Twas Brillig

The big day has arrived! Our Gyno-Fest is brought to you by me and the lovely and illustrious Amy from The Butrfly Garden.

Truth is, I don’t have a lot of OB/GYN stories. There’s a very good reason for this.

See, I’ve never met an OB/GYN who I trusted enough to even allow him to touch my big TOE, let alone my… uh… yeah.

And, through extensive research and soul-searching, I decided that midwives were the way I wanted to go.

But midwives are limited in what they are and aren’t allowed to do in Utah. While some of these laws have changed and midwives now have more power, back when I was pregnant with Scooby, midwives were not allowed to prescribe medication.

And I? Well, I had a UTI and I needed an antibiotic.

So, I went in to a local women’s clinic to pee in a cup and get my meds and get out of there. I had Fluffy and Bubba with me and it didn’t really occur to me that I would have to TALK to anyone.

But, see, a doctor decided to snoop through my file, saw that I was homebirthing, and decided to come in and lecture me about it.

“I guess you don’t really care about yourself or your baby.”

I said nothing. I was already oh-so-fond of this approach—that my decision to have my baby at home with extremely well-renowned and well-trained midwives meant that I didn’t love my baby as much as some random stranger loved my baby. And I probably didn’t ever research such a major decision or anything. Or pray about it. Or follow my gut, swollen as it was.

He went on, “you know, sometimes the midwives make mistakes. And then I have to clean up those mistakes.”

I smiled and nodded, politely, but not pleasantly. I wanted to lecture him right back—tell him his C-section rate was way too high, tell him that routine episiotomies were archaic and inhuman, tell him that his bedside manner made him one of the very last people on this planet that I would want to share the sacred moment of my baby’s birth with.

But I didn’t. I wasn’t in the mood to fight. I was pregnant, irritable, chasing my kids, and in the agony of a UTI. And I could see my Rx in his hands, and if I just held out for another few minutes, it would be mine. And then:

“Thousands of mothers and babies die in our hospital because a midwife makes a mistake!!!”

That was it.

“Sir,” I said very calmly and politely, “if thousands of women and babies were dying in your hospital, those statistics would be recorded and your hospital would be ranked as one of the lowest in the country—and those records would be available to the public. The truth, sir, is that not one single mother or baby in the entire state of Utah has died because of the involvement of a midwife. You know this is the truth as much as I do. And you only wish that your own statistics were as good as my midwife’s. May I have my prescription now?”

Flabbergasted, he handed me my Rx and stammered, “Well… uh… what I meant was that if it weren’t for my intervention, they would die.” By now I was walking out, shepherding my children in front of me. But he wasn’t done with me. He followed me all the way out to the waiting room, which was packed full of pregnant women waiting to see this licensed professional.

When he could see that I wasn’t going to stop and chit-chat anymore, he screamed out at me, across the crowded waiting room, with venom and sarcasm and hatred, “Oh yeah?!!! Well, I HOPE YOU AND YOUR BABY DON’T DIE!!!!!”

SERIOUSLY? He seriously went there? He seriously said that to a pregnant woman? He seriously threatened me? He seriously thought that approach might make me rethink my foolishness and sign up as his patient instead of my amazing midwife’s patient?

Yes. Seriously.

Every jaw in the room dropped, except mine. I marched right out his door, never to enter again. And I couldn’t believe that the women in his waiting room didn’t jump up and march out behind me. Sadly, they probably didn’t think they had any other option. There they waited, lining up to pay thousands of dollars to have their cervixes checked by this classy doc.

And that, Gentle Readers, is my one and only personal story about an OB/GYN.

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And now, let the party begin!!!! Do you have an awful OB/GYN story too? Of COURSE you do! Post about it, link back to me and to Butrfly, and add your permalink to my Mr. Linky (and if you haven’t already, head on over to Butrfly’s and put your post in her Mr. Linky too)! And then, make the rounds! Visit the listed posts! Check back here often to see posts that were added since your last visit! Read! Comment! Let’s help everyone to have a good experience through their terrible stories. Yeah….

First of all, thank you thank you thank you to all of you who responded to my last post. You gave me a lot of fun ideas and even more support. Thanks, y’all.

Some of the questions I got in comments and in emails made me realize that I’ve always been so obnoxious in “about me” sections that some of you who’ve been hanging out here for a while, but especially those of you who are new, really don’t know very much about me!

So, once and for all, I’m going to write a real “about me”. You’re so excited, I can feel it. It’s located as a sub-page to my “all about Brillig” page. If that’s too confusing, just click here. I warn you that it’s long, and possibly very boring…

Thanks to all of you, I now feel as though I’m brimming with topics. That is no longer my problem! Instead, my problem is time. I have already devoted the rest of my days this week to other delightful projects. What are they? Oh, I shall tell you!

TOMORROW! I have mentioned this already, but I want to make sure you DON’T MISS IT!!! Tomorrow is a big day here and at Butrfly’s place. We will be hosting our one-time event called, “From Behind the Stir-Ups—Your Worst OB/GYN stories.” We want you—yes YOU to participate! Here’s how it will work. You will write your own story about an awful (or hilarious or bizarre or whatever) experience with an OB/GYN and link it back to me and to Butrfly. Then, you’ll go to Butrfly’s place and put your link in the linky list and then you’ll come to my place and do the same. That way, we will have two wonderful lists so everyone can read (and comment on, because we’re good sports like that) all the stories. This is gonna be SO MUCH FUN! I can hardly wait! Look at the button that Burtfly made for this special occasion:

Use this picture to preface your own post, if you so desire!

(TELL me you aren’t already laughing your head off!)

(By the way, the earlier you get your link in, the better your exposure will be… Just something to think about.)

And then Friday I’ll do a Flashback Friday, using one of the ideas provided by you, my Gentle Readers.

And then the weekend will naturally be devoted to Soap Opera Sunday, and perhaps some stuff about Cre8buzz going public.

So… next week… I will answer some of your questions and refuse to answer some others. And there will be lots of linky love, believe me!

Okay, really fast, before I sign off, I need to tell you a little story that happened today. My little Bubba has a friend named Caleb who lives very near us. Bubba was on his way to go play with Caleb, but he came home early because, “Caleb’s mom won’t let us play today because Caleb and I were peeing on the Candy Guy’s hands.”

WHAT???

The Candy Guy is a sweet old man who gives the kids candy when they go to his house. The kids adore him (of course) and I approve of it all and it’s all good. And really pretty darn cute.

So when I heard Bubba’s report on why Caleb was grounded, I immediately called Caleb’s mom to get the whole story.

Apparently, Candy Guy has some cement imprints on his front porch of his grandchildren’s hands. Treasures to him and his wife, of course.

And, so, how do Bubba and Caleb thank him for his kindness and generosity?

Apparently, they whip out their little thingers and fill the little hand imprints with their pee.

Sigh.

Boys.

Sigh again.

(Bubba got a VERY strong talking to, by the way, and will have to go and apologize to Candy Guy. As funny as it may be, it’s also so hideous and disrespectful and disgusting and no son of MINE is going to behave this way! No sir!!!)

And with that, I wish you all well. See you tomorrow!