Searching for More Than a Doctor

I didn’t know how great I had it. Prolonged sits in the waiting room, four-minute long “appointments” and a pre-appointment review just to recall who I am were foreign to me.

I arrived at my new OB office like a farm girl moving to the big city. There were lots (and lots) of chairs filled with lots (and lots) of people … just waiting. I got lost on the way to deliver my pee sample because there was more than one bathroom to choose from. When they called for “Sarah,” multiple people stood up in anticipation. And there are NO toddlers along for the ride, probably because there are no kids books scattered among the magazines and no corner filled with well-loved toys for them to enjoy.

My OB, a kind and undoubtedly skilled physician, doesn’t know my story. He has to review my chart to remember how far along I am and doesn’t know to ask what my toddler thinks about having a baby brother soon or how my husband’s new job is going … and he for SURE wouldn’t give my son a box of purple gloves to play with, ignoring the fact that most of the box ended up all over the floor. (Does insurance pay for that?)

Sometimes, when I’m sitting in the waiting room for over an hour, my eyes well up: half because I am a third-trimester, ready-to-be-done, hormone-heavy pregnant woman but half because I long for my past pregnancy experience with a clinic full of people who made me feel like I was the most important patient in the building.

I didn’t have a lot of options in my search. I wanted to deliver at the hospital five minutes from my house because with my history, it’s possible a 30 minute rush hour drive to another hospital would result in my husband becoming my new OB. I wanted a midwife or an OB who delivered at a hospital since I experienced a few complications with my first. And I wanted someone that – should the unthinkable happen – would be willing to hold my hand through the tears and fear that would inevitably come.

With six weeks to go, I’m sure I will get excellent health care. Should anything be less than routine, I’m confident I’ll be in great hands.

But I am one of many – quite literally.

What I’ve realized is that a woman’s relationship with her OB or midwife is anything but routine medical care. It’s a lot of time spent in pre-natal appointments discussing intimate details with great anxiety and anticipation. It’s reassurance that no one has been pregnant forever. It’s comfort and support during the vulnerability of extreme physical pain. It’s rejoicing in one of the most moving moments of your life as she lays a baby on your chest. It’s hand holding when an ultrasound shows no heartbeat… when trying again is complicated.

I’m lucky to have experienced such amazing care; my guess is that is the exception and not the norm. Doctor ratings, reputation and close hospitals are important but for me, the willingness to invest in me – not just as a paying customer, but as a woman facing a life-changing, body-transforming moment – trumps it all.