I am having a bad morning. Arguments with the domestic partner. A cat – his cat – who’s eaten the seedlings I was lovingly nursing to life, that I might feed our small family homegrown peas, zucchini, cucumbers, spinach, and red peppers this summer. Now the oil-and-water combination of guilt at having told him he was being a “prick” and indignation at the knowledge that he, perhaps, wasn’t being a full-on prick, but that he was acting like a giant, hairy man-baby. Progesterone. Progesterone flooding my brain like rum, but so so much less fun. Making me unsure whether my indignation is on solid ground. Whether I’m actually indignant at all. Or maybe just pregnant. Prowling a blog written by a girl I went to high school with who, like all the girls I went to high school with, seems to have her shit so much more together than I do. Her blog led me to this. And I wanted to share it. It made me think of my OB.
I have to sign a waiver stating that I want my tubes tied after I deliver our twins. That I understand that it’s permanent. That I really, really want it done. Then I have to wait 30 days. If I were to go into labor prior to my 30 days being up – an entirely possible scenario, given that twins often come early and I’m into my 8th month – my OB would be legally obligated to leave my tubes intact. My insurance will be cut off almost immediately upon delivery, because my husband makes too much money for me to have medicaid if I’m not a surrogate for a uterine parasite or two. I will not be allowed, then to have my tubes tied.
Except that my OB is fabulous and understands that it’s “absurd” for him to treat me based on the moral position of the State of Pennsylvania rather than on my own wishes. Hearing that from him was a truly empowering experience. I’ve never, ever had a doctor make me feel as though what I wanted was priority one. I’m pretty sure none of them up to this point could even have told me my own name without consulting my chart. In fact, the fat shit practitioner I’ve blogged about previously has actually called me by the wrong name – and had the wrong patient chart pulled up at the beginning of our meeting – twice now. So…my confidence in doctors is shaky at best.
But doctors like this one, like mine, give me the warm fuzzies. As a woman, I find the idea that any doctor would feel any different both discouraging and frightening.