Yesterday I found myself at the doctor's office. 11 days postpartum and all was not well with the lady bits. The equation is simple. Epidural + catheter = urinary tract infection. Awesome. However, that's neither here nor there. I was unable to get in with my doctor but when I caught a glimpse of him down the hall, I found myself seized with an odd sense of affection for the man. I wasn't expecting it and it took me awhile to put my finger on it.
He delivered my baby girl. He cared for us both for 40 long weeks and then safely and uneventfully brought her into the world. In that single moment, I really truly appreciated all of the wonderful things he does for women and their families everyday.
But that isn't all.
I was thrown back a year plus to sitting in one of those little exam rooms with him. I'd sit on the table while he poured over my chart trying to determine whether the dosage this cycle was right and what he should prescribe for the next. Because it still hadn't worked. I still wasn't pregnant. On February 17th I sat with him following this ritual we had gone through so many times before. After talking through my options (if this cycle didn't work, he'd refer me to someone who could do more to help me conceive), he patted my knee, handed me a prescription and said "Come back pregnant. Don't let me down." I chuckled but teared up as I left the office. One month later, I finally got a positive pregnancy test and life as we know it changed.
All of that came flooding back in the mere seconds I saw him down the hall. And now I wonder whether he realizes what great work he does on a daily basis.
Thanks, Dr. W.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
This is awesome. My doctor was very helpful through the whole process as well, being one of the few who worked with diabetics. It helped that he had a similar sense of humor. Having a good doctor was helpful beyond belief. Glad you had a good one.
ReplyDelete