I had a routine appointment with my obstetrician on Tuesday. He did a quick ultrasound and there is still a baby inside me. Yay! While I am feeling Max move at this point, it’s not with any regularity and, as a new time mom-to-be, I start questioning whether what I’m feeling is really movement. It was nice to see a heartbeat on the monitor.
Rain in San Diego is, sadly, very rare. While I love the rainy weather, I have to admit it wreaks havoc on the streets and freeways here. I was about 5 minutes late for my appointment. My doctor was about 40 minutes late. When he walked into the exam room, he immediately apologized and explained he’d been busy counting the white dots he was slowly driving by on the freeway. When he said this, I blurted out, “Oh, on the 56!” He looked at little perplexed at how I might know that, but admitted that yes it was the 56. To which I mumbled something about how I sit in the 56 traffic every day, it’s always bad. Which IS true.
But, ok, how did I know he meant the 56? Uhh, well, that’s because I looked up his medical license with the state medical board and he listed it under his home address. Come on, you can’t fight that kind of temptation. Of course I Google Mapped it and looked at the aerial photos of his house. Admit it, you would have done the same thing. Everyone wants to know just how grand a style their doctor lives in.
Despite being 40 minutes late with 28 appointments that day, and probably thinking I was a stalker, my doctor very kindly spent some time pointing out different things on the ultrasound monitor and telling me everything looked perfect and why he knew everything looked perfect. Something about the heart and the chamber and the fluid around it and the amniotic fluid. Sorry for the hazy science details, but when you’re looking at your baby, and wondering if your doctor is going to change his locks that night, it’s hard to concentrate on much else.
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