Usually when I have to go to the doctor I feel: nervous she’s going to weigh me and tell me I’m fat (I don’t actually think I”m fat, but I’m dense and muscly and short, which makes me heavy on those charts), and I’ll try to nicely, but without directly explaining it, convey please don’t say that, I spent years standing in front of the mirror crying at how little my ribs protruded, and only recently have allowed myself to eat when I’m hungry and run because I love it; convinced that my dread over being weighed is going to make my pulse and blood pressure high, further confirming her hunch that I’m obese; nervous to ask questions because I’ll sound like a hypochondriac, yet at the same time reveal to myself a previously undetected incurable disease.
Yesterday I had my second appointment with my midwife. I actually had an appointment with the doctor that’s in the midwife practice I’m going to, the philosophy being that at each of my appointments, I’ll see whomever is available, and by the time I give birth, will have a good relationship with all five midwives and the OB in the practice.
Yesterday when I went to the doctor: I read a magazine, got complimented, and heard a baby heartbeat!
Honestly, I was kind of excited that they were running a bit behind; the twenty minutes I spent reading Redbook (Ha!) were the most relaxing of my week. The receptionist is nice and funny and doesn’t make me feel nervous. Getting weighed isn’t so nerve-wracking now that no one seems to care what I weigh as long as it’s changing at the appropriate rate. Since I wasn’t nauseated at the thought of the scale, my blood pressure and pulse were lower, and I didn’t feel worried about being judged (I can’t be the only one who has this chain reaction to visits to the doctor, right?). The sun was shining, people were in good moods, and when I finally did finish with my doctor, it was just late enough that I knew I wouldn’t make it to practice in time to see the girls finish their intervals, but I would still have time for a run on my favorite trail. It has been a long time since I’ve had any time to myself (I know–good luck on having any in six months).
The other reason the appointment was great is that I got to hear Little Scone’s heartbeat on the Doppler machine! I didn’t even know this might happen, so I didn’t have the chance to worry about it beforehand. The heartbeat sounded great: clear, consistent, right pace, and the best part was that we took a video (funny that I didn’t know how to do this on my phone and my doctor showed me) so Nick could hear it, too. I think my doctor is also a genius-person-reader (this should be a more common skill in doctors, no?) because first she made a joke about my blood type being an A+, and then she told me that I was a model patient when I confirmed that it was okay to be running about 30-35 miles a week. Although I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m worried about making mistakes and like to be reassured that I’m doing things well, I don’t think I’ve ever had a doctor actually notice this.