"Okay, you can undress from the bottom down," the nurse said as she pulled the door closed behind her.
Oh, joy. I really disliked going to doctors' offices, and I especially hated having unnatural things inserted into my body parts. I'm not Anastasia freakin' Steele, Gray, or whatever the character's last name is. Ha. Is her name even Anastasia? I wouldn't know.
I slowly kicked off my shoes and pushed them under the chair where my diaper bag/purse was stowed. I slid my pants and underwear off (lace boyshorts that in a few months would become a thong if you're wondering. Just kidding. As if a pregnant woman can remember what underwear she wore to her doctor's appointment last week, let alone seven months later....but whatever they were, they're thongs now. I wasn't kidding about that). I wrapped the paper towel cover around me and seated myself on the table, trying not to gag from all of the chemical smells found in a doctor's office.
A few minutes later, a doctor walked in. She was pretty and looked young enough that I immediately thought, "Yep. I could have written a detention to her a few years ago." In truth, she's probably fairly close to the same age as me, but she definitely doesn't look forty. I don't either. Unless I'm pregnant. Then I look every bit of a hundred forty. Maybe older.
She did her Fifty Shades of Making Me Miserable thing. Okay, it was only One Shade of it, and it was a PAP smear and it wasn't horrible...but the other forty-nine were coming soon.
"Okay, you can get dressed and we'll meet in my office, turn left, and it will be two doors down on the left."
Once I was dressed and in her office, we spoke about my other pregnancies.
"Because of your age and that you had borderline gestational diabetes with your last pregnancy, I'm going to refer you to a high-risk specialist. You'll have genetic counseling there and chances are that the doctor will recommend that you take weekly progesterone shots beginning at sixteen weeks of pregnancy."
My chin dropped about sixteen inches. "Are you serious?"
She nodded, so apparently she was. "Well, you went into preterm labor with your last pregnancy and this will help avoid that. Of course, it will be up to you, but I'm wanting to make you aware that the doctor will most likely recommend it."
I tried to force the chin closed, but it wasn't.
High-risk? Really? Shots? I have needleaphobia. I don't go around kicking nurses anymore, but the thought is always there whenever a shot is even mentioned.
"I want you to come back early next week for a glucose check. Any questions?"
The glucose check didn't surprise me because I'd had a glucose check performed early on in the pregnancy with Timmy. That's the beauty of having had a nine-pound, six-ounce baby named Lyn.
I was still stuck on the shots. I shook my head. Right now, I didn't have questions.
"Okay, then you'll have your next appointment here in a month. Be expecting a phone call from the Maternal Fetal Medicine Center soon. Next, you need to go to the lab for some blood work."
"I just had blood work at my regular doctor. They took a gazillion vials of blood. Can't you use those results?"
"No," she said. "These are different tests."
And so I moped all the way to the lab, but I was also thankful that this doctor seemed so on the ball. If my doctor was half as attentive as this one, I knew I'd found a good practice.
The bloodsucker...er...phlebotomist was nice. Beautiful smile, great personality. It was a shame that she was about to become my second least favorite person, following the good doctor who'd requested these tests and mentioned that four-letter s-h-*-t word.
"You know, Tammy, you really should wear a "Team Edward" button to work," I suggested. She gave me a confused look, which is what one might get when dealing with real bloodsuckers rather than writers or readers of Sparkling Vampire Books like me.
"Edward is a vampire. You know, from Twilight?" I said, hoping to clear up the confusion. "I would think it's hilarious if you wore something like that. It would make the whole blood draw that much better."
Finally, a laugh. Though in all fairness, she hadn't stopped smiling.
"So we need to have a serious chat now," I said once I signed the last form that would deliver the rest of my blood to the lab. "My blood vessels are horrible. They roll, collapse, and will call you names. You'll have to put the tourniquet—or whatever that thing is called—extra tight because I have no desire to be stuck a thousand times. Oh, and if you don't want to have my lunch all over you, please warn me when you're about to open the wrapper to the alcohol pad. I'm really sensitive to chemical smells and I don't want to share my lunch with you."
She warned me, I covered my nose and held my breath for about a minute. The blood draw was quick and easy because she listened to me. I haven't always been that lucky when it comes to blood work. Every so often, a phlebotomist will look at me as though I have no clue how uncooperative my veins are. But Tammy was great.
"I'll be back," I threatened in a horrible Austrian accent as I walked out of the lab.
Once the appointments were made and I was safely in the car, I took a deep breath. High risk. All these tests. I was scared enough before the appointment. Now, I was even more afraid.
