Worst Friday, Ever.

I beg your pardon as I use this blog post for some major catharsis. Really, forgive me. It's pretty pitiful.

Don't ask me why I was referred to an OB/GYN specialist in my 39th week. I'm pretty sure that if it's supposed to happen, it's supposed to happen before then. In fact, my family doctor had me convinced that she was going to be the one delivering, the way she spoke about my upcoming delivery and by the pictures of her in hospital garb with new and wrinkly babies all over the walls in the clinic. Old pictures? An elaborate hoax? Either way, I was duped.

Soooo....when she told me that I had an appointment with the ObGyn that week, I was a little baffled. And slightly confused. But I went with it, putting together the pieces that no, my doctor was not delivering, and yes, I still needed to see the obstetrician...at least once(?) before she delivered my baby. Fabulous.

I'm sitting in the small room of the obstetrics clinic, waiting for my new doc...with Baby-Rae in tow, I might add, who's opening all the cupboard doors she can find....and the nurse pops her head back in and asks if I have my operation report from my previous C-section. Umm..nope, I sure don't. Does my family doctor? I have no reason to think so...she's never asked me enough information to lead me to believe she might have requested the record from the hospital where I had the operation. Oh, I really need that? The Ob/Gyn enters to explain why. She can't "counsel me appropriately" without it. Great. Okay, I'll wait out in the waiting room again while they see if they can fax away for it and get it in ASAP. No, I've got nothing pressing as far as plans, just a restless 15.5 month old. Thank heavens they have an awesome slide in the waiting area that she can go up and down five hundred times by herself whilst I watch.

An hour later. Baby-Rae's just about had it. She's ready for a nap. They haven't gotten any info back from the hospital yet, and I was right about my family doctor not having it either. What should they do with me? The doctor says she'll visit with me for a bit and "do the best she can" without that information. Great.

In detail, she explains that she needs to know what kind of incision they made in my uterus in the previous c-section in order to "counsel" me as to whether or not it's safe to deliver naturally. What? There's a possibility that I might not be able to? News to me. Well, mostly. And bad news, at that. She says that if they had to "T" the incision at all, she can't counsel me to labour...because the chances of my uterus rupturing in labour are high. When she hears about Baby-Rae's delivery, she says that there's a very real possibility that they might have (T'd the incision, that is), because she was so far down the birth canal before she went into distress and had to be delivered by emergency c-section. In the next few sentences, she tells me that without that information, they have to be safe and assume I'll need a repeat section... She says "they" referring to obstetricians in general, because she continues to make it clear that no doctor in their right mind would just let me go ahead with a labour without knowing the details she's talking about. And I feel like I've just been kicked out of a moving car. No wits, no wind left.

So... we just need to get the info and they'll see everything's okay for me to go ahead with a natural delivery, right? Not so fast. She's wanting to get me in to have a c-section right away. If I went into labour spontaneously, I would have to have an emergency C-section anyway...because of the lack of info...and an emergency c-section presents more risks...including the fact that I might have to go completely under for speed's sake...and miss the first moments of my baby's life. I added the last part in my head. My due date is coming up too quick for her comfort. She wants to schedule me for Monday or Tuesday. She asks if I "have my heart set on delivering naturally." Um, heck yes. To have the opportunity to go through labour with my D-Hubby which is such an incredible bonding experience, to be able to recuperate quickly and avoid weeks of pain and minimal movement, to be able to pick up my Baby-Rae and not just my itty bitty baby, and to let my body just do what it was made to do: just a few of the many reasons I had my heart set on it being different this time. But all she's getting out of me is a resounding yes. She offers me some sliver of hope when she tells me that if we get the information in time,  then we can always cancel the section. Yes! I ask if we can schedule as far out as possible so the chances of the report arriving before said date are more likely. I can tell she's uncomfortable with anything beyond Monday or Tuesday...doesn't want me going into labour before then. The office schedules my section for Monday afternoon. I wish I were more with-it to protest, but I'm just numb and frustrated. No one's around the hospital on the weekend to fax anything back to us, so my only hope is that the report shows up Monday morning. That's the only chance I get. Everyone else around me is blaming someone else for this mess so I don't have to. My doctor that should have referred me earlier so we could request the information sooner is the one who gets the brunt of it.

On the way home, I buy a caramel Oreo McFlurry. And an extra-large fries. And eat my feelings.

I get home to the phone ringing. Could it be? They've gotten it already!? Nope.
The hospital has to see me THAT afternoon. As soon as I can possibly get there. They usually are given more time to schedule someone for a pre-assessment for a c-section. They've only got this afternoon. That's the only chance they get to get me prepped for my impending operation on Monday. Luckily Darren is on his way home and can watch a finally-napping Baby-Rae. Off I go to be assessed. And while the nurse pops in and out to get various information from me, I can't help but let the tears spill over a little bit. She's confused, I can tell. All the paperwork she has me read over and sign is referring to this as an elective c-section. And I feel like I elected to have it about as much as I would choose to have someone poke me in the eye.

The whole time I'm sitting on that sterile white bed, I'm trying to remind myself that it's not that big of a deal. The pros are that I would know when I'm having the baby...a bonus for my visiting Mama who would know exactly when and why she's needed. It would be a relaxed operation, not rushed and panicked, like my last one. I'd be having a baby, for heaven's sake! My sweet little karate-kid would be in my arms so soon! And I suddenly feel selfish for being so inflexible when there are so many out there who would take a baby anyway they possibly could. I try to tell myself all these things, but I'm still on the verge of all-out bawling. And still trying to awkwardly wipe my face dry every time the nurse comes back in and looks confused again. I blame hormones. They're not especially famous for giving someone great perspective. Maybe later I'll be able to remind myself of all of these things with a little more success. Maybe after I have a beautiful little baby in my arms to snuggle and smell.

I manage to make it home in one piece. D-Hubby had to leave town for the weekend, and was already making the trip much later than planned. I managed to squeeze in a few minutes of falling apart in his arms and him helping me feel a bit better before the demands of the weekend whisked him away with our only car. And with me stuck with a Sunday doctor's appointment at the very time when almost everyone I know is in church. I'm trying to keep from collecting too many pity-me's but those dang hormones are making it tough. I bury myself in Baby-Rae and we finish out a fun evening together. A sweet note to end a bitter day.

I know that whatever happens, it'll be okay. At least, I know that in my head. My heart will listen up soon, I'm sure. As soon as those hormones ebb a little.

And next time I have a baby--provided that all is okay with incisions and such--I'm getting a midwife.
For. Sure.