In Which Mama Bear Gets It and My Wonderful New Doctor Blows My Socks Off

Well...  since that last post the whole 'where will the baby come out?' discussion got a little more interesting.  I started to wrap my mind around the hospital my (original) doctor had mentioned. The one that seemed so very far away for a delivery at 1 hour and 45 minutes away from us.  I did what I do and I Googled it and I saw the birthing suites and read about the ICU and NICU (which I really shouldn't need, but is still the mark of a higher-level hospital) and I thought, "Ok.  I can do this."  This could be ok.  And I started to settle  my mind into it.

I went swimming with Carolyn that Friday, did some laps myself, and was feeling pretty good when I walked through the door to see a message blinking on my answering machine. 

It was....  The University of Washington.  In Seattle.  The SUPER hospital.  You might remember that this is the place where we went to visit Dr. Crazy Hair and the Grey's Anatomyesque Intern and Resident.  And when THEY call YOU you know there's some business going down.

This phone call indicated that I was to call back regarding an appointment that had been scheduled for the following Monday...  The person on the answering machine indicated that she and I had already discussed this appointment, but I had never talked to the woman before...  On top of that, I certainly wasn't expecting my care to be at UW.  This was most certainly another curve ball.

I called back and got the pertinent information.  I found out my appointment was scheduled with a doctor who follows High Risk pregnancies (Translation for the Grey's fans: They sent me to Addison Montgomery) and that I really had to make this appointment because (as if I hadn't noticed yet) we were in the eleventh hour here. 

And at the word 'High Risk Pregnancy' coming from the lips of a person at UW, my Mama Bear heart skipped a beat.  Of course it wasn't the first time I thought about the words...  It's been on my chart for some time.  It's the reason I met with the grumpy anesthesiologist at the Naval Hospital.  But remember in the span of a week and a half I had gone from everyone I talked to saying, "Eh...  No big deal on this delivering of the baby thing," to....  an ASAP referral to the REAL super hospital in Seattle's version of Addison Montgomery.

Let's face it, I've watched enough of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice to know what kind of cases those doctors take on.

So.... I got a little bit scared.  At the same time, the sinus infection I'd mentioned in the previous post got a lot worse...  and my ear started to hurt...  and all of my attempts to stay in control of my physical and emotional feelings were just plain shot.  Being sick plus processing all of the new curve balls that now had to do with my pregnancy and therefore MY BABY just....  wasn't going well.

And lo....  I was a total basket case. 

Monday came and Andy and I made the trek down to Seattle.  I was a nervous wreck.  I was a bundle of questions about C-sections and Inductions and 2+ hour drives to deliver a baby and worries about whether or not I would feel comfortable with this doctor. 

Finally, we met her.

And I fell in love.  Commence the newest Doctor Crush.  Can she be my new best friend?

Her staff was wonderful.  Her nurse hung out with us for a good 15 minutes quizzing me about Tomas and telling us how things worked when you hatched a kid at the UW.  She was delightful.  And then the doctor walked in and answered all of my questions before I could even ask them.

She said at one point, "I'm going to throw you a curve ball."  I almost fainted then and there because I didn't think I could handle any more curve balls especially the kind that might come from the UW equivalent of Addison Montgomery.  Andrew started reaching for the tissues on the counter and I warned her that me and Curve Balls were not friends right now.

Then she said, "I know everyone has probably been talking about C-sections with you...  But I'm not sure that's the right way to go in your case.  I'm not sure that would actually be LESS stressful for you and baby in the long run." 

And that's when I got really Gooey-eyed about My Wonderful New Doctor. 

She took us through a potential plan that would involve a planned induction (with a delivery 2+ hours away from home, there's just really no way to get around that at this point), but would not necessarily have to involve a C-section.  (It will probably, however, involve a *really* good epidural and a Season or two of Bones).  Now don't get me wrong, I'm NOT down on C-sections.  But I would like to avoid one if at all possible because I've got a lot coming at me in my recovery period and I already have at least one and possibly two surgeries looming post baby arrival (thanks to good ole Hermione) and besides I just plain don't know what to expect within the realm of C-sectionness.  I've had two non-medicated births that came about 'the more traditional way,' and I have a lot of anxiety about the C-section possibility and how I would handle it (mostly in regards to the recovery period).

This plan is not set in stone.  We'll find out more about whether or not it's a possibility at our next appointment on Wednesday when we'll again see My Wonderful New Doctor as well as an anesthesiologist.  The anesthesiologists hold the magic fairy dust to keep all ok in ANY strange event that Tomas might cause and they are key players to this delivery.  They have to be on board with My Wonderful New Doctor too. 

But just knowing that she was open to other possibilities was so comforting.

I left feeling GOOD about about going to UW for baby's arrival and feeling WONDERFUL about My Wonderful New Doctor. 

Incidentally, I got a phone call from the referral powers that  be at the Naval Hospital later on in the week.  I had called my doctor, trying very hard not to cry, after making the initial contact with the folks at UW.  I asked him why I was being sent to a Super Hospital instead of the "Medium level hospital that is closer with an ICU and everything he said I really needed."  He said he'd ask the folks in referrals. 

They called to explain that they'd been trying to get me in to said hospital (to which I nearly burst out with, NO!  DON'T! in light of My Wonderful New Doctor) and....  They wouldn't take me.  I'm too weird.  I make them too nervous.  They consider my oddities to be too big of a risk for them.

Then I thought--the meeting with the grumpy anesthesiologist was not so fun...  And the feeling that no one out here had my back until the fabulous folks at NIH stepped up for me was awful...  And switching at the eleventh hour from my doctor who has been so wonderful through this whole process is really a bummer....  And the prospect of giving birth 2 hours away is inconvenient at best and anxiety producing at worst....

BUT how scary is it that unless those questions had been asked, that I could have given birth at our little Naval Hospital when the folks down the road, which are considered to be more than a few steps above our little hospital, consider me to be too high of a risk and would only refer me up to the super docs?

At that point the Mama Bear who had previously only been scared out of her mind at the words 'High Risk' in conjunction with this pregnancy suddenly became just really grateful that I was going to the very, very best place around for world class care for this little cub and me.   

There's a 99% chance that we don't need to be at a Super Hospital and that all the extra precautions and resources that will be available to us won't be needed in the least.  But if that 1% fluke happens and I end up being *really* special in a not so great way, I'm exactly where I need to be.

So on Wednesday we should be coming home with a 'plan' not that babies always follow anybody's plan, Super Doc or not.  We should know when the hatching of this sweet little one will occur too (again see previous statement).  I've kicked the sinus infection and gotten drugs for the ear infection and the world is really looking brighter.

Mama Bear has settled in, Tomas can wait a while longer, and I'm good.

At least until the next curve ball comes flying.