Monday afternoon, I waddled into my doctor's office with wet hair and great expectations. Woe is pregnancy in the summer, but joyful is the thought that "the end is near." I was hoping to avoid a Rubella vaccination (and all needles in general) and get checked for dilation and effacement.
A nurse called me back from the waiting room and I slowly gathered my purse and scooted my way toward the rooms. The opening ritual of all my appointments is the Weighing of the Whale. I stepped on the scale praying to the highest of heavens that it wouldn't break under my weight. After an unusually long wait, the number finally showed up on the screen and I was surprised to find that I actually haven't gained an ounce since my last appointment two weeks ago.
We walked back to the bathrooms so I could provide the second half of the opening ritual: The Urine Sample. I was scolded for having pee that was "too dark." Sorry lady, my squished bladder can only hold so much fluid at any given time.
After the opening rituals, the other routine checks were made (blood pressure normal, baby's heartbeat normal, ankles only slightly swollen, baby is head down), and I was told to take off my pants. I was under the impression this was for the dilation and effacement check. When I asked about it, my doctor informed me that 36 weeks is not actually full-term, but 37 weeks was. And she refused to check me because it could introduce bacteria unnecessarily (of course I'm reasonable and wouldn't want to do this either). And I was actually just going to get swabbed. Which is awkward.
I wasn't able to get the test I wanted, but had to drop my drawers anyway.
I was successful in putting off the vaccination. But then I had to get my blood drawn for an anemia test, so I had to get stabbed with a needle anyway.
So much for expectations. This is why I'm not creating a birth plan. It will only lead to disappointment.