The bureaucracy involved with this is kind of mind-numbing. Here I thought I could just cruise through and worry about the medical end of things. But no. Saturday I tried to log in to the automated system where you can get your lab results – I thought that was pretty cool. Except that I wasn’t in there. I intended to make a nasty phone call on Monday, but I forgot, and by the time I remembered it was past office hours. I decided to give it another try, and this time my user ID worked. Good thing I forgot to call. Except... the results say "normal." This is not informative. For one thing, I don’t know what they were testing for, so I don’t know what "normal" means in this instance. The only thing I do know was that I’d asked for a toxoplasmosis screen to find out if I’m immune or not. "Normal" doesn’t answer that question.
You are in a helicopter.
So I have a call in to the doctor’s office, and one of the nurses is supposed to call me back. We’ll see how long that takes. I’m figuring on days.
This will be so much easier once I can tell my family. At that point I’ll be able to appeal to the branch of the family who works at the hospital, and I’ll be able to bring a little pressure to bear.
I’m having a lot of "what the hell am I thinking" moments. Apparently this is normal. Doesn’t make it any less gut-gnawing, though.
HOW does one find a midwife? So far I’m striking out on the web – I can’t find anyone listed who practices at the hospital I’ve chosen. I’m going to ask my chiropractor and his massage therapist if they know anyone, given that they’re all lumped in as "alternative." I’ll also ask at my next appointment at the doctor’s office who works at Dempsey.
Speaking of which, they’re not in any particular hurry about anything. Supposedly someone was going to call me with appointment dates/times for ultrasounds, but so far, silence. I guess I should tack "whenever" onto anything they say they’re going to do. I’m not really worried about it, but I’m kind of anxious for the ultrasound – hoping that will make it a little more real to me.
I ate like crap this past weekend, and I really need to stop that. The diet is just so hard to figure out. There’re a few things that I can do the same every day that’ll knock off some categories – a glass of orange juice when I get home from work. A banana with lunch every day. Maybe a cup of yogurt in the afternoon every day. The protein requirements are probably easy, given that we’re a meat-eating family. For dairy, I’ll just need to get back into the habit of drinking milk, which shouldn’t take long. It’s the grains that boggle me. I just don’t eat a lot of them, and anything whole grain that I’ve ever tried has tasted like wallpaper paste. I’m going to cruise the cracker aisle at the grocery store and see what I can find that might be palatable. Part of the problem is that it’s hard to make this stuff stick when I’m too tired to cook. That puts me at the mercy of whatever Bob decides to make (assuming he’s thought about it), and I feel guilty asking him to make something when I’m not doing any of the work.
So far I’ve looked briefly into midwives and diaper services. Tonight I need to call Cigna, to clarify my co-payment responsibilities; and PayFlex, to clarify my tax documentation responsibilities if I do get socked with one huge payment. I’m not going to start looking at car seats and furniture and stuff until we’re past the usual danger period, which in our case probably means past the CVS testing. I want to get to the telling people part, even though I don’t intend to tell anyone at work except my immediate supervisors. I’m going to ask them to keep it to themselves for as long as possible. I don’t need the grief. Most people will be happy, but the continual interrogations are going to be exhausting, and my problem child is going to really piss me off. The LSOS next door spent the entirety of a co-worker’s pregnancy referring to the fact that she was having a "critter," which offended me to no end. If the co-worker didn’t complain it wasn’t my place to, but just let her try that with me! I’ll throw a huge public fit – and then blame it on the hormones. I want her filthy mouth kept off of me, and I will go to HR with it if she pushes me.
This could actually be very entertaining.