's it. It's not complicated. It's not expensive.
- breast pump This purchase can make or break your nursing experience. If you're going back to work full time, you'll need to buy or rent a super-efficient (but pricey) double electric pump. But if you're staying home, a much less expensive manual pump may be fine.
- freezer storage containers or bag
- 4 to 6 bottles
- nursing pads
- nursing pillow
- nipple cream
- 2 nursing bras for now (your size may change when your milk comes in)
- can of formula in case of emergency
(it's always good to have one on hand!)
You don't need a breast pump. Not at first. If you're planning on going back to work at some point, then yes, you'll need a breast pump. But you don't have to go out and drop $250 on a Medela before you've left the hospital in order to succeed at breastfeeding. If you are having supply issues, your hospital can rent you a hospital grade pump to help your milk come in (and often, your insurance will pay for it). You can also hand express (the first time I tried hand expression, I was actually shocked at how effective it was. So effective that I had clean milk off the opposite wall when I was done). You can use a "much less expensive manual pump" if necessary. Really, though, if you're having supply issues, your best bet is not to go out and buy a breast pump, but to contact your local LLL representative and get help. Immediately.
Obviously, if you don't pump, you don't need freezer containers or bottles, since those would be absolutely useless to your breastfeeding baby. So I'm really not sure why these are on a list of things you need to breastfeed. Maybe they mislabeled the list for "Things You Need for Pumping."
Before my oldest was born, I bought a huge box of nursing pads, because all the lists told me that my breasts would turn into geysers after my baby was born, and I would soak through my clothes, and embarrass myself. I never used them. Not one. Granted, I know some women who do leak, so I'm not saying you absolutely, positively will. not. need. them. I'm just saying, wait. Find out what your body does with milk before you buy stuff that you won't ever use. Like I said before, the only things you need to start nursing is a baby and a boob.
Nursing pillows are--well, I hated mine. Hated it. It didn't sit right, and the baby would slip down between me and the pillow, and it never quite propped him up high enough, and it was so bulky that I could never take it anywhere, and at home I had free access to all kinds of pillows (which I could arrange to work much better than my nursing pillow did), so it was totally a waste of however much money the lady who gave it to me spent on it. Again, I know some women who love their nursing pillows. Wouldn't go anywhere without them. Can't imagine breastfeeding without it. That's fine. But wait. To get started breastfeeding, all you need is (let's hear it, ladies) a baby and a boob.
Nipple cream, of course, falls into the same category as nursing pillows and nipple pads. When I was first starting out breastfeeding, my nipples did crack and bleed and hurt like holy heck. I honestly didn't find that nipple cream helped me (it was a latch issue, and often is. Breastfeeding should. not. hurt.). Half the time I forgot I even had it, so, whatever. Some women probably find it really helpful, so I'm not saying it's not something that you may need. I'm just saying that, well, first of all, if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, or constantly sore, contact your local LLL representative and get help. And second, all you really need to breastfeed is--yeah. You get it. Right?
Nursing bras I can actually understand. I mean, I don't wear them anymore because I can't find one that's comfortable that I don't have to mortgage my house to pay for, and I've found it's quite easy to slip my boob over the top of my regular bra, and pop it back in when I'm done. I'm an experienced breastfeeder, though, and I'm not positive I could have done that with my first couple of kids. Also, I may have ill-fitting bras. But, a nursing bra is not something that you need in order to start breastfeeding. I mean, I don't know about anyone else, but the first two, three, four
A can of formula is something that a beginner breastfeeder (or any breastfeeder) should never, ever, EVER have on hand. Those first couple weeks of breastfeeding your first baby are, well, hard. I won't sugar-coat that. Depending on how much support you have, you may have people telling you that baby is starving every time he screams, and that you need to top him off with formula to make sure he's getting enough. You'll obsess over diapers ("Is this poop the right color? Is he pooping enough?"). You'll cry because you just fed this kid six minutes ago, and he wants to nurse again. It's a mountain, and if you're going to breastfeed, you'll have to scale it, at least once. Probably. And let me tell you, a can of formula will hold you back. It will sit on your shelf and taunt you. It will remind you of how inept you are at feeding your baby with your boob. It will ask you if you know for sure that your baby is eating enough, and laugh when you stammer back that you th-th-think so. It will glow in the dark when you get up for those great many middle of the night feeds, and remind you that statistically, formula-fed babies sleep for longer stretches of time (it will not elaborate on whether this is actually safe, however). It will sabotage you.
Incidentally, I find it (kind of) funny that the list of breastfeeding necessities is eight items long. Eight things that you're supposed to need in order to start breastfeeding. You know how long the formula-feeding list is? Six items. Six. Because last I checked, you need a lot more than a baby and a boob to formula feed.
Breastfeeding is--amazing. I've been doing it non-stop for five-and-a-half years, and I'm currently tandem nursing (while pregnant. Do I earn points for that?). I know whereof I speak, ladies. It may take some effort to get started, it may take some fortitude, some determination, some bull-headedness, some focus. But really, it just takes a baby and a boob. That's it. Now go for it!
August 07, 2012
Sackloth and Ashes
In the circles in which I grew up, the name Jack Hyles was big. Really big. Really, really big. If we had been catholic, he would have been the Pope. If we had been Mormons, he would have been Brigham Young. We were not, of course, associated with any of those sinful cults, so he was simply called "The Founder of Fundamentalism." Or something. His church, First Baptist Church of Hammond, was the bastion of fundamentalism. Books and sermon tapes poured out of our Mecca at an alarming rate, telling us how to live, how to raise our children, how to dress, how to be good, upstanding Christian men, and meek, submissive Christian women. I remember a great many hard-bound books on my mom's bookshelves bearing the names of Jack Hyles and his family members as authors. When I was in middle school, my school (it was a Christian school, of course) took a part-day field trip to a local church to hear The Man himself speak. He was well past his prime by then, and I don't really remember much about him or his sermon, other than the fact that for some reason, I thought he looked a lot like my grandma on my mom's side. On the bus ride there and back, I heard stories of stage antics in which he threw microphones, jumped off pews and pulpits, yelled, screeched, hollered, slammed books down, and did all manner of strange and wondrous things. He didn't do any of that this day, and I must admit, I was mildly disappointed, but he was an old man by then, so I understood. Anyway, he was a really, really, really big deal.
I remember, as a teenager, hearing whispers here and there about The Man, and some supposed sexual forays. My mom viciously discounted these rumors and forbad me to speak of them, saying they were stories made up by jealous men who were trying to destroy the Cause of Christ®, and the great name of Jack Hyles. I accepted this, mostly because I was young and dumb, and honestly, I didn't know enough about sex to really understand the significance of this accusation, other than that it was a Bad Thing. Later on, in college, when I was old enough to think for myself, and understand the import of such stories, I read Robert Sumner's expose of Jack Hyles, "The Saddest Story I've Ever Told," in The Biblical Evangelist. I delved further into Jack Hyles' teachings, writings, life, and family, and his church, First Baptist Church of Hammond (FBCH). I admit it was mostly morbid curiosity, since by this time, Jack Hyles had been dead for some years, but it was also somewhat of a Truth-Finding mission, since I was going through a crisis of faith, of sorts, and wanted to know if all that I had been taught as a child was based on actual Bible, or on some sexual deviant that got his kicks out of making up crazy rules that people had to follow in order to be "godly."
The truth, as I discerned it eventually, fell somewhere in between these choices, although closer to the crazy side than to the biblical side. I've had to reconsider a lot of what I believed about God and His demands, but honestly, I'm totally okay with that. God makes a lot more sense, now that I know Him better. Mom never has come around to the Truth about The Man, or about God (as I see it), so we just don't talk about that stuff. Maybe someday.
Anyway, I say all of that to say that I've happily been out of that world for quite some time now, and all of a sudden it all came crashing back into my reality this past week, when The Man's predecessor and son-in-law, the newest Archbishop of Fundamentalism, Jack Schaap, was ousted from FBCH for some kind of sexual mishap with a teenage girl. And this is what I want to talk about. Because obviously, the Schaap-haters are out en masse vilifying him, posting YouTube links to every crazy sermon and sound-bite he ever made, saying, "Dude! You're surprised about this?" (a la "The Polished Shaft"). And I have to admit, as a Schaap-hater myself, I sort of agree with them. I mean, there is definitely something wrong with the guy. Has been for a while. But of course, when the Schaap-haters come out, the Schaap-lovers come out, and defend him. Tirelessly. Sometimes crazily. They flood message boards and Facebook pages and blog posts with messages of support and love and grammatical malfeasance. And you kind of feel badly for them, because you know they're yelling so loudly because their world is crumbling around them and they're trying desperately to grab at something firm and truthful. At least, that's what I hope is their reasoning. Otherwise, they pretty much just need to be committed and medicated.
I head him speak a time or two, as a teenager. He was a big deal, like his father-in-law. The only sermon of his that I really remember was something about sackcloth and ashes, and I think he came out on stage wearing sackcloth and ashes to illustrate whatever point he was making. I don't really remember what the point was, but I know he played clips of an Amy Grant music video that showed her dancing around and taking a scarf off her shoulders, and he told us that's why we shouldn't listen to the world's music, because it's all about sex. As a fourteen-year-old teenage girl, I didn't really get it, and I kinda liked the song, but it certainly wasn't a new message (my parents told me the same thing all the time), so I figured he was right, and whatever. Sackcloth and ashes, right?
Later, I started hearing all the crazy, crazy stuff he wrote and preached about, but by then, I was waaaay out of the movement, so I just kind of chuckled at him and took a moment to be grateful that I was in a much happier, saner place now, and--end thinking about it. So when crap hit the fan at the end of July, and rumors started seeping out of Mecca about the Archbishop stepping down indefinitely for "medical reasons," and the Word About Town was that he was indeed sick, but not of the physical variety, I can't say that I was either surprised or sad. Yes, to my shame, I was just a little bit glad that maybe crazy was finally going to have it's microphone shut off. Hate me if you must, Schaap-lovers.
So as the story came out (for yea, verily, it always shall), his ailment was one of a much darker variety than stress or Crohn's disease or irritable bowel syndrome. Mostly, it was sex. With teenage girls, apparently, among (I suspect) other things. So this is what I'm getting to with all this. There has been some discussion amongst, well, just about everyone, as to whether or not Schaap's fall should be labelled "Adultery" or "Abuse." Cue angry opinions on both sides, and toss around words and phrases like consensual, molestation, legally of age, old enough to choose abortion so she's old enough to choose sex. Really, I'm not interested in any of these words and phrases, because they have absolutely no bearing on Schaap and his actions.
Here's the truth, folks: Schaap is a 54-year-old man (I'm using the term man loosely, of course) who was supposed to be counseling a 16/17 year-old girl for sexual abuse (a "bus girl," from what I understand, although the details are hazy on this point). Stop right there and think about that for a minute. A teenage girl has been sexually abused by someone, probably someone close to her, since statistically, that's who it is, and she goes to her pastor for counseling, because obviously, she's troubled about it. She's vulnerable and emotionally fragile and she probably doesn't have a really great support structure at home, if I may be allowed to use stereotypes for a moment, because most bus kids don't. (No, really--what good parent in his right mind would send his kids off on a rickety church bus, staffed by teenagers and over-exuberant college kids, and one old guy (the driver), to spend all day at some church somewhere that he has never seen and knows nothing about?) Her pastor, a man she has been taught to look up to, admire, and trust, a man old enough to be her grandfather, starts to shower her with "attention" and "love." He tells her she is special, and means a lot to him, and she's been dying all her life to hear this. I mean from someone--credible. He hugs her. Maybe kisses her. Suddenly, he's having his secretary transport her across state lines so he can "counsel" her when he's out of town. Did she tell him "No!"? Did she gladly lay down in the bed with him? Does it really matter? Really? No. No, it doesn't. Regardless of what she did, or what she said, every shred of responsibility falls smack at Jack Schaap's feet. He is at fault. He took advantage of her, yea, preyed upon her. He failed to have another woman counsel her (or, at the very least, attend the counseling sessions with her). He is the adult. Regardless of the "age of consent" in Indiana, she could not consent, truly, because she was not in a position to do so. Regardless of whether she is old enough to operate a motor vehicle, or have an abortion, or buy alcohol (oh. wait.), she was not in a proper frame of mind and understanding and emotional stability to truly consent to his advances. She was not some brazen hussy who wooed him with her wily, teenage-girl charms. She was not a temptress or a slut. She was a broken, bruised, and wounded young girl who came to him for help, and found--the furthest possible thing from that. He sexually abused her. Which, whether it is recognized as such by the legal system in Indiana, is, of course, called rape. Ugly word, huh? It takes an ugly man to rape a teenage girl. And Jack Schaap is an ugly, ugly man.
So why do I care? Why am I even talking about this? Because it bothers me. It bothers me that anyone can possibly be placing any kind of culpability on this teen girl, thereby lessening--softening--the ugliness of Schaap's evil deeds. She is a victim, twice over (or many, many times over, possibly). She is a victim. He is evil. He has destroyed her. He has destroyed his family. He has grossly misused the trust that was placed upon him as a pastor, an adult man, and a counselor. He has, I have no doubt, injured his marriage beyond reclamation. Whether his wife stands by him or not, he has damaged that relationship irreparably. He has dirtied his name--the name that his children must now ignominiously bear forever. He has shamed and broken his wife. He has raped this young girl, sexually abused her, taken advantage of her trust. He is evil. He is wicked. He bears all the responsibility. Don't you dare say otherwise, because you know you're wrong.
Sackcloth and ashes, dude. Sackcloth and ashes.
July 26, 2012
The Whole Saga
I was talking to a friend of mine on Facebook the other day--we've been talking about pregnancy and birth, and I've been complaining about all the frustrating experiences I've had this pregnancy. As I was composing my lengthy epistle in response to one of her notes, it struck me, that one of the reasons that I hate doctors (specifically obstetricians) so much is that they do not treat me, as their patient, with respect. And yet they demand respect (and obedience) from me.
For these last three of my four pregnancies thus far, I have planned to birth at home, but because I have some pre-existing conditions, I cannot use the services of a licensed midwife, and I have slightly increased risks for complications during the pregnancy and birth. I have found a lovely unlicensed midwife who assisted with my last birth, and will be assisting me again with this birth, but I like to get concurrent care with a doctor (my preference is a hospital-based CNM or a family-practice doctor, but none of those are ever allowed to provide any kind of care for me because of my pre-existing condition. Sucks.) through the middle of the second trimester. I like to have the "big" ultrasound around 24 weeks, and then, assuming all is well with baby (which is the point of the ultrasound), I switch to just seeing my home birth midwife.
But that first trimester and half, when I'm switching back and forth, is horrible! It is truly culture shock for me, to go from the woman-based care that my midwife provides, in which we spend time together, actually discuss my hopes and plans on an equal level, get to know each other, and build a relationship, to the provider-based care that the doctors provide, in which they expect me to get nekkid on the first visit, and lay on the little table with my nether regions exposed till they breeze into the room, shove their hands up my hoohaw, tell me I'm fat, ask me if I plan on having my tubes tied after this pregnancy, ask me (horrified) if I plan on birthing at home (because they absolutely cannot support such a dangerous practice!), and tell me that they would never have "let me" birth my last two babies vaginally, since they were so large. And then they whisk out of the room, confident that I have been properly subdued.
I have a passive-aggressive strategy that I use to avoid the nekkid thing, that, so far, has worked better than even I could have hoped. I leave my husband at home with the older two kids, and bring the fifteen-month-old by myself to the office. When the nurse tells me strip, I look at her, point to the baby, and say, I may have to put that off till my husband can come with me. At this point, the baby is usually yanking the paper off the little exam table, pulling cotton swabs out of the jars, opening the sterile instrument drawers, and causing no end of mischief, and my point is made quite nicely for me (although, I did have one nurse tell me that I'd have to talk to the doctor, to see if he'd "let" me put it off). I regret that I do not yet have the courage to just come out and say, "no," when they tell me to do something against my wishes.
This pregnancy has truly been a horror so far, regarding my run-ins with the local hospitals. It started last month, when I went to see the CNM who had provided my early prenatal care during my last pregnancy (I was grandfathered into her practice due to some truly providential circumstances). I was having symptoms of low progesterone, and was having trouble regulating it myself. Having a period every twenty days was a real wretch. So I go into her office, and she sits down and says, "Since you have your pre-existing condition, I am no longer permitted to provide any kind of medical care for you at all, per hospital policy. So we'll call this visit a consultation, and I'll send you out to the appointment desk to set something up with one of the obstetricians. Also, so you know, hospital policy also now forbids any care providers in our system to provide any prenatal care to home birthers. So don't bother coming back when you get pregnant." And that, along with a few side-swipes regarding my weight and how well (or not well) she thought I was managing my pre-existing condition, was pretty much the visit. I made the appointment with the obstetrician (although my better judgment was telling me to just forget it), and left. Fuming.
I got a call from this same CNM the next day saying that she'd talked to the obstetrician that I'd scheduled with, and she was just going to tell me to wait it out, lose weight, and try to get my pre-existing condition under control (even though I kept assuring them that I have it very well in hand), and maybe just go to the other hospital in town for help when I'm ready for it, since they have all my medical records pertaining to my pre-existing condition. In other words, "We don't want you. Go away and never come back." So I canceled the appointment with the obstetrician. And then I got an $81 bill from the hospital for the appointment in which I was told that they could provide no medical care for me. I'm fighting them about that right now. No way I'm paying for something that they could have just told me over the phone. /endvent
So I did my best to manage the progesterone issue myself, and somehow I ended up getting pregnant. Not sure how that happened. I mean, I know how it happened, but I don't know how I actually was able to get pregnant, with the progesterone deficiency. But I did. So I called about four different doctors the day I got my positive test to tell them that I had a progesterone deficiency with my last pregnancy, and could they please check my progesterone levels so I could get on a supplement if I needed it. No one called me back. For three days.
The day after my positive test, I started bleeding. I was pretty sure I was going to lose the baby at that point, because it wasn't the kind of bleeding that any pregnant woman wants to see, so I increased the amount of progesterone cream I was taking, started taking some herbs to help quell the flow, and I got myself to the walk-in clinic to try to get my progesterone levels checked. I pretty much cried on the phone with the hospital Ask-A-Nurse (I called to make sure I could visit the walk-in clinic for pregnancy stuff), and told her that I had called a bunch of doctors, and none of them called me back and I was bleeding, and I needed to get on progesterone, and *sob*. So the poor lady told me to stay on the line, and she called a bunch of doctors and found one who could see me, and who would start me on a progesterone supplement that very day. Bless that sweet angel, whoever she is.
So I took myself and my three kids to the walk-in clinic, and we waited for just about four hours to get my hcg levels tested (they don't test progesterone levels at the walk-in clinic, apparently). The doctor called me back and told me that I was either very early in my pregnancy (umm, yeah, like, nine days!) or I was miscarrying, and I needed to come back on Sunday to have my hcg levels drawn again.
So I picked up my progesterone, shoved one in at a gas station before I made the 60-mile trek home, and suffered through the weekend, not knowing if I was losing my little bean or not. When I got home, I looked at my progesterone package, and noticed that the doctor had prescribed 50mg of progesterone a day for me. With my last pregnancy (you know, the one in which they actually tested my levels?) they started me at 100mg, and raised it to 200mg after a second progesterone check. So I went ahead and took 100mg through the weekend, and figured I would call the doctor's office on Monday and explain my last protocol to them and ask them to check my levels and increase my prescription.
So Sunday, I head over to the walk-in clinic during morning church service, and have my hcg levels drawn again, and wait around for the results. My husband and the older kids met up with me and the baby after service was over, just in time for the results. They were rising, but they weren't doubling like they technically were supposed to be doing. The doctor was very optimistic (and very kindly complimented us on our kids!) and said that any rise was good news, but I left not knowing exactly whether to be relieved or to worry further. So, of course, I chose to worry. Because I am woman. Hear me roar.
Monday, I called the doctor and asked him to check my progesterone levels and raise my prescription (I was fairly sure that the bleeding was linked to my low progesterone, since it had been waning somewhat since I'd started on the vaginal suppositories (there, I said vaginal and suppositories on the internet. Again.), but it hadn't diminished completely yet, so I was mildly concerned about an ectopic pregnancy. Anyway, the nurse spoke to me and told me that they do not test progesterone (?!), only the fertility clinic does that, and 50mg is their protocol, so that is all they would give me. I tried to explain to her that they had actually, you know, tested my levels during my last pregnancy, and they were low enough that I was on a much, much higher protocol than 50mg, and I didn't want to miscarry. "Well," she said, "That's because you went through fertility last time [wha....??], but we don't do that at our clinic." So pretty much, it was tough beans for me. "Sucks if you miscarry, but we won't help you."
I was frustrated to the point of tears. I was not about to lessen the amount of progesterone I was taking, but I didn't know what other options I had. There are only two hospitals in our town, and one had thrown me out because I'm a homebirther, and the other one refused to provide the help that I needed to make this pregnancy work. I went to the internet, determined that I would go as far away as I needed to get what I needed. I found a small hospital an hour away in the next state over that was not only able to get me in with a doctor within two weeks, but faxed a prescription for 100mg daily of progesterone at that very moment, and said that the doctor would most likely check my levels if I asked him to. I didn't really give a heck if the doctor was a complete egomaniac--I had my progesterone taken care of for the time being, so I was temporarily appeased.
Meanwhile, the stingy-with-the-progesterone doc wanted me to come back in to have my hcg levels drawn again in two weeks to see if they were rising as they should. Not wanting to put all of my eggs in the same basket, I went ahead and kept all appointments with both doctors till I got a feel for how things were going to go. Somewhere in here, after nine days, the bleeding finally stopped.
My visit with the out-of-state doc went, well, pretty much as I expected. He was an egomaniac who told me that he would never have "let" me birth my last two children vaginally, given how large they were (ha! and you think I would have "let" you check their sizes at the end of my pregnancy? or that I would have "let" you cut me? Sucker!). He also told me that with my obviously uncontrolled pre-existing condition which caused my babies to be large, I should be in a larger hospital. Of course, I took exception to that, since my condition is very well controlled. I just happen to have big babies. Like my grandma. But no one really cares about my grandma. So we had a slight tense moment in which he didn't believe me and I didn't let him get away with that, but that passed, and he told me that he and I just weren't a good fit. "You are obviously a woman with very strong ideas about how things are and should be, and that's not a bad thing, necessarily, but I think you need to find another provider for prenatal care." Is that, like, a doctor's version of a compliment? Personally, I think the fact that I have three kids, had two home births, told him that I was considering a home birth this time around, and was wearing a skirt, made him think I was some kind of a religious nut that births at home on religious principle, instead of being a quasi-feminist who takes exception to doctors just having their way with me for their own convenience. And cutting my uterus open to remove my babies, because it's easier than waiting around for my babies to make their exit through the God-given hatch. So, yeah, we weren't a good fit. But he was very nice in agreeing to do an ultrasound to check on baby so we could rule out an ectopic pregnancy, and a follow-up ultrasound in a week, as well as prescribing the progesterone to me through twelve weeks. So all-in-all, I wasn't completely dismayed by the visit. Although, he did decline to check my progesterone level, since he wasn't going to be providing prenatal care.
My appointment for the hcg lab with the progesterone-stingy doc was the Monday following that appointment. I received a call the next day saying that my levels were over 11,000, which meant that they had been doubling well every two days since my last draw. A good sign, for sure. They wanted to schedule an ultrasound on Thursday of that week, so I went ahead and had that done, and cancelled the follow-up ultrasound with the out-of-state doctor. Baby was there, in my uterus, with a good strong heartbeat, so I was finally was able to breathe.
I am 7 weeks 3 days pregnant today, and as of yet, I still haven't had my progesterone tested. I am hoping that I didn't commit a fatal error by telling the out-of-state doc that I'd found a new care provider (I don't want to lose that progesterone prescription!). The nausea has been fairly frequent (although no throwing up, yet), and the exhaustion has been kicking my butt in a big way, so these are all very good signs. We will see what happens. If anyone ever again asks my why I home birth, though, I will send them to this post, and tell them it's because my midwife is the only care provider who has listened to me and respected me. Who else would I want to have assisting me during birth? Certainly not the asshats (sorry, Mom. It's the nicest word I have for them right now!) who have been giving me grief instead of prenatal care!
For these last three of my four pregnancies thus far, I have planned to birth at home, but because I have some pre-existing conditions, I cannot use the services of a licensed midwife, and I have slightly increased risks for complications during the pregnancy and birth. I have found a lovely unlicensed midwife who assisted with my last birth, and will be assisting me again with this birth, but I like to get concurrent care with a doctor (my preference is a hospital-based CNM or a family-practice doctor, but none of those are ever allowed to provide any kind of care for me because of my pre-existing condition. Sucks.) through the middle of the second trimester. I like to have the "big" ultrasound around 24 weeks, and then, assuming all is well with baby (which is the point of the ultrasound), I switch to just seeing my home birth midwife.
But that first trimester and half, when I'm switching back and forth, is horrible! It is truly culture shock for me, to go from the woman-based care that my midwife provides, in which we spend time together, actually discuss my hopes and plans on an equal level, get to know each other, and build a relationship, to the provider-based care that the doctors provide, in which they expect me to get nekkid on the first visit, and lay on the little table with my nether regions exposed till they breeze into the room, shove their hands up my hoohaw, tell me I'm fat, ask me if I plan on having my tubes tied after this pregnancy, ask me (horrified) if I plan on birthing at home (because they absolutely cannot support such a dangerous practice!), and tell me that they would never have "let me" birth my last two babies vaginally, since they were so large. And then they whisk out of the room, confident that I have been properly subdued.
I have a passive-aggressive strategy that I use to avoid the nekkid thing, that, so far, has worked better than even I could have hoped. I leave my husband at home with the older two kids, and bring the fifteen-month-old by myself to the office. When the nurse tells me strip, I look at her, point to the baby, and say, I may have to put that off till my husband can come with me. At this point, the baby is usually yanking the paper off the little exam table, pulling cotton swabs out of the jars, opening the sterile instrument drawers, and causing no end of mischief, and my point is made quite nicely for me (although, I did have one nurse tell me that I'd have to talk to the doctor, to see if he'd "let" me put it off). I regret that I do not yet have the courage to just come out and say, "no," when they tell me to do something against my wishes.
This pregnancy has truly been a horror so far, regarding my run-ins with the local hospitals. It started last month, when I went to see the CNM who had provided my early prenatal care during my last pregnancy (I was grandfathered into her practice due to some truly providential circumstances). I was having symptoms of low progesterone, and was having trouble regulating it myself. Having a period every twenty days was a real wretch. So I go into her office, and she sits down and says, "Since you have your pre-existing condition, I am no longer permitted to provide any kind of medical care for you at all, per hospital policy. So we'll call this visit a consultation, and I'll send you out to the appointment desk to set something up with one of the obstetricians. Also, so you know, hospital policy also now forbids any care providers in our system to provide any prenatal care to home birthers. So don't bother coming back when you get pregnant." And that, along with a few side-swipes regarding my weight and how well (or not well) she thought I was managing my pre-existing condition, was pretty much the visit. I made the appointment with the obstetrician (although my better judgment was telling me to just forget it), and left. Fuming.
I got a call from this same CNM the next day saying that she'd talked to the obstetrician that I'd scheduled with, and she was just going to tell me to wait it out, lose weight, and try to get my pre-existing condition under control (even though I kept assuring them that I have it very well in hand), and maybe just go to the other hospital in town for help when I'm ready for it, since they have all my medical records pertaining to my pre-existing condition. In other words, "We don't want you. Go away and never come back." So I canceled the appointment with the obstetrician. And then I got an $81 bill from the hospital for the appointment in which I was told that they could provide no medical care for me. I'm fighting them about that right now. No way I'm paying for something that they could have just told me over the phone. /endvent
So I did my best to manage the progesterone issue myself, and somehow I ended up getting pregnant. Not sure how that happened. I mean, I know how it happened, but I don't know how I actually was able to get pregnant, with the progesterone deficiency. But I did. So I called about four different doctors the day I got my positive test to tell them that I had a progesterone deficiency with my last pregnancy, and could they please check my progesterone levels so I could get on a supplement if I needed it. No one called me back. For three days.
The day after my positive test, I started bleeding. I was pretty sure I was going to lose the baby at that point, because it wasn't the kind of bleeding that any pregnant woman wants to see, so I increased the amount of progesterone cream I was taking, started taking some herbs to help quell the flow, and I got myself to the walk-in clinic to try to get my progesterone levels checked. I pretty much cried on the phone with the hospital Ask-A-Nurse (I called to make sure I could visit the walk-in clinic for pregnancy stuff), and told her that I had called a bunch of doctors, and none of them called me back and I was bleeding, and I needed to get on progesterone, and *sob*. So the poor lady told me to stay on the line, and she called a bunch of doctors and found one who could see me, and who would start me on a progesterone supplement that very day. Bless that sweet angel, whoever she is.
So I took myself and my three kids to the walk-in clinic, and we waited for just about four hours to get my hcg levels tested (they don't test progesterone levels at the walk-in clinic, apparently). The doctor called me back and told me that I was either very early in my pregnancy (umm, yeah, like, nine days!) or I was miscarrying, and I needed to come back on Sunday to have my hcg levels drawn again.
So I picked up my progesterone, shoved one in at a gas station before I made the 60-mile trek home, and suffered through the weekend, not knowing if I was losing my little bean or not. When I got home, I looked at my progesterone package, and noticed that the doctor had prescribed 50mg of progesterone a day for me. With my last pregnancy (you know, the one in which they actually tested my levels?) they started me at 100mg, and raised it to 200mg after a second progesterone check. So I went ahead and took 100mg through the weekend, and figured I would call the doctor's office on Monday and explain my last protocol to them and ask them to check my levels and increase my prescription.
So Sunday, I head over to the walk-in clinic during morning church service, and have my hcg levels drawn again, and wait around for the results. My husband and the older kids met up with me and the baby after service was over, just in time for the results. They were rising, but they weren't doubling like they technically were supposed to be doing. The doctor was very optimistic (and very kindly complimented us on our kids!) and said that any rise was good news, but I left not knowing exactly whether to be relieved or to worry further. So, of course, I chose to worry. Because I am woman. Hear me roar.
Monday, I called the doctor and asked him to check my progesterone levels and raise my prescription (I was fairly sure that the bleeding was linked to my low progesterone, since it had been waning somewhat since I'd started on the vaginal suppositories (there, I said vaginal and suppositories on the internet. Again.), but it hadn't diminished completely yet, so I was mildly concerned about an ectopic pregnancy. Anyway, the nurse spoke to me and told me that they do not test progesterone (?!), only the fertility clinic does that, and 50mg is their protocol, so that is all they would give me. I tried to explain to her that they had actually, you know, tested my levels during my last pregnancy, and they were low enough that I was on a much, much higher protocol than 50mg, and I didn't want to miscarry. "Well," she said, "That's because you went through fertility last time [wha....??], but we don't do that at our clinic." So pretty much, it was tough beans for me. "Sucks if you miscarry, but we won't help you."
I was frustrated to the point of tears. I was not about to lessen the amount of progesterone I was taking, but I didn't know what other options I had. There are only two hospitals in our town, and one had thrown me out because I'm a homebirther, and the other one refused to provide the help that I needed to make this pregnancy work. I went to the internet, determined that I would go as far away as I needed to get what I needed. I found a small hospital an hour away in the next state over that was not only able to get me in with a doctor within two weeks, but faxed a prescription for 100mg daily of progesterone at that very moment, and said that the doctor would most likely check my levels if I asked him to. I didn't really give a heck if the doctor was a complete egomaniac--I had my progesterone taken care of for the time being, so I was temporarily appeased.
Meanwhile, the stingy-with-the-progesterone doc wanted me to come back in to have my hcg levels drawn again in two weeks to see if they were rising as they should. Not wanting to put all of my eggs in the same basket, I went ahead and kept all appointments with both doctors till I got a feel for how things were going to go. Somewhere in here, after nine days, the bleeding finally stopped.
My visit with the out-of-state doc went, well, pretty much as I expected. He was an egomaniac who told me that he would never have "let" me birth my last two children vaginally, given how large they were (ha! and you think I would have "let" you check their sizes at the end of my pregnancy? or that I would have "let" you cut me? Sucker!). He also told me that with my obviously uncontrolled pre-existing condition which caused my babies to be large, I should be in a larger hospital. Of course, I took exception to that, since my condition is very well controlled. I just happen to have big babies. Like my grandma. But no one really cares about my grandma. So we had a slight tense moment in which he didn't believe me and I didn't let him get away with that, but that passed, and he told me that he and I just weren't a good fit. "You are obviously a woman with very strong ideas about how things are and should be, and that's not a bad thing, necessarily, but I think you need to find another provider for prenatal care." Is that, like, a doctor's version of a compliment? Personally, I think the fact that I have three kids, had two home births, told him that I was considering a home birth this time around, and was wearing a skirt, made him think I was some kind of a religious nut that births at home on religious principle, instead of being a quasi-feminist who takes exception to doctors just having their way with me for their own convenience. And cutting my uterus open to remove my babies, because it's easier than waiting around for my babies to make their exit through the God-given hatch. So, yeah, we weren't a good fit. But he was very nice in agreeing to do an ultrasound to check on baby so we could rule out an ectopic pregnancy, and a follow-up ultrasound in a week, as well as prescribing the progesterone to me through twelve weeks. So all-in-all, I wasn't completely dismayed by the visit. Although, he did decline to check my progesterone level, since he wasn't going to be providing prenatal care.
My appointment for the hcg lab with the progesterone-stingy doc was the Monday following that appointment. I received a call the next day saying that my levels were over 11,000, which meant that they had been doubling well every two days since my last draw. A good sign, for sure. They wanted to schedule an ultrasound on Thursday of that week, so I went ahead and had that done, and cancelled the follow-up ultrasound with the out-of-state doctor. Baby was there, in my uterus, with a good strong heartbeat, so I was finally was able to breathe.
I am 7 weeks 3 days pregnant today, and as of yet, I still haven't had my progesterone tested. I am hoping that I didn't commit a fatal error by telling the out-of-state doc that I'd found a new care provider (I don't want to lose that progesterone prescription!). The nausea has been fairly frequent (although no throwing up, yet), and the exhaustion has been kicking my butt in a big way, so these are all very good signs. We will see what happens. If anyone ever again asks my why I home birth, though, I will send them to this post, and tell them it's because my midwife is the only care provider who has listened to me and respected me. Who else would I want to have assisting me during birth? Certainly not the asshats (sorry, Mom. It's the nicest word I have for them right now!) who have been giving me grief instead of prenatal care!
July 20, 2012
After This, I Promise I'll Move On
So I've been talking about Little Bean, mostly, these days, since, you know--that's mostly what I've been thinking about. I promise I'll try to find some other things to talk about, but I did want to mention that I got to see the heartbeat yesterday, pumping along strongly at 120 bpm. I was measuring one day short, but I don't think that's a problem. My dilemma now is whether or not to spend the extra $100 a month to get an additional 50mg of progesterone a day. I say this because one doctor prescribed 100mg daily, and one doctor prescribed 50mg daily, and I've been taking the 100mg, and ignoring the 50mg, but with my last baby, they had me on 200mg by this time, so I don't know if I should up my dose or not, since, you know, No One Will Actually Check My Levels! It's a dilemma. Especially since we're kind of cash-strapped right now as it is, with the new minivan purchase, and my insurance doesn't cover "formulary drugs."
On a slightly different note, I was extremely annoyed when I registered for my ultrasound appointment yesterday, and the registrar lady said, "Can we take a photo for your medical records?" As I was saying, "No, thank you!" (because it's not really any business of theirs what I look like. And I'm paranoid), she had her camera out and was snapping the picture. "It's something new they're requiring," she said, and that was that.
So why the heckity-heck did you ask my permission if I don't have an option to say "no?"
So now, somewhere linked with my medical file at that hospital, is a photo of me, scowling, with dark storm clouds gathering over my head, because some moron was taking a picture of me that I didn't consent to. Serves them right!
On a slightly different note, I was extremely annoyed when I registered for my ultrasound appointment yesterday, and the registrar lady said, "Can we take a photo for your medical records?" As I was saying, "No, thank you!" (because it's not really any business of theirs what I look like. And I'm paranoid), she had her camera out and was snapping the picture. "It's something new they're requiring," she said, and that was that.
So why the heckity-heck did you ask my permission if I don't have an option to say "no?"
So now, somewhere linked with my medical file at that hospital, is a photo of me, scowling, with dark storm clouds gathering over my head, because some moron was taking a picture of me that I didn't consent to. Serves them right!
July 13, 2012
In Which I Experience More of the Same
Had an ultrasound in which we saw a sac and a yolk in what was presumed to be my uterus. Doc said that since he couldn't see a heartbeat, he couldn't conclusively say that mine is a pregnant uterus, but he wouldn't bet against it. So i go back a week from Monday to have a repeat ultrasound, in which this whole pregnancy will (I hope) be confirmed as healthy and firmly planted where it's supposed to be.
Incidentally, having a transvaginal ultrasound while holding a squirming 15-month-old on your chest takes amazing mommy skills.
July 12, 2012
In Which I Obsess Over the Future, and Worry About Things Which Cannot Be Controlled
Tomorrow is my first appointment with (any) doctor since that second pink line appeared on our family-growing test. Tomorrow, we will hopefully learn what has been causing all of these strange pregnancy symptoms, like, you know, the nine days of bleeding. And the weird twinges and tics. And the dizziness. And the slow-rising hcg levels. We will (I hope!) find out tomorrow if this baby is growing in my uterus, or--somewhere else. We'll (I hope) find out if my hcg levels are rising normally now or not. I am, quite honestly, worked up into a tizzy over it. I am trying to prepare myself for the most horrible news (there is no baby in there) or (there is a baby in your fallopian tube), but I am so very much hoping for the best news (here is your baby! Oh, wait! There are two of them! Haha. Just kidding. There's only one in there). I just wish I knew now what I will (I hope!) find out tomorrow.
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