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July 30, 2008

Digital Epidural, Volume 12

By Michelle Boudreau at 02:55 PM| Permalink | Comments (10)

Last week Stephen and I went to the doctor to get our second sonogram.

It was a special experience seeing the baby so developed. Those fuzzy black and white screens make our child much more real and tangible. However, perhaps merely to provide me with blogging material, the staff at the office did two things that seriously irked me during our visit.

First, Stephen and I have decided to not find out the sex of the baby. I know there are many people that don't comprehend the desire to be surprised, but the unknown-factor is something we are extremely excited about. I was under the impression this was a personal decision that had no relevant impact on other people's lives, let alone a stranger. Far too often, this impression has proven to be false.

Before I begin my rant, though, my compliments to the lady who performed our sonogram. She was more than happy to peacefully and non-argumentatively acquiesce to our request. I don't know whether or not she determined the gender in the process, but either way, she didn't make note of it in her documentation. I appreciate that -- that way no one else can accidentally let it slip. Personally, all I gathered from the visuals is that there's a 50% chance it's a boy and a 50% chance it's a girl. Stephen thinks there is a 1% chance it's a kitten, but that theory was quickly vanquished by our doctor.

After we were done with the sonogram, they took me back to an exam room to do all the other fun things that are part of a routine visit. This is where our gender-mystery decision became a matter of public debate. When the nurse came in to take my blood pressure, before anything else, she made it clear that she thought we had lost all sense of rational thought. No "hello" or "how are you feeling?' or "my, what a lovely pair of shoes" -- just, "I hear you aren't finding out the sex. Why not?"

Lovely.

After a series of comments about the purposeful absence of any shred of mystery in her life, she hit us with the second most popular question we get asked, "But how will you know what to buy at the store?" (the most popular being, "How will you know what to do with your nursery?")

Ok . . . at the risk of over reacting I will simply speak my mind.

Are you kidding me? Every time I am asked this question, I become more and more unreasonably agitated. Mother Nature has kindly provided us a smorgasbord of colors to choose from outside of manly blue and girly pink. I was so wound up -- I'm surprised I didn't burst the blood pressure cuff.

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind if someone is just curious about the sex -- that's the whole point. I suppose I have simply tired of the interrogation into the reasons why we would recklessly subject ourselves to the unknown like this. Likewise, I don't give the third degree to folks to choose to share in that special moment of discovery prior to the birthday.

So just to put a nice little bow on the issue, I will quote my articulate husband and his philosophy on the matter. He really only says this to me, but I think it's worth sharing here.

"When I compare the excitement I get from anticipating that moment of discovery with the ability to gender-specifically decorate and personalize a nursery -- I choose the one that I will treasure forever."

Not everyone treasures the same things, but that's why we have made the decision to keep it a mystery.

So back to my trip to the doctor.

The second offense (which was really a bunch of offenses rolled into one person) came in the form of my doctor's PA. She started off by being the second person to point out the foolishness of our not-finding-out-the-sex ways. She continued her encouraging talk by informing me that my placenta was "a little low". When I asked about it -- she wasn't worried because in 99% of cases it moves up, so no need for concern.

OK, but I wanted to know what happens if it doesn't move up.

Her response came in two parts.

Part one: a short in-take of oxygen, coupled with a painful grimace. Not just a standard in-take of air. One of those one-second bursts where you use your saliva and your mouth to make that atrocious sound that comes out when you are imagining someone scratching their nails on a chalkboard.

Part two: "Oh, don't worry, it will."

Ignoring the apparent contradictions in this two part response, there was the bigger issue of my question. The last time I checked, I was at a doctor's office, not a psychic reading.

It was like pulling teeth to get her to tell me what happens if it doesn't move. And would you like me to share with you the horrendous consequences of it not moving? The mysterious consequence would be a C-Section: a procedure that has been done successfully millions of times before.

Again, maybe this is just another of my unreasonable tirades against the innocent, but don't you think it would be better "bedside manner" to have just answered the question instead of hemming and hawing about how there was no cause for concern since the issue would resolve itself? Just my thoughts on that.

But the fun wasn't over. It wasn't just my misplaced placenta that she didn't want me to worry about -- I also needed to not panic about how I was tipping the scales. She noted, "I see your weight has gone up a bit, but since you've been playing catch up I'm not too worried, just keep the recent increase in mind." (Oh I'll keep it in mind... in fact I'll blog about it next week! . . . I didn't say that . . . but anyway . . . )

Would you like me to share with you the insane amount of weight I have gained in 22 weeks of pregnancy? You should be sure you're sitting down because the grotesqueness of this will knock your socks off. Are you ready?

Seriously, you're sitting down right?

I have gained a mind-boggling 2 pounds in 22 weeks. 2 pounds!

I know, I know, I'm a serious fatty and need to seek intervention. I'm already consulting a gastric bypass surgeon -- so rest easy: our genderless baby won't have to deal with a mother that resembles a Dallas Cowboy lineman. They'll have enough emotional damage to deal with anyway -- with their non gender-specific nursery and all. : )

I wanted to smack her over the head with the computer screen sitting behind her. But I thought better of it and just smiled politely instead. I knew I had a digital epidural on the way.