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Today I attended my wife’s first baby-related doctor’s appointment and it was quite an experience for me, my wife, and probably the baby, too.
I’m a guy. My experience with OB/GYN (obstetrician/gynecologist) doctors is pretty much limited to Monty Python sketches, Simpson’s references and the occaisional late night Chevy Chase movie. I’m pleased to say that my years of studying television have paid off and that the real experience pretty much mirrored the television ones, only the real appointment was slightly more bizarre.
The appointment began easily enough with a few questions about height and weight and medical history. There wasn’t much to report, though I thought about mentioning that my wife and I were the only sane people in either of our families. My wife reminded me that sanity is a pretty subjective notion and that just a few years ago we thought that people who wanted to have kids were the crazy ones.
So I remained quiet and sat still. This would continue to be my role for most of the appointment.
After the standard round of questions and signing of forms the doctor stood up and said, “Okay, take off all your clothes and put on this gown. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
As a guy, this was a new experience for me. I started to pull off my shoes until my wife gently told me that she was the one who had to strip naked and wear a paper gown, not me. I nodded knowingly, like I knew that all along. I think she bought it.
I’ve been to my own doctor hundreds of times in my thirty some years on this planet. Not once have I ever been asked to strip naked and put on a paper gown. Sure, I sometimes I have to drop my pants and cough, but that’s hardly the same thing as wearing nothing other than a large piece of tissue paper. I’m pretty sure that as a guy I could have open-heart surgery and still be wearing a Brooks Brothers shirt and a nice pair of pants.
My wife was not at all phased by this request to strip and dutifully changed quickly and neatly folder her clothes on the floor. My wife will be the first to tell you that I’ve never done that, either.
The doctor came back in a few minutes later and immediately begins the process of taking some blood from my wife for testing. The doctor taps a vein and fills up a little vile with dark red liquid. Just as she’s about to finish she takes the vial out of the syringe and plugs in another empty vial which begins to fill with more blood. This happens three more times as my wife and her doctor banter about the weather and life, completely oblivious to the fact that one person is wearing nothing but a napkin and the other person is sucking out enough blood to film The Shining.
“You know,” I suggest. “It would be much more efficient if you just hooked her up to an empty milk jug.”
They both give me that polite little laugh that means I should go back to sitting still and remaining quiet.
The doctor finally finishes her little bloodletting procedure and gets down to business. I won’t go into all the details, but I again remind you that the TV sitcoms have pretty much nailed the whole process dead on. Things are stuck in places they really shouldn’t go and there is lots of gel involved.
I try to be supportive for my wife, but she’s not phased by any of it. She’s actually laughing and talking and seems to be having a good time through it all. I’m beginning to think the doctor took out so much blood just so my wife would be relaxed and giddy enough to handle the rest of the exam.
Finally we get to the main event: seeing our baby with the sonogram machine.
Because my wife is only about eight weeks into this pregnancy thing and because our baby is probably only about the size of a walnut, this procedure also involves lots of gel and things going into places they really shouldn’t go. The lights are dimmed and screen is turned on and after a few moments of fiddling the sonogram machine shows…well… all sorts of things.
The doctor patiently explains what we are looking at in the sonogram. There’s the uterus wall, there’s the amniotic sac, there’s the edge of the placenta, there’s that piece of chewing gum you swallowed when you were thirteen…and, oh yeah, there’s your baby!
My wife and I are both quiet as we stare at the little image on the screen. We’re both amazed and delighted because this is our first real visual proof that my wife is indeed pregnant and not suffering from a really bad case of gas.
I finally break the silence with, “Aww, look, Dear…it has your eyes.”
The doctor immediately praises my wife for putting up with me, let alone letting me get close enough to create a baby. There’s a little movement of static on the screen and we ask about it.
“Oh,” says the doctor. “That’s the baby’s heart beating.”
My wife and I let out a deep breath that we didn’t know we were holding. The doctor leans over and presses a button on the sonogram machine. There’s a slight whirring noise, but we’re not sure what it is. The doctor removes the various instruments from my wife and turns the lights back on. That’s when she hands us four small snapshots of my wife’s insides and little baby that currently looks like a little alien with its arms (okay, nubs) stuck in an upwards “yay” position. I comment that maybe we should consider a modelling career for our fetus, but my wife reminds me that its career would probably only last a few weeks.
The doctor, to her credit, spends a few more minutes reassuring my wife and I that everything looks okay so far and that as first time parents we’ll do just fine. Sure, things could still go wrong, but that’s part of the experience of having children. The key, she says, is to just kind of roll with it all.
And I agree with her.
My wife and I don’t know what the future holds. Sure, we’re still worried about a thousand different things. Pregnancy is a scary, risky thing and childbirth even more so. But for the moment my wife and I are feeling delighted and overjoyed.
To be honest, we’re still pretty happy that we’re able to create a baby at all. And I have the snapshots to prove it.
