If Only I Had More Of A Backbone - Then

I've always been a person who somehow manages to find a way to be happy and deal with whatever comes my way. It serves me well in that I can let go when someone cuts me off in traffic. Or when people commit to doing something but don't quite do it when and the way they say they will. I don't panic often (yesterday's post, of course being an exception), as I know that things will somehow turn out in the end.

While that generally works in my favor, there are times I need to stop living and letting live and make sure my point of view is taken into account and that I change the situtation. When Mister Man was born, it was not the birth I'd planned (although, granted, who really has the birth they'd planned?).

Labor started out fine, but I never progressed. I waited forty-five minutes after having been given an injection of pain medication to inquire how long it would be before it took effect - apparently my body doesn't metabolize pain medication normally, and it never worked. When they said my water hadn't broken and they wanted to break it after 14 hours of labor to see if that would help me progress, I didn't question them. They told me that his head was banging against my pelvis and was in the wrong position, but that they would "wait and see" what happened next. I said ok. They said hours later that he wasn't doing so hot and wasn't changing his position, so they wanted to do a C-section. I'd already figured out this was the direction they said they were going, and I said ok. They wheeled me into the hallway then turned me back around again, saying there was an emergency coming in and they'd get to me next. I said ok. Two hours later, I had my C-section and my baby boy, bruised as a boxer. It all worked out. Sort of.

When I was pregnant with Little Miss, my doctor told me that he recommended doing another C-section because I'd had one the first time. I wasn't super comfortable with the idea and wanted to look into trying labor again. A few visits later, still dithering, my doctor told me we were doing a C-section and asked me to choose between two dates. I said ok, still not fully comfortable with it.

When she was ... taken, I didn't get an answer from the doctors about if she was a girl or boy. They were too intent on what they were doing to notice my question. She didn't start out life so hot, but fortunately she rebounded. I had a nasty reaction to the anesthesia both before and after the surgery. Little Miss weighed less than her brother by a pound plus, and she's still a munchkin on the weight chart. I fully believe they got the due date wrong for her and that they took her too early. If I had gone into natural labor, would things have been different for her or for me?

I wasn't comfortable with the doctor, but I was sure everything would be fine and just let it go. I had just moved twenty five minutes on the opposite side of the doctor seven weeks before she was born. The hospital was a full hour plus - without traffic - from where I had moved. I felt it would be too "hard" to change doctors at that point and so let it go.

Once I'd gotten more established, I heard about the hospital that was now closest to me. It was state of the art. The rooms were wireless enabled (most places weren't back then). And they pampered mom - mani or pedi after birth - and they served a surf and turf dinner on the first night of the baby to both parents and on the one year anniversary of the birth. Granted, that's not a reason to choose a hospital, but it would have been a nice touch.

More importantly, the doctor I choose weeks after Little Miss was born, the one who did my post partum checkup, in fact, I loved. The practice made me feel so comfortable. The doctors and the nurses really listened to me and my concerns, and I felt valued. I began to wish that I'd actually looked into closer doctors before Little Miss was born. Then I found out that my new doctor specialized in VBACs. I live with that regret to this day.

I should trust my instincts in those situations. When it comes to my kids, I can't trust that things will just turn out right, I need to push them towards becoming right (within reason, obviously). So when we went to a pediatrician who dismissed my concerns about Mister Man? I found a new pediatrician. When the pediatrician we were seeing later wrong "PARENT WILL NOT COOPERATE" in bold letters on my chart in front of me when I asked him questions about a protocol I wasn't comfortable with for Little Miss, we never went back. We're definitely happier because of it, and I think we're healthier.

If only I'd found my backbone sooner.

This post was inspired by the book "Exploiting My Baby" by Teresa Strasser, this month's book that is part of the From Left to Write book club where we don't review books but rather write posts inspired by them. I received this book free of charge from the publisher as a part of the book club, but there was no compensation, and all opinions expressed are my own.

I am also giving away a Progresso Souper You Debut gift pack here.

Oh, and while you're at it, I finally set up a Facebook Fan page for my blog (and corrected the link here - oops!). It's way overdue. Go like me on Facebook if you would so I can get an official username - once I get enough likes. You can also follow me on Twitter, too, if you're so inclined.

You Give Your Profession A Bad Name

Dear Doctor D,

I wanted to let you know that I will not be returning to your practice in the future, and I felt it was only fair to tell you why. I'm letting you know via letter, as I am afraid of what would happen were I to call.

First, I do want to tell you that I really appreciate the speed with which you first got me into your practice. When I cut my thumb open and needed a doctor for the wound care, the fact that you got me in to see a nurse the same day I called was really appreciated, especially since I was a new patient at the time.

From there, it kind of went downhill though. Since Google and the phone book still list your old address, I might suggest alerting new patients to your current location so that they don't try to enter an abandoned medical building and have to call to get directions.

And when I arrived at the medical office and saw no one in the waiting room, I was pretty stoked to be able to get in and out pretty quickly. Granted, I was somewhat behind on my Sports Illustrated reading, but I had other things to do than reading. Oddly, no one came in or out of the reception area while I waited the half hour to be called back, but I'm beginning to think you have a transporter in there. That must be why I waited so long for the nurse to look at my finger for seven minutes before sending me on my merry way.

I did realize that I was probably overdue for a physical, so I made my appointment with you this time, Dr. D, instead of the nurse practitioner. I had a bunch of things that I wanted to discuss and make sure that they weren't concerns, and I'm just biased towards doctors for these things. Again, it was great to be able to get an appointment fairly quickly; friends of mine have horror stories of waiting weeks to get in for a physical.

I had the fun experience of waiting by myself in the waiting room for a good twenty minutes. Funny, I thought 8am was the first appointment, but I guess I was wrong. I did see the sign as I was signing in that any paperwork was $X to fill out, phone calls were $Y, and so forth -- that's why I'm writing you a letter instead of calling. I don't take kindly to being charged for complaining.

In the room, a nurse took my vitals after only a few minutes, then I got to stew -- naked under that paper gown, of course -- for awhile, hoping that you'd show soon. When you arrived, you introduced yourself and did ask if I had any concerns. I told you my concerns, but that was it as far as you were concerned. You decided that I needed a blood test and were ready to walk out and be done. When I asked what the next steps were, you said that we'd figure them out after seeing the results of the bloodwork.

Oh and I almost forgot to thank you for writing down the word Mirena on a prescription pad as information for me to look up, since that was your birth control solution to me, although your office doesn't handle them. No questions about preferences or anything, just asked if I was taking anything now and wrote that down for me. I feel so informed.

When my blood results arrived, a nurse called to let me know that everything was normal. While that was a relief, that did beg the question of next steps because I assure you that my concerns aren't in my head. The nurse was confused for a moment, as she wasn't your nurse calling me back. For whatever reason, my lab results were assigned to a different doctor's nurse. And I had to ask her three times for various labs because originally all she told me was that my iron level was fine. I'm afraid to ask for a copy of the lab results for fear of what you'll charge me, as I think it was near $15 per page.

Regardless, she said she'd pass along my question to your nurse and that someone would call me to talk about what we do next. Three days later, your nurse called me and asked what I wanted from you. I explained, and she said that she'd pass the message along to you.

Two days later you called me. You said that blood work was fine and so I didn't need to come back again for another couple of years for another physical. When I started asking questions, your tone got much more clipped. I reminded you that I'm trying to figure out what's going on with me - for example the fact that I am burning around 2,500 calories a week at the gym and yet somehow gaining a half pound or so a week for the past few months. While I didn't give you my calories burned total in this conversation, I had mentioned it when we first chatted. Your recommendation was to ramp up the exercise and ramp down the calories. My hope pretty much died there, since I can assure you that isn't the issue. I can't get to the gym more than four or five times a week, and I eat quite healthfully and in moderation.

I pretty much wrote you off at that point, and I didn't bother to bring up my heart rate issues again. Or argue with you about my caloric intake or outtake. Or discuss my exhaustion even when getting eight plus hours of sleep. Or mention my recurring issue with low blood levels that weren't for whatever reason evident in the sample I gave. I can assure you that I won't be back to see you again. And I won't be recommending your practice to anyone I know.

Oh, and my work happened to send me an email about testing my resting metabolic rate right after this all transpired. I paid the small fee to have it tested. My RMR is around 1,550. When you couple that with the calories I'm burning on a daily basis, I'm actually not eating enough food. I'm literally unintentionally starving myself -- so thanks for your advice and the deep dive you took to decide what I should be doing.

Lastly, when my PAP results arrived and a different wrong nurse called me to let me know that they're normal -- so my information was passed to yet another unnecessary person in your office -- that really was just the icing on the cake. I don't question my decision whatsoever.

Good luck with your practice,



PS Yes, I'm cranky today, but I am highly disappointed with this doctor and practice. They forgot the patient aspect of care.