Friday, August 16, 2013

The Bad Patient


I'll admit, I'm not a very good patient.  At twelve, I sat in a dentist's chair crying and shaking at the sight of a Novocain needle, and my dentist actually told me I was his worst patient.  At 20, it took four nurses to take my blood.  I fear needles, I dislike doctors, and I hate almost everything about hospitals.  It's one of the reasons Drew and I chose a midwife practice for this baby adventure.  But despite my efforts to be low-maintenance, I'm afraid this week I may have managed to secure my position as "that patient."  Let's just say I probably won't be getting any of the midwives' cell phone numbers.

It all started Monday afternoon, when I opened my car door to load some video equipment into my Prius, and a crazy chemical smell spilled out.  I searched for the source, but could only find an old plastic air freshener.  Perhaps it melted?  I tossed it, rolled my windows down, and continued on.

The next morning at a video shoot with a congressman, I unloaded the gear and moved an old car emergency kit that had been in my car for years, but this time it was soaking wet.  I opened it up, and a can of "fix-a-flat" tire sealer had exploded from the heat.  That must have been the smell.  At the time, I didn't think much of it.  I tossed it, rolled my windows down, and continued on.

Later that day, however, I started thinking.  I consulted Drew and we decided to call a nurse's hotline just in case there was any cause for concern from the possibility of inhaling chemicals in my car. The stranger on the other end of the line asked a couple questions about symptoms I didn't have, but what she said next was what really flipped me out.  In a grave tone she responded, "Well, there's nothing you can do about it now."  

For some reason, I envisioned her taking off her surgery cap and mask like they do on TV , hanging her head and walking away, triggering some Indie music montage.  I know nurses probably don't wear surgery masks while answering a hotline, but in my head this one did.  I googled the product and the warning read, "Inhalation may cause sudden death.  Do not puncture can.  Do not store in heat above 120 degrees." 

My God, I did all of those things!  What else could I do next but run into a restroom at work and panic, calling an emergency bathroom stall meeting with my boss?

She came in and asked what happened, so I just started verbally retracing my steps.  Keep in mind my boss knew nothing about the reason I was upset, and it was taking me a bit longer than expected to get to the point.  I described the chemical smell. I described the emergency kit. I told her I put it in the trash can outside the congressman's office.  Her expression immediately changed to match my panic.

"Wait, does the congressman think you planted a bomb?" she interjected.   

After I cleared up the confusion and my boss admitted to watching too many episodes of Scandal, she started making calls to help.  I had called my midwife's office but they could only fit me in for a precautionary check-up the next day. Recognizing my stress level and concern, my boss urged me to try again.  I called back, pleading.  They told me if I could get there in the next 15 minutes they could squeeze me in.  Using my beltway driving experience, I made it just in time to run to the reception desk with my phone in hand, pointing at the clock and proclaiming, "one minute to spare!"  

"Head on back," said the receptionist, hardly looking up from her computer.  

A medical assistant checked my baby's heartbeat with her handheld doppler and as I heard the familiar sound at 152 beats per minute, my whole body relaxed.  Everything is fine.  One of the midwives I hadn't met before walked in for the follow-up and after I introduced myself saying, "I promise I'm not crazy," she said the most comforting words I'd heard all day:

"I would have done the exact same thing."

I'm 15 weeks pregnant today.  I can tell I'm growing but I can't feel the baby yet, and it's scary when you can't tell what's going on inside.  During this time, there are a few key things that really help:

1. The most awesome boss in the world.  Who else would meet you in a bathroom and actually encourage you to leave work and see a doctor for peace of mind? Only a rockstar with two young kids at home who shares her trendy maternity wardrobe.

2. An understanding and supportive husband.  He listened and endorsed my every decision, volunteering to pick up my car and get it detailed.

3. A medical practice that's a perfect fit.  In the middle of a busy schedule they took the time to ease my fears and didn't even blame me for being a worrying mom.

It was my first worrying mom moment.  I picture Baby Bautista in there, a cute little fetus, rolling it's eyes.

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