Okay, let me start off on a positive before I start to get all whiny.
It's 85 degrees here in London. And it's sunny. Yes, I'm totally serious. Apparently, we're having some sort of ridiculous heat wave, and even though I'm carrying a bowling ball in front of me and heat makes me feel a bit cankle-icious, I'm telling Mrs. Nature to bring it on. I'm a sucker for sunshine, and everytime I'm out for my lunch, I crane my neck to get as much of it as possible within my allotted 60 minutes.
Now, here's the whiny bit where it seems my 20-year old insecure self has reappeared.
At 6 months in, I feel huge. I feel like I have chipmunk cheeks. I feel like my hair is perpetually hanging at a heavy triangle on my face, daring me to do anything to it that makes it look less like a helmet. I feel like I've started waddling. I feel like a monkey when I sit cross legged and my belly protrudes between my thighs. I find it difficult to shave my legs. I can't walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded. I've almost passed out twice, due to my low blood pressure and not eating as much as I should and still thinking I can run along at my regular pace. Yeah, I put a smile on and put on my flowy tops and just-so torn jeans and put cream on my remarkably pimple-less cheeks and look the part of a supremely serene pregnant lady, but in my head I feel like I should be wearing a neon blinking sign that reads Caution: Wide Load.
This in turn makes me feel unsexy and uncool and tired. And this results in me bursting into tears at very odd moments.
The mister has been amazing through all of this. Luckily, I'm married to someone that not only finds pregnancy fascinating, he finds it quite sexy on me and the way I'm changing. But unfortunately, the only thing I hear through my hormone-static is blahblahblah. I should be flattered by comments from people and strangers that I "look so well" and that "I'm carrying this neat little bump", but I can't seem to get a grip.
I've also taken on trying to understand what the mister is going through. I don't want him to feel like he always has to run home and massage my feet, but I also don't want him to feel like this is his "last summer" and he'll take advantage of the old party crowd and forget about me sitting at home not being able to drink, go out with friends, or do much of anything at all. I know, I feel unfair to him just uttering those words.
Yeah, I sound insecure and paranoid. But this is the stuff that no one tells you about pregnancy. It's not all wine and roses.
I'm the kind of girl that could never/will never be able to keep my mouth shut. I'm an open book with everything, especially in my marriage. The mister would probably rather not always hear my inner monologue, but sometimes I feel that it's appropriate. And so I laid bare how I feel about this summer, changes that should be made, things that have happened in the past.
Unfortunately, this now put him in a position where he feels like I don't trust him to make the right decisions. Him. The writer of my many love letters, the father of our child, my puzzle-piece.
But it's not a case of trust. It's a case of me worrying that things won't change (according to my pace, mind you). Worrying also that things are changing, but too quickly. That there will now not be "the two of us", that it'll be "the three of us". How does this affect me? Him? Us? What is it like, having a 3rd team member? Will I be a good mom/wife/lover/friend?
These are things I haven't said to him. These are things that lie at the root of the "other" things I bring up. I guess I do my best to try and balance the amazing gift of being pregnant with the nervousness and insecurity that go with it, and try to lean more heavily on the former rather than the latter. Oddly enough, I feel that it's a kind of weakness to admit my fragility, so I put on a brave face and overcompensate by being tough and sarcastic. It's a battle that no one can solve except me, and I guess this pregnancy just brings up some old demons that I thought I'd put away.
Yet even as I write this, Junior is deftly kicking me in response to my fears, as if to say... psst. i'm right here. everything will be okay.
Tuesday 30 June 2009
Sunday 7 June 2009
Doctors, hospitals and charts, oh my..
I will not use the obligatory "we're not in Kansas anymore" quote, but it applies nevertheless. And, as a warning, some of you may not agree with some of the following statements and may think of them as a bit inflammatory, but if you care to read on, go for it (and settle in with some tea and cake, 'cause this is a loooooong one).
Living in a foreign country gives you a very unique comparative perspective on a lot of things. Currently, I have the pleasure of comparing health care systems, doctors, hospitals, etc. Being a pregnant lady, I have no choice but to be immersed in all of this at a semi-regular frequency. I'll start with my previous experiences.
After living in NYC for almost 10 years, and upstate NY before that, I had a pretty good knowledge and comfort-level with the way the health care system operated. You pay through the nose, or your company does, for health insurance (which I still think is the most ridiculous thing, PAYING to have health coverage), which gives you the opportunity to see a doctor for every sniffle, cough, cold.. anything. And he'll see you very quickly, which I used to think was a blessing. But when I got to his office, he'd manage, every time, to shove a load of medicine and samples into my hand and say- yeah, take some of this, you'll be fine. Uh, okaaay...
Luckily, mama didn't raise no fool, so I'm pretty familiar with medical jargon (yeah, I'm a super-nerd who likes reading biology and science books), and I'm familiar with the way my body works. And to my astonishment, sometimes I'd look in one hand and have one medicine, and in the other hand I would have another medicine that conflicted. As in: "take two of these to expel phlegm" and "take two of these to suppress it". Yeah, thanks doctor. That makes total sense.
I realised that the only reason why doctors do this is because they have close partnerships with certain pharmaceutical companies, so they make a nice profit when they give you lots of samples. Figures. It's also proven that hospitals encourage pregnant women to have a drug that speeds up labour (or have a cesarean), so that the turnover can be higher. More births=more money. It's like a Michael Moore documentary over there. And for a long time, I bought into it, and I loved the attention I would get for every little thing that bothered me. I became a bit of a hypochondriac, and every little ache or cough became oh, shit. I'm gonna die.
Well, shift that to living in the UK. Over here, everyone gets free health coverage. You can see the doctor at the last minute, and if it's something serious, they'll refer you to a specialist. Simple as that. No drugs, no co-pay. Now, if you can afford to pay for private health insurance (which is the monthly equivalent of paying $60 a month) and take yourself out of the line of people who can't afford to do that, then that's a good option as well. Granted, it doesn't cover everything, but it does guarantee cheaper prices for certain treatments.
In the beginning, I was terrified of the NHS. I pictured these grimy clinics, ripped curtains, dim David Fincher-esque lighting. Okay, I'm a bit of a drama queen- but hey, I was so used to the rich, pristine walls of NYU, that I had a very pampered perception.
The doctors here are pretty amazing. I remember my first visit- I came in and asked the doctor "umm.. I have this cough I've had for a few days- should I take something for it? What do you think it is?" The doctor took one look at me, listened to my chest and said "Chicken soup, and rest. Now get out."
And he was right. No one here bullshits you. No one here throws drugs at a problem unless absolutely last-resort necessary. Have I ever used my private health insurance? Nope. Yes, the NHS have issues, just like any over-prescribed under-staffed business, but they've never failed me. I trust them.
Now, as a pregnant lady in a foreign country, I am a tiny bit nervous about things here. I guess it brings a whole new set of issues for me that I've never had to deal with before. Scans, midwife appointments, growth charts, percentages, birth plans. The list goes on. But we've found a great NHS hospital only 20 minutes away from us that so far has been amazing- the facilities are modern and comfortable, the people are really lovely, and the doctors are extremely thorough. But they've been a bit too cautious and thorough recently. I'll explain.
I've had a mild heart murmur since I was 10. So does Mamo. So does Babchya. it's our hallmark, if you will. I've never had a problem with it apart from the occasional flutter. However, as someone that will, in just under 4 months, endure the incredible physical strain of pushing a watermelon-sized human being out of my bits, the doctors recommended me to have an ultrasound and ECG of my heart, to make sure that there won't be any complications. I was against it, since I'm sure I'll be fine, but I agreed to it nonetheless. They spent 40 minutes in there with me, scanning my heart, taking measurements. Did they discuss the results with me after? Nope. They said I'll get a letter with my results in the mail.
Still, the paranoid New Yorker in me came back with a vengeance. Whaaaaat?!?!?!??? What does that mean? Did they find anything? Ohmygodohmygod.
Yeah, I'd slap me too. I was spinning. I was imagining the worst scenarios possible. I looked at the mister helplessly.
"Just take a breath", he said. He was right.
Throughout this pregnancy, I've realised there are a LOT of scales, percentages and charts that they use to monitor a pregnant woman and her baby. Are doctors always correct? No. Do babies always grow along the lines of a national average? No. Do mothers all have the same issues? Nope. So, I'm taking everything with a large kernel of salt.
To be honest, the more I think about all these charts and tests and figures, the more time I take away from focusing on this little magical wriggling fish inside me. And that's not a very rock and roll attitude to pass down to our baby, now is it?
So just keep hanging, baby. Mama will take care of the rest.
Living in a foreign country gives you a very unique comparative perspective on a lot of things. Currently, I have the pleasure of comparing health care systems, doctors, hospitals, etc. Being a pregnant lady, I have no choice but to be immersed in all of this at a semi-regular frequency. I'll start with my previous experiences.
After living in NYC for almost 10 years, and upstate NY before that, I had a pretty good knowledge and comfort-level with the way the health care system operated. You pay through the nose, or your company does, for health insurance (which I still think is the most ridiculous thing, PAYING to have health coverage), which gives you the opportunity to see a doctor for every sniffle, cough, cold.. anything. And he'll see you very quickly, which I used to think was a blessing. But when I got to his office, he'd manage, every time, to shove a load of medicine and samples into my hand and say- yeah, take some of this, you'll be fine. Uh, okaaay...
Luckily, mama didn't raise no fool, so I'm pretty familiar with medical jargon (yeah, I'm a super-nerd who likes reading biology and science books), and I'm familiar with the way my body works. And to my astonishment, sometimes I'd look in one hand and have one medicine, and in the other hand I would have another medicine that conflicted. As in: "take two of these to expel phlegm" and "take two of these to suppress it". Yeah, thanks doctor. That makes total sense.
I realised that the only reason why doctors do this is because they have close partnerships with certain pharmaceutical companies, so they make a nice profit when they give you lots of samples. Figures. It's also proven that hospitals encourage pregnant women to have a drug that speeds up labour (or have a cesarean), so that the turnover can be higher. More births=more money. It's like a Michael Moore documentary over there. And for a long time, I bought into it, and I loved the attention I would get for every little thing that bothered me. I became a bit of a hypochondriac, and every little ache or cough became oh, shit. I'm gonna die.
Well, shift that to living in the UK. Over here, everyone gets free health coverage. You can see the doctor at the last minute, and if it's something serious, they'll refer you to a specialist. Simple as that. No drugs, no co-pay. Now, if you can afford to pay for private health insurance (which is the monthly equivalent of paying $60 a month) and take yourself out of the line of people who can't afford to do that, then that's a good option as well. Granted, it doesn't cover everything, but it does guarantee cheaper prices for certain treatments.
In the beginning, I was terrified of the NHS. I pictured these grimy clinics, ripped curtains, dim David Fincher-esque lighting. Okay, I'm a bit of a drama queen- but hey, I was so used to the rich, pristine walls of NYU, that I had a very pampered perception.
The doctors here are pretty amazing. I remember my first visit- I came in and asked the doctor "umm.. I have this cough I've had for a few days- should I take something for it? What do you think it is?" The doctor took one look at me, listened to my chest and said "Chicken soup, and rest. Now get out."
And he was right. No one here bullshits you. No one here throws drugs at a problem unless absolutely last-resort necessary. Have I ever used my private health insurance? Nope. Yes, the NHS have issues, just like any over-prescribed under-staffed business, but they've never failed me. I trust them.
Now, as a pregnant lady in a foreign country, I am a tiny bit nervous about things here. I guess it brings a whole new set of issues for me that I've never had to deal with before. Scans, midwife appointments, growth charts, percentages, birth plans. The list goes on. But we've found a great NHS hospital only 20 minutes away from us that so far has been amazing- the facilities are modern and comfortable, the people are really lovely, and the doctors are extremely thorough. But they've been a bit too cautious and thorough recently. I'll explain.
I've had a mild heart murmur since I was 10. So does Mamo. So does Babchya. it's our hallmark, if you will. I've never had a problem with it apart from the occasional flutter. However, as someone that will, in just under 4 months, endure the incredible physical strain of pushing a watermelon-sized human being out of my bits, the doctors recommended me to have an ultrasound and ECG of my heart, to make sure that there won't be any complications. I was against it, since I'm sure I'll be fine, but I agreed to it nonetheless. They spent 40 minutes in there with me, scanning my heart, taking measurements. Did they discuss the results with me after? Nope. They said I'll get a letter with my results in the mail.
Still, the paranoid New Yorker in me came back with a vengeance. Whaaaaat?!?!?!??? What does that mean? Did they find anything? Ohmygodohmygod.
Yeah, I'd slap me too. I was spinning. I was imagining the worst scenarios possible. I looked at the mister helplessly.
"Just take a breath", he said. He was right.
Throughout this pregnancy, I've realised there are a LOT of scales, percentages and charts that they use to monitor a pregnant woman and her baby. Are doctors always correct? No. Do babies always grow along the lines of a national average? No. Do mothers all have the same issues? Nope. So, I'm taking everything with a large kernel of salt.
To be honest, the more I think about all these charts and tests and figures, the more time I take away from focusing on this little magical wriggling fish inside me. And that's not a very rock and roll attitude to pass down to our baby, now is it?
So just keep hanging, baby. Mama will take care of the rest.
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