My obstetrician, whom I've grown attached to to in the past few months has decided to retire from obstetrics and has taken a position over at the local University.
I got a heads-up about it from D, who used to work at the university's health department fixing their computers, and still has little birds over there. But I didn't want to believe it when he told me. She's my doctor. She's helped me understand this crazy biological journey I'm making, and made me laugh about it when I was genuinely scared. I don't want her to go.
When she broke the news to us, she did it in a very quick, matter-of-fact, but friendly way, a ripping-off-a-band-aid technique, if you will. D chatted with her about people he knows where she'd going, while I sat on the examining perch and cried like a jilted teenager. She gave me quick hug and referred me to a midwife she thinks I'll like. Unless she breaks up with me too.
In other news, this baby will not stop kicking me. It kicks in the front, in the back, and on the sides. We've got a soccer player, a percussionist, or perhaps a Rockette.
No comments:
Post a Comment