10. 2 minutes in 2 hours
/I went to my antenatal check-up at Queen Mary Hospital on Friday morning. I was only with the doctor for a total of about two minutes, but the whole visit takes around two hours once you’ve registered, queued to take blood pressure, peed on a stick and waited for the nurse to schedule your next appointment. I can understand why it must seem like a really frustrating time for a lot of women. It’s packed wall-to-wall with women at various bump stages, precariously sliding down and around on the least ergonomic chairs on the planet.
We’re all uncomfortable and bored. And all in this together. I know that a few months ago, that sort of wait just seemed ridiculous to me. I could see myself coming out of an appointment complaining and whinging about it all. What an inefficient process when you only got to see a doctor for such a short time anyway. But now I just feel relieved. Relieved that there’s a system (free of charge) that cares about each woman, enough to be so thorough. That’s worth being so grateful for. Sitting in that room, you have no idea what any other mum is going through, what her complications or fears might be, her circumstances, what else is on her mind—how nervous she is that morning. I could hear the odd ‘tut tut’ and sarcastic sigh from my left and right, but just kept reminding myself—we are all equals here—and that is a privilege.
When I finally stepped into my appointment, the young obgyn was warm and welcoming. She would have been so busy all morning, and she wasn’t letting it show. I think knowing that my fat medical file with all our scary notes and lack of diagnoses was on the desk of another doctor, just unsettled me. I occasionally have to shake off this feeling like we’re some sort of little medical muddle that piques curiosity, when really, everyone’s just doing their job and applying their expertise to our situation. I didn’t need to worry. As I sat down, the doctor calmly and kindly asked me, “Are you sleeping, Mrs Macalligan?” It was just a gentle acknowledgment of the heaviness I was carrying, and I was so grateful. I said I was, most of the time, and told her about how for the last few days, Junebug’s kicks seemed to be very low in my pelvis and it was worrying me a little. She measured my tummy, which she said was a little small for nearly 25 weeks, but that was normal for babies with skeletal dysplasia. She said it was likely Junebug was just lying quite low. It was a relief to hear that the Riverdancing on my bladder was nothing to worry about. She let me hear Junebug’s strong, sweet heartbeat, smiled and said it was sounding great. Then I left. It was so fleeting that it almost made me forget about how most of the morning I’d been such a bag of nerves.
In the last day or two, Junebug’s kicks have gotten higher up again, so I have absolutely no idea what they’re doing in there but they’re more than welcome to keep it up. All I can keep telling myself is that if the kicks are getting stronger and more frequent, then surely Junebug must be growing.
The next scan is in just over a week. It came around quicker than I thought. As time has slipped by, day by day, it’s surreal how distant I can feel about the whole situation. Sometimes, when watching a movie or reading a book, or making dinner, I almost forget completely. Then suddenly – BANG and I’m numb all over from the weight of reality. There are moments where I find myself standing in a room, projecting memories of things that haven’t happened yet—of me holding Junebug by a window, or, of me alone. I was reading the blog of a mum with a baby with dwarfism who described her own waiting period as a rollercoaster. It’s kind of like all the fairground rides put together. I think it’s sometimes more like those spinning teacups, except I don’t want to stop moving because I’m worried where they stop.
Today the sun was shining and Erin and I went for a walk by the water and talked out our worst fears, before coming home to feel Junebug kick like a can-can dancer.
