Digital Epidural, Volume 16

So, I did it.

I became one of "those girls". The ones that get overly anxious about nothing and make the answering service at their doctor's office page their doctor so she can ask her a ridiculous question. Without going into too much personal detail, on a Wednesday afternoon not so long ago, I felt like something was not right "down there." Like maybe there was too much fluid or something. Again... the details aren't essential.

So I did what any proud member of the Age of the Internet would do: I Googled my issue. Within about 15 minutes, I was convinced that my amniotic sac had broken and I was leaking amniotic fluid.

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I confess that I am a worrier. I worry about Stephen if I can't get in touch with him within a 2 hour period. My over-reactions aren't limited to Stephen, though. I once made Stephen drive out to Rockwall to make sure my mom was OK because she didn't call me back within 24 hours. Apparently I like to give myself a time schedule on which insanity is permissable.

In spite of these stories, though, I'm generally pretty even keel when it comes to medical issues. I have previously read stories about women who had their doctors on speed dial in the event of any and all pregnancy-related concerns. Working for a company where the people I deal with are located all over the globe, I have first-hand experience of how frustrating it can be for someone to expect you to be available at all hours of the day and night. So with that in mind, I try to be respectful of the fact that my doctor has family, friends and a life outside of being my personal answering service.

Back to the story, then.

After my Google research, I called my doctor's office only to discover that it was already closed. The message said to dial 911 if it was an emergency (I was still rational enough to know that wasn't necessary) or to dial 0 to to immediately speak with a doctor.

I wasn't sure.

Did I need to immediately speak to a doctor? I felt like that statement should be followed by, "Reasons you would NOT need to immediately speak to the doctor and should probably just calm down and stop overreacting include..." The problem would have been solved right then and there as I'm sure my issue would have been on that list.

So being unsure of whether to press 0 or not, I hung up and called Stephen. Keep in mind that Stephen has no formal medical training.

I explained the situation to him he recommended I call back and talk to the doctor if I was this nervous. So, I called back and pressed 0 and here's what happened next:

Answering Service: "Good evening, Dr. Krum and Dr. Carmichael's answering service."

Me: "I guess."

They paged the doctor. The one on call that night was not my doctor, but he responded to my page rather quickly. I guess leaking amniotic fluid at 25 weeks isn't exactly in the realm of "good for the pregnancy."

The doctor was nothing but sweet as he went through my issue with me. He told me that leaking amniotic fluid usually means fluid running down your leg. When I explained to him that my issue was not even in the same time zone as that, he kind of chuckled and said, "This is your first one isn't it?"

It was then that I knew it had happened. I had become one of "those girls."

How had that happened? I've prided myself throughout my pregnancy on not getting worked up or worried about anything silly and here I was taking away precious personal moments from this doctor because I was experiencing a pregnancy symptom that every pregnant woman experiences and, to be honest, that I've been experiencing since finding out I was pregnant.

"I was just worried," I told the doctor.

He assured me that he was glad I had called to assuage my fears and that if I was still concerned tomorrow, they would have no problem with me coming in and running a test.

So, I learned two valuable lessons that night: (1) I am not immune from being "that girl" and (2) never, ever, under any circumstances, rely on Google for answers to your medical questions.

Digital Epidural, Volume 15

Stephen and I were talking the other night about having a baby and how it would change our lives. We both understand that we'll be losing the freedom and flexibility our current lifestyle affords. In principle, this concept is easy to understand, even if it is overwhelming. Specifically, though, what makes me nervous is that I can't really understand how much of this freedom we will lose until our little guy or girl is born. And even then, I imagine it is an evolving process, not just an event.

So while I can prepare myself to go out less, get up earlier, be covered in baby spit up -- I won't really know what my life will be like until the baby is outside of my womb. Not being a huge fan of the unknown (unless it comes to not finding out the gender of my baby), this is an overwhelming thought.

With that in mind, I thought I should start getting myself ready in other ways. I was talking to a co-worker of mine the other day who has a 5 year-old. She was telling me how she had to discipline her child because he said the word"stupid". Apparently "stupid" is not a word that is allowed around their house.

That got me thinking about all the words I use on a regular basis that are probably not baby appropriate. I try not to use profanity, but freely confess that traffic and machines that do not do what they are supposed to do (even though I'm, of course, doing everything correctly) sometimes inspire a rage in me that can only be quelled by uttering words from the forbidden pages of the dictionary.

This habit seems a lot easier to cure, though, than some of the words that are more firmly planted in my vocabulary. For example, I often refer to things (or people) as "retarded", "stupid", or "dumb". I often say "shut up" and I regularly threaten to beat Stephen up (which causes him great fear. . . I'm sure) when he doesn't obey my benevolent and loving commands. As a child, these are all words and phrases that I remember being off limits (especially before we were exposed to the more egregious curse words).

So now, when I find myself saying "that's retarded" or "that's dumb" or "I'm going to kick your butt, Stephen" (which is usually followed by a "you wish you could" and me responding "you wish I couldn't" and this goes on for awhile as you can imagine), I realize I'm going to have to change the way I speak . . . very soon.

This realization also led me to the realization that my sense of humor is not necessarily G rated. If you've ever been out in public with me (and especially if you're the Poetschkes), you've no doubt been victim to one of my too loud, inappropriate jokes (usually induced by wine). I also find bodily functions hilarious and good topics for conversation (sometimes even meal conversation).

Now, you may be thinking – "What's wrong with her?" If so, we probably haven't spent enough time together. Seriously, let's hang out and you'll see how hilarious poop can be.

Or, you may be thinking – "She's right, that kid is going to be MESSED up." In which case you've probably spent too much time with me and probably wish you could erase from your mind some of my off-color jokes for which I apologize.

In any case, the clock is now ticking down for me to learn how to sensor and/or change myself. At the rate I'm going, my child's first phrase will be "mommy is dumb" followed closely behind by a poop joke.