Here We Go...To the hospital...

First let me apologize (well, if anyone comes back to read this that is) for not getting to this earlier. 

My new OBGYN (if you remember reading about the psychotic witch I was seeing before you will also remember I had to switch docs more than half way through my pregnancy) saw me a couple of times, deemed me doing well and handed my care over to one of his mid-wives.  She is an awesome old lady!  I kid not.  She is a tough old broad....she handled me just as I should have been handled.  Her name is Sherry.  She took me on with a smile and a firm hand.  I quickly found myself trusting her because she listened to my concerns, my bitching and my frustrations then gave me straight answers.  There were times I found myself "checking" my trust.  Never before have I found a medical person able to handle me so perfectly...without making me feel like I was being "handled." 

A few days before I was due to check into the hospital, we attempted to find someone to watch the kids. It wasn't as easy as pie. My parents (only an hour away) were balking, most of my friends had jobs or kids of their own. Eventually it became a chaotic scheduling mess, but we found decent people to keep track of our critters while we brought our newest critter into the world. This didn't do much to releive my stress.  I hated that my kids had to be handed off back and forth between available people.



I checked into the hospital at the crack of dawn. Nervous as always and in a bad mood because I didn't sleep well...and I didn't eat for 12 hours! I was instantly on defensive. Nothing anyone said, no amount of "nursey" optimism could lighten my mood enough to trust any of those well-meaning souls who attempted to get me to relax.  For all I knew in my nutcase brain, they were all looking at me with disdain for being a smoker...for being fat...for being a bitch.  Whatever the case, I was just not the happy camper.  Huh, and people say the third time is a charm.  NOT!  I just doubt I will ever be a happy camper when it comes to anything medical. 

I am all hooked up and waiting to be wheeled into surgery.  The anesthesiologist comes into the room to explain her part.  I nodded in the right places all the while thinking this frail, skinny little thing is gonna get a rude awakening when she finds out that I am not easily drugged and not good at being a patient.  But, I have been here before.  I smile and attempt to relax knowing what to expect from the procedure.  After all, my hubby will be right next to me. 

Now walks in Nurse Betty.  No joke, her name is Betty.  She is an old dodger herself.  Cute as your grandma and looking as nervous as a turkey on Thanksgiving.  I think someone told her about me. Good.  People should be forewarned about what they are about to deal with.  My first impression of Nurse Betty is that she is gonna run away crying before the day is up.  She is assigned to be the baby nurse during delivery and then our care nurse for the rest of her shift.  Ok.  I figured this experience would test her enough to see what she was made of.  She was kind and explained the procedure and asked if I had any questions.  I asked this and that, pretty much already knowing the answer but curious to see how she reacted.  She seemed fine. 

A few moments later my OBGYN walked in with Sherry behind him.  He poked me, checked my chart then left to prep for the surgery.  Sherry stayed for a minute.  Asked me if I had any questions etc.  I noticed she was in scrubs.  I asked her if she was here delivering for another patient.  She looked shocked, almost hurt.  She told me she was here for me.  HUH?  I thought that since she was a mid-wife she wouldn't be in for hacking me open and ripping the little angel from my womb.  She told me she wouldn't miss it for the world!  I almost cried.  Finally, someone I had a repartee with...someone I felt I could trust was gonna be right there with me.  Cool.  I relaxed a little.  Not much, but a little. 

So, off to surgery we go.