Monday

The Monday after I got married I had an appointment at the birth center we were going to use.  It was my first appointment with them as I had switched my care from my OB and the hospital.  I loved my doctor and didn't really want to leave her but supposedly Medical City has really high c-section rates and I didn't trust the hospital.  I thought that the only way to get the birth I wanted was to get out of the hospital.  So I left her.  It felt like I was breaking up with her, although I know it was just business for her and she probably didn't even know I was gone.  That's what I told myself.

The birth center was way more lax.  It was a giant old house so there was no reception desk.  We had already had a tour so I knew the exam room was upstairs.  The doors to the main room downstairs were closed so I knew that someone was in there having a baby right then.  That was going to be me in however many weeks/months.  I suck at math.  I was 13 weeks.  They were supposed to be able to hear the heartbeat with the Doppler so she told me to 'be sure and bring Dad.'

Drew got stuck at the office so he was running late.  The midwife wasn't very accomodating, like it was an imposition for her that Drew wasn't there.  I know in hindsight I'm hypersensitive but there was no mistaking her disapproving look when he walked in the room.  I had already weighed myself and peed on the protein stick when we sat down to talk with her.  We went through all the first visit stuff, what to eat, what not to, blah blah blah.  I told her that I had already had a visit at my doctor and we'd already had an ultrasound so we knew the whole no-caffeine, no sushi drill.  I really just wanted to hear the heartbeat because I wasn't feeling particularly pregnant, whatever that means.

I just knew my pants weren't getting tighter, I wasn't queasy anymore and my boobs didn't hurt as much.  But honestly, who misses that stuff?  I don't want to puke 24-7, something must be wrong.  Not me, I was thanking God that I could make it through the day.  I was thankful that I didn't wake up out of a dead sleep any more trying not to scream because I'd squished my boob funny.  I didn't miss it and I thought nothing of it.  So she got to it.

Searching, searching, searching.  Her face got funny and then she got fake-reassuring.

Now how far along are you?  13 weeks? Hmmm, I'm usually quite good at this haha.  What an elusive little one!

I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up and find the fucking heartbeat already.  But I didn't because I'm not crazy.  But I looked at Drew and took his hand.

Searching searching searching.

So where do you work again?  Oh yeah?  Well, that's just around the corner!  So you won't have any trouble just popping by next week so we can try again right sweetie?

I fucking hate it when people use endearments to put you at ease.  It never works.  I wanted to tell her I wasn't her fucking sweetie and I'm not coming back next week because you need to find the fucking heartbeat right fucking now.  But I didn't because that would be crazy.  So we left.

If she couldn't find it again they were going to send me to their back-up physician for an ultrasound.  If I had to go to a doctor, I was going to mine.  I was already making plans to call my cousin and have an ultrasound while I was in Kansas City just in case - she worked in an OB's office and I could just pop in because I was sure it was just that stupid midwife with her 1800s equipment and that was why she couldn't find the heartbeat.  It was her, not me.