Mama's about to get serious.
I dumped my obstetrician yesterday. Actually, that's not quite true. I haven't officially informed him, although I suppose all I'm really going to do is send a short notice requesting he transfer my files to my new obstetrician. I doubt he'll be surprised. Twice now, he's dramatically slammed the cover of said files closed, announcing, "You can always go somewhere else..." And we had a somewhat awkward telephone conversation, where he yet again proclaimed that I could just vote with my feet - although he quickly followed that with scary admonitions about how I'd have a hard time finding another doctor who would support a VBAC (Vaginal Birth after C-section, for those of you not up to your eyeballs in birthing lingo) this late in the game.
Truth be told, I've sort of enjoyed our intellectual sparring. I'd go to an appointment. He'd inform me about something we'd be doing. I'd go home and research it to death. Then I'd go to the next appointment with my (often contradictory) findings and we'd argue about it. It was like debate club, except I was half naked and he had a flashlight strapped to his forehead.
However, it's getting close to a certain someone's birthday. At a certain point, our arguments, stimulating as they were, would cease to be theoretical. And, while I will almost happily argue until I'm blue in the face at a routine prenatal visit, I'd rather spend my labor concentrating on something else entirely.
So, I've had my doubts and my nocturnal freak-out sessions, but I also have remarkable ability for burrowing my head in the sand (a completely useless, not to mention potentially dangerous, talent). Sometimes, I need a little nudging, or perhaps a professional opinion. In this case, I was interviewing a doula. The interview was going very well, until she asked who my obstetrician was. I told her and she became very quiet. Then she apologized and said she could not work with him. I realized that I wasn't altogether surprised by her response. Her reason? I'll paraphrase, but this is very close to her own words, "It's my responsibility to protect you, to support you and to help you
achieve what you want with this birth. I can not do that with this
doctor, so I cannot work with him."
Yikes. She can't protect me from him?
We discussed my options. Certain long buried truths resurfaced. Fears confirmed. She recommended another obstetrician. At this point, this is probably the 7th or 8th time someone has recommended him to me, but he's also extremely sought after and overbooked and at some point in time, an internet search misinformed me that he delivered at 3 different hospitals, which led me to conclude that he might not reach me in time for my delivery.
In actual fact, he only delivers at one hospital - the one closest to my home, the one with the WHO baby-friendly designation, the one that will actively support co-sleeping and breastfeeding and active labor. And he can see me next week.
It's strange. I thought I'd feel a huge sense of relief and I suppose I do, but it is unfortunately overshadowed at the moment by a huge sense of...shame? Or maybe shame is too strong a word - it's something like that though. I mean, I've known all along that something wasn't quite right. Many somethings, actually. And yet, I made no move to change things for the better.
Maybe the relief will come when I actually meet the new doctor. He's supposedly the stuff of legends - a "midwife in disguise", someone who "really believes in natural childbirth", an "empowering presence"...I half expect him to greet me with a sparkly rainbow halo and miniature golden unicorns prancing on his shoulders - every time he farts, a fairy gets its wings sort of thing.
I'm a bit discombobulated, I think.
