Tuesday, May 02, 2006

What's it to ya?

Friday, April 28:

Late in the afternoon, I get a call from someone from my Ob/Gyn’s office.

“Why did you cancel your appointment with the genetic counselor?” the woman asks. I don’t know her or her name.

“I had a scheduling conflict,” I say. “I already took care of it with their office.”

Obviously, the person calling must know I am an adult who can make her own appointments. The whole reason for referring me to the genetic counselor is that I am over the age of 3-freaking-5.

“Well, you need to reschedule,” the office person says.

“I told them I would reschedule,” I say.

“You need to do that today,” she insists.

“I’m not going to do it today,” I say evenly, “But I will reschedule,” I repeat.

“Well, if you don’t reschedule soon, you’re going to miss your chance to see the doctor.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, assuming she’s talking about me running out of weeks in which I still have time to abort the baby. As if.

“The doctor is going away on medical leave,” the office person says.

Oh, so her whole office is going to shut down? Does this person know I didn’t even see the doctor during my last visit, having met with only the ultrasound tech and the physician’s assistant?

But her phone call leaves me rattled for hours. Just Monday, the nurse practitioner assured me all of the doctors in the practice would let me give birth the way I want and not make me do anything I wasn’t comfortable with. But now I’ve got a person from the office, clearly an FBI, breathing down my neck about missing some appointment that was made for the convenience of the genetic counselor, who should have looked at the baby’s face the last time I was there, when they had the chance. What if I had declined to see the genetic counselor in the first place, three months ago? What difference does it make to my Ob/Gyn if and when I make or don’t make my appointments with the specialist I was referred to? I have never had this kind of treatment from any other physician who referred me to a specialist.

I relate all of this to my husband. We talk for probably an hour about nothing but the situation.

There just seems to be something missing here . . . .


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