No AIDS or syphilis here!
My fetus is still alive (shoop shoop shoop!) and kicking (sploosh! sploosh!). My OB went over the results of my genetic screening and other blood tests and I was pleased to learn that I am still AIDS/syphilis free that that my blood type hasn’t changed. Anatomy scan in three weeks.
When I have an appointment, I always think about my OB practice relative to others in town. As I’ve said before, I LOVE the fact that my RE’s office is across the hall, that I had my surgery and recovered in a room three floors above, and that, God willing, I’ll deliver and recover two floors above. I love the continuity of the experience, the way that I am always reminded both of how lucky I am and also of what I had to do to get here. And of course I love the fact that it’s a mile from my house and across the street from my office. But there’s another interesting feature to the practice. This is not a practice where people from my socio-economic bracket come. Not to put too fine a point on it, the middle-class white folk all go to offices in the suburbs. Even fellow faculty members, for whom this office is obviously convenient. As I sit there surrounded by 15 year old African American girls, I often wonder: Is this avoidance of a perfectly nice practice just classism, or am I missing out on a better experience? I think the service I receive might be a little slower (in the sense of waiting times) and more harried. (E.g., today I sat in the exam room for quite a while. When my OB came in she said she’d just come from the ER. I couldn’t help but feel a chill, and found myself inspecting her coat for blood spatters.) The flow of information might be a little less clear (e.g., I had no idea how to get my NT scan results). There are no cashmere exam robes or lavender-scented organic doppler jelly or whatever. And the fancy pants OBs don’t practice here, so if I wanted someone with fancy pants, I’d be out of luck.
But you know what? Regular pants are just fine with me. And I guess, as a formerly poor person, I’m more comfortable with my old bracket than my new one. What’s more, Bun Bun needs to learn early about the real world, even if that means being probed through a layer of low-rent jelly.