The day the doctor listened to me

I’ve been wanting to write this post for about a week now, but I’ve not been well and not had the slightest inclination to blog at all. It’s funny how something big can occur and you just want to mull over for a while before you share it with the rest of the blogosphere.

Anyway, last week we met with my consultant for a 28 week appointment and to go through my intentions for the birth. Regular readers will know that I have already had two emergency sections and I am wanting an elective this time. Regular readers will also know that so far, I have been given no indication that my requests are being listened to, and that I am a strong believer in the new NICE guidelines which state that all women should be given the right to make informed choices in birth- and opt for a c-section if they feel that is the best course of action for them.

So. Ghostwriterdaddy and I went to the hospital last week with our minds set on staying until our requests were taken seriously and, if possible, a date was set for the section in February. We were ready for the fight. We had been here before, just over two years ago, and we knew the drill. We did not want to see any old registrar who would be unable to give us the answers we wanted. We wanted to see our consultant and we wanted to tell him- the decision maker- why we wanted a section. Like I said, we were ready.

So, blood pressure done and sample dipped, we were told that ‘a doctor’ would be through to see us shortly. Our doctor? No, ‘a doctor’. Any doctor. Not the doctor who I had called the hospital to speak to weeks ago and who I was told would be at the meeting with the notes from both of my previous births to hand. The doctor who has his name on my notes and our fate in his hands. We politely insisted we would wait for that doctor instead.

And we waited. And waited. And waited.

And then he arrived. We listened to the heartbeat and we discovered that the hard mass by my belly button (which I had been convinced was a head) was our baby’s bottom. We discovered the baby was really low down but head down and that it was measuring five weeks too small. Uh-oh.

The reason the toddler’s section had been refused was due to that blummin tape measure plotting him as five weeks too small. I assured the doctor that both my children had measured small but both had been healthy weights. He sent us for a scan and we returned with the news that all was fine and the baby was growing well, perfect for dates. He, in return, greeted us with the news that he had booked our section.

Yes. He listened to me. He read my notes and he listened to me.

The hospital’s policy is to perform elective sections at 39 weeks but my consultant felt that my past history and anxieties warranted an individual approach. He booked me in at 38 weeks to eliminate the risk of me going into labour before the agreed date and needing a third emergency section.

He listened to me.

He also told me that, despite another hospital policy, I would not need to be admitted the night before so that I could spend as much time as possible at home before the surgery.

He listened to me.

He also told me that if I did go into labour, there would be no ‘trial of labour’- I would be taken straight to theatre for a section.

He listened to me.

 

I will return at 36 weeks to finalise my birth plan and to sort out a few other details. But all of that is fine. I have my answer. I have my date. I have been listened to.

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8 responses to “The day the doctor listened to me

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