"Yes, Doctor."

I had a very productive evening planned: after my shower I would cuddle up in bed and watch the last couple birth classes I have procrastinated. During which I would work on completing a few of the art projects I’m doing on my iPad for Christmas presents. But before I started that of course I had to do a little TikTok scrolling… because.. you know. 

So I’ve found myself going down the rabbit hole of watching all my tiktoks from pre pregnancy and update videos I’ve made throughout my pregnancy. 

Nostalgia is probably my least favorite emotion. It literally pains me. I heard a very relatable
phrase about nostalgia in a podcast- it’s so intense it takes your breath away. I feel that to my core. My heart actually aches with a mixture of happiness and sadness and longing and gratitude when I look through old pictures and videos. It will never just be me and Dallin again. There’s so many “lasts.” Our last road trip just the two of us. Our last stay at a hotel just the two of us. Our last thanksgiving. Our last camping trip. I find myself nostalgic even just for life 9 months ago at the beginning of my pregnancy. I thought it would never end. I thought I would never get to the point when I was actually going to meet my baby. 

And now I’m less than 2 weeks away from experiencing the miracle of childbirth, hearing my baby’s first cry, and seeing those little feet that are shoved against my ribcage so uncomfortably. I’m not sure if ever been so terrified of something before. Dallin says he thinks I am more prepared for childbirth than anyone he’s known, but I’m not sure how much knowledge alone really helps prepare me. I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but I really am just having such a hard time preparing for something that I physically cannot imagine the details of. 

Most hard things that I’ve done in my life, I was able to envision it. Like before being observed while teaching a lesson, I could walk through every single part of the lesson and picture myself in the classroom, how my voice would sound, what my body would be doing. Before taking a difficult Stats test in college, I could imagine myself walking to the testing center, choosing a desk, I knew what the test would look like, and I could predict the types of questions. But childbirth? Doesn’t matter how much I know about the stages of labor, dilation, transition or postpartum. There is a mental block in my imagination that prohibits me from imagining anything past driving to the hospital and putting on the hospital gown. It’s just a blank screen. So that’s probably what scares me the most. I know it will be painful. But what kind of pain. I know it could take a long time. But how long? I know it will end with a baby in my arms. But what about the in-between??

That’s not really what I even wanted to write about today, though. This blog title, “Yes, Doctor” has been brewing in my thoughts for a few weeks now. It stems from my experience with doctors the past three or so months.

Things started going differently than planned at my 20 week anatomy scan. Baby girl had all the right parts, and everything seemed to be functioning, but she was small. They said in a month I would be referred to the Maternal Fetal Medicine Specialists (MFM), and they would do a more in depth growth scan to determine if she was just genetically small, or if there was a growth restriction present. She measured in the 13th percentile, so they said everything was fine and they didn’t need to see me again (A concerningly small baby would be below the 10th percentile), I was around 24 weeks at this point. So we went on our merry way thinking the rest of my pregnancy would go as planned. 

Then a few weeks later, I got another growth ultrasound at my regular OB office, and baby measured in the 6th percentile, I was around 28 weeks at this point. Additionally, my belly was measuring three weeks behind. So all of a sudden I’m being referred back to the specialists because they were worried she wasn’t receiving enough nutrients. 

This time I’m told I have to go to a different MFM location— which I ended up hating. I was about 32 weeks. Everyone whispered. All the lights were way too dim. No one made direct eye contact. No one would tell me straight up what they were seeing. I felt like they thought I was stupid but at the same time that I should know everything. They were throwing out terms and statistics about growth restricted babies as if I’m supposed to know what they mean, but somehow make me feel completely uneducated in aspects I felt knowledgeable in. The sonographer performing the ultrasound pushed so hard on my belly I felt nauseas. She didn’t say a single word the whole time, unless I asked a question. After 45 minutes of my belly being pushed on, she didn’t help me sit up or wipe off the gel. So I laid there, half naked, wet and practically bruised while she explained the doctor would come in to discuss the results. Way too long later, and extremely ancient man waddled in, also didn’t help me sit up, and told me baby was in the 8th percentile and they would like me to come in for biweekly Non Stress Tests and Cord Dopplers, as well as monthly growth scans. 

A non stress test is when I sit in a comfy chair with a heart monitor for the baby strapped on, and another monitor for my uterus. They watch her heart rate for 20-40 minutes, looking for healthy accelerations and any harmful decelerations. 

A cord Doppler is performed via ultrasound, and it is when they look at the blood flow from my placenta, through the cord to the baby. They are looking for forward flow, in which the blood is traveling at a healthy rate through the cord. 

As the mega old doctor left the room, I laid there in the darkness, belly exposed, and wondered how I could still feel so clueless about the health status of my baby after an hour long appointment. I didn’t feel like anything was resolved. 

I sure as heck was not coming back to this place two times a week, so I scheduled all my appointments at a different location, which I like much better. 

I was anxious to go to my 34 week regular OB appointment, at which point I was hoping someone could finally give it to me straight if my baby was going to be okay or not. Additionally, this whole time each doctor told me different options as to if I would need to get induced early or not. So I really wanted to know if that was going to be my reality. 

At my appointment, I was surprised when my doctor asked ME what the results of my MFM appointments were, and how the Non Stress Tests had been going. Like he didn’t have my chart? I felt pressured to remember all they had told me, and felt extremely under qualified to be the one relaying medical information about my daughter to my doctor.

At this appointment I was told I would have to wait until the next growth scan to know when I would be induced, but that I for sure would be. 100% probability. No doubt about it. No chance I’m going into labor by myself. I’m being hooked up to Pitocin. 

I feel like I'm being used as a pawn in my own life. These big, intimidating, male doctors are picking me up, and moving me to where they need me without asking. I feel embarrassed and scared to share my opinions, preferences or questions. All I can manage to say is “Yes, Doctor.” 

And really, that’s a bit exaggerated. I go into every appointment with a lengthy list of questions that I’ve accumulated from the extensive research I’ve done about pregnancy, labor, delivery and postpartum. I’m always shocked at how apparent it is that if I didn’t ask these questions, no one would explain anything to me. If I hadn’t read up about cervical dilation checks, I imagine I would have felt quite surprised when my doctor shoved his fingers up me and muttered off a string of numbers to the nurse. But lucky for me, I knew exactly what was about to happen and that those numbers meant I was 1cm dilated and 80% effaced. But still, it wouldn’t hurt to prepare the patient a bit for what’s to come. 

At my last appointment my doctor in the most casual demeanor possible asked if we would like to schedule the birth of our baby for December XX or December XX. Like it was the most normal thing in the world to just add to your calendar “give birth today.” No time to think about it, pray about it, or prepare for the monumentous moment of adding this calendar event. 

So it’s all booked and set. I’m having my baby in less than two weeks. And pretty much all my dreams of a peaceful, unmedicated birth have been stripped from me. My birth class suddenly seems extremely irrelevant as the topic of induction is approximately a 10 minute segment in the class titled “How to Deal With the Unexpected.” I’ve decided to now go into my birth with 0 expectations, and my birth plan is simply to not die. And if it happens to be peaceful and beautiful and miraculous along the way, then I’ll be extra happy. 

I’ve had a few people ask what the benefit of taking a tiny baby out early is, as it seems counterintuitive. So I’ll quickly explain how my doctor reasoned it with me: 

Say your phone is at 98% and someone sends you a large file video. You watch it, and your phone is at 96% after. Didn’t take much battery, and it’s not a big deal. 

Now say someone sends you that same video, but your phone is at 10%. You watch it, and suddenly your phone is at 5%. Things start glitching, apps are lagging and boom. Phone dies. 

Well. Allow me to liken this unto babies. A healthy, average sized baby at full term goes through labor with a full energy reserve. The intensity of the contractions might stress the baby out a little bit, but ultimately because they're starting with 98% battery, they are delivered healthily and happily because they had the necessary energy reserve to withstand labor. 

Likewise, a small baby (below the 10th percentile), whether it’s genetic or due to a growth restriction, is starting out with a much smaller energy reserve. By the time their due date rolls around, the placenta is tired and their energy reserve may be much lower than healthy. Pair that with the stress of intense contractions and labor, the baby is at risk of not surviving a vaginal birth.

So they opt to induce early, with the hope of catching that baby when they have a higher energy reserve and can tolerate labor.

It’s the little things that I no longer have control over that are hard for me to accept: 

• I had wanted to approach going into a labor a more holistic way: eating dates, drinking red raspberry leaf tea, and establishing other routines that are believed to naturally induce labor. But my doctor said I can’t do any of these things because they can’t risk me going into labor too early. “Yes, Doctor.” 

• 
  I always dreamed of being at home with Dallin when my labor began. We’d have those exciting and anxious first couple hours where we’re not exactly sure if it’s labor or not, where we hurry and download a contraction timer app, and I’d be in the comfort of my own home as those first waves of pain wash over me. But my doctor said they need to monitor me from the very beginning, so hospital it is. “Yes, Doctor.”

• I wanted to be mobile throughout my labor. Detached from tubes and wires, I wanted to have the freedom to labor in the shower, walk around the room, and try different positions. But my doctor said he isn’t sure they have waterproof and cordless monitors. “Yes, Doctor.” 

• I wanted to bring snacks and homemade meals from home to fuel my body through this marathon. I’d bring my favorite snacks and drinks in hopes of having something little to look forward to in the depths of labor. But my doctor said on Pitocin I can only drink clear fluids. “Yes, Doctor.” 

• Mostly, I wanted to let my body lead. I wanted to go into labor when my body was ready, drive to the hospital when my mind was ready, and push out my daughter when she was ready. But now it all feels artificial. It feels out of my control. And all I can manage to say is, “Yes, Doctor.”