The Week of Doctors

Sometimes it feels like all I do is drive around in the car. Tuesday: A at the dentist. Wednesday morning: me at the OB with A in tow; Wednesday after noon: me at the dentist without A, thank God. Thursday morning: me at the hospital filling out pre-admittance paperwork to L&D; Thursday afternoon: A gets an H1N1 flu shot.

Let me just say that while I love the doctors in A's pediatrician office, I hate the office staff. It's like going to an office run by the Marx Brothers, but less funny.

First of all, they super-overbooked. There was no parking available and I had to park two blocks away at Bread & Cie, which made me late. There were thirty people (not including two small babies) in a waiting room that normally holds ten. That's its own little level of hell.

And gentlemen, yes, you with the penises? Stand the hell up for ladies when there aren't enough seats. That's your job. I don't care about feminism; I don't care that your wife's happy to stand while you sit. The mommy who just came in with the seven-month-old needs a place to sit while she nurses. When I'm thirty-five-weeks pregnant and seriously considering giving her my seat, that's your cue to be a man and get off your ass and on your feet.

I had to have a run-around discussion about whether or not A needed the injectable vaccine or the Flu Mist with the nurse. It's not like this is the place that told me that yes, he needed an injectable and yes, they had the injectable available when I called.

"We don't have any more big kid-sized doses of the injectable. He'd have to have two shots if you don't want him to have the inhaled because we only have the baby doses left."

"Well, he's asthmatic and has been hospitalized this year and can't have the flu mist so I guess you'd better get the two shots ready."

"It's still going to be two shots."

"Look, go get Dr. ----- or Dr. ----- and I'm sure all of them will tell you he needs the injectable. Because I'm not letting you give him the live virus Flu Mist and he's not leaving here without a vaccination. Okay?"

She brings in a tray with the two shots and sets it down within arm's reach of A on his eye level, which no nurse has ever done before and freaks him out completely, then waits for me to calm him down so she can give him the shot. She offers him two toys from the treasure chest when he's done.

Anticipation is worse than having the shots. He's wriggly and it's not like I've got a lot of lap to hold him on right now to take a shot. But she did the shots quickly and he cried more before getting the shots than after he'd gotten them.

In doctor's visit news, I'm fine. Baby's on track. The hospital looks, well, like a hospital but the people were friendly enough.

The bad news: most hospitals in San Diego, including the one I'm set to deliver in, have banned all children under 14. When I went to the hospital to do paperwork, the entrance is cordoned off and there's a security guy having people fill out a brief questionnaire: Do you have a fever, a cough that's developed in the last three days, body aches, chills, nausea/vomiting/etc., and are you here with anyone under 14 who is not here for their own appointment or treatment?

So now I'm sad because A won't be able to come visit me and meet the new baby in the hospital. I'm sure we'll of course beg for an exemption and have it not be granted. I'm really sad about it. I feel even more pressure to have a successful VBAC, just because it'll cut down on the time spent in the hospital. With a vaginal delivery, I could be home the next day; I know a C-section is a good--ahem, minimum--two or three days at least (last time, four). Grumble grumble grumble. Maybe they'll have lifted the restrictions by then, but I doubt it.