I sat with my patient, a new mother, in the examination room. She was there for her first post-partum visit and we were discussing the events of the last few weeks. We chatted about breast feeding, birth control, lack of sleep, how annoying it is that men can sleep through *anything*, and then, I asked, as I always do, about how she was handling things emotionally. I always make it a point to screen for post-partum depression, many times, if you don't ask, they will not tell you how they are really feeling. This time, though she passed the screening for depression, she gave a laugh and said, "For the first time, I know why my mother is the way that she is." She went on to elaborate how she always made fun of how emotional her mother is, and now how she couldn't watch Kleenex commercials any more without bawling like a baby. It is so true. When we become parents we are forever changed, not only do we understand our parents better, but the way that we look at the whole world is different.
For me, it was the same. Before I became a mother, I loved to watch scary movies. The scarier the better. Imagine my surprise when, not long after Cindy Lou was born, and Mr. Whoo and I settled in to watch a horror flick when I realized that I had changed. I could not watch it, couldn't even get past the first 30 minutes. Why? Because there was a little girl child in it who was missing, and I couldn't handle thinking of a child (my child) being lost, scared, and alone. I never realized how many horror films use disturbing images of children before having a child of my own. It changed how I watch movies even now, far removed from the emotional lability of the immediate post-partum days. The same holds true for news stories involving children, footage of the 2004 tsunami devastated me, same for Katrina the summer after. The tears flow more freely now, happy, sad, and wistful. Most of all, music speaks to me, and often moves me to tears. There are certain songs I associate with different stages of my children's lives, and find myself tearing up just thinking of the lyrics. For Cindy Lou, it is "Baby Mine" and "Return to Pooh Corner." For Bean it is "Sweet Baby James" and "Little Wonders." Especially these lyrics:
"Our lives are made, in these small hours, these little wonders, these twists and turns of fate.
Time falls away, but these small hours, these small hours still remain."
So now I know how my mother felt when I was younger, when Cindy Lou turns to find me wiping away a happy tear or two and says, "Mommy, if you are happy, then why are you crying?" Perhaps it is because the transformative joy and wonder of having a part in creating these precious lives fills up our hearts until they break, just a little, from the magic of it all. How have your children changed the way you see the world?
***Cross Posted at Mothers in Medicine***
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Friday, September 03, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Aw, yeah!
Hi! Don't you love how I swear that I'm back to blogging and then don't post for two weeks? Time keeps slip-sliding away, but the main reason is that I was on *vacation.* Woo hoo, right? There were good, bad, and ugly parts, just like any old fashioned family vacation. The good: time with family, spending time in, near, and on the water, reading books (for fun!), eating good food, and having absolutely no responsibilities, pagers, emails, or Internet access. The bad: family overkill, NO AC in our rental (and 90 degree temps, if you know me, you know how disastrous this was), mosquitoes the size of my pinky finger (and a blue million mosquito bites), not really having anything to *do*, eating way too much good food, and no Internet access. The ugly: 23 hours in the car (each way!), with a 6 and almost 3 year-old. Yes, you read correctly, a total of 4 of my vacation days were spent driving in the car, with my whiny, don't- know-how-great-they-have-it children, slowly going insane. I believe that the first "Are we there yet?" came about 17 minutes into the trip, so yeah. Fun times.
The hilarious thing is, Mr. Whoo and I were crazy enough to make this trip about 5 years ago, with our just over one year old, and swore we would never do it again. HAHAHA! See how time dulls the sense of abject horror? Well, time, and over $400 per person for plane tickets. The first time around, CindyLou was just a little over one year old, and, while we had a DVD player (the makeshift kind that would hang in between the front seats and plugged into the cigarette lighter), CindyLou had the attention span of a gnat, and would only watch *one* of the many DVDs we had brought for her pacification, er, viewing pleasure. Any other of the videos made her bored, or scream, so we lucky people in the front seat got to listen to Ses.ame Stre.et "Sing Along" approximately 4872 times. The first couple of times, it was cute. We sang along with the songs and giggled at CindyLou's response. The next few times, we grinned and bore it. The next 100 times after that we started making up rude lyrics to the songs and commenting the actors "Mystery Science Theater 3000"-style. Any time after that, we just became hysterical and delirious. Seriously, this 30 minute video was the funniest sh*t we had ever heard. To this day we have quotations from that show (both real and altered) that we use in every day life, including a very enthusiastic "Aw, Yeah!" which came from an owl-type character in one of the songs. At the end of that trip, we (for some reason) kept the DVD, but did not watch it again for 5 whole years (mostly because we could recite it by rote)....until this trip.
We were a good 6 hours into the first day of traveling in the car, the novelty had worn off, and the kids were no longer interested in the snacks, our conversations, or the scenery. We were each "taking turns" choosing movies or music, when CindyLou and Bean just could not agree on a form of entertainment. The situation was devolving, and no amount of Capr.i S.un or Gold.fish could keep our offspring from complaining about one another when Mr. Whoo suddenly got this evil smile on his face, looked at me, and mouthed "Sing Along." My response? "Aw, YEAH!" So we played it. Bean was enthralled, CindyLou was still enthralled, and Mr. Whoo and I were laughing so hard we cried. The rest of the trip, we tried to engage the kids in the old standards such as the "Billboard Alphabet" game, the "License Plate" game, and "I Spy." We tried to give them a little taste of what it was like to travel back in the dark ages before DVD players, iPods, and Ninten.do DS. I'm not sure how much they appreciate it now, but hopefully, in time, they will. It is funny how the things that drive you the most insane are sometimes the best memories that you have. So family vacations, gotta love them. Now I am back in the fray, and just waiting for the next extraordinary happening in an ordinary day. Aw, yeah!
The hilarious thing is, Mr. Whoo and I were crazy enough to make this trip about 5 years ago, with our just over one year old, and swore we would never do it again. HAHAHA! See how time dulls the sense of abject horror? Well, time, and over $400 per person for plane tickets. The first time around, CindyLou was just a little over one year old, and, while we had a DVD player (the makeshift kind that would hang in between the front seats and plugged into the cigarette lighter), CindyLou had the attention span of a gnat, and would only watch *one* of the many DVDs we had brought for her pacification, er, viewing pleasure. Any other of the videos made her bored, or scream, so we lucky people in the front seat got to listen to Ses.ame Stre.et "Sing Along" approximately 4872 times. The first couple of times, it was cute. We sang along with the songs and giggled at CindyLou's response. The next few times, we grinned and bore it. The next 100 times after that we started making up rude lyrics to the songs and commenting the actors "Mystery Science Theater 3000"-style. Any time after that, we just became hysterical and delirious. Seriously, this 30 minute video was the funniest sh*t we had ever heard. To this day we have quotations from that show (both real and altered) that we use in every day life, including a very enthusiastic "Aw, Yeah!" which came from an owl-type character in one of the songs. At the end of that trip, we (for some reason) kept the DVD, but did not watch it again for 5 whole years (mostly because we could recite it by rote)....until this trip.
We were a good 6 hours into the first day of traveling in the car, the novelty had worn off, and the kids were no longer interested in the snacks, our conversations, or the scenery. We were each "taking turns" choosing movies or music, when CindyLou and Bean just could not agree on a form of entertainment. The situation was devolving, and no amount of Capr.i S.un or Gold.fish could keep our offspring from complaining about one another when Mr. Whoo suddenly got this evil smile on his face, looked at me, and mouthed "Sing Along." My response? "Aw, YEAH!" So we played it. Bean was enthralled, CindyLou was still enthralled, and Mr. Whoo and I were laughing so hard we cried. The rest of the trip, we tried to engage the kids in the old standards such as the "Billboard Alphabet" game, the "License Plate" game, and "I Spy." We tried to give them a little taste of what it was like to travel back in the dark ages before DVD players, iPods, and Ninten.do DS. I'm not sure how much they appreciate it now, but hopefully, in time, they will. It is funny how the things that drive you the most insane are sometimes the best memories that you have. So family vacations, gotta love them. Now I am back in the fray, and just waiting for the next extraordinary happening in an ordinary day. Aw, yeah!
Sunday, April 20, 2008
9 months and mobile
The Bean just turned 9 months old. It seems that he has had quite the spurt of development in the last few weeks. He got 2 new teeth, he started pulling up, he started crawling "for real," and he started to cruise. Just like that! He is a "big boy." I'm not ready! He is my *baby.* In so many ways. He still prefers the mama. He still dive bombs the boobs. Such a boob man, is he. I am breastfeeding longer than I had with CindyLou. She had little interest in the breast starting around month 8. Mr. Bean, however, is all about the boob, and I fear that it will continue that way until I say, "No more." Gah. I look at CindyLou's almost-4-year-old self, and I can barely fathom my little Bean growing as fast as she. Alas, I know it is inevitable! I have made a makeshift baby corral in the living room. He is such the explorer, it is hard to keep him contained! I am ever so grateful for the daycare's ability to accommodate his growing need for exploration. My living room , unfortunately, is less prepared.
This week has been crazy, nuts. Not in a good way. Deliveries and rescheduling of patients...the bane of my very professional existence. My office staff insists on scheduling me 7 patients in an hour. I am not pleased. I find myself actively fantasizing about other jobs. Less call, more life. Less than 40 patients seen per day. I spoke with another hospital this week. I find myself looking more toward relocating than staying and making this place work. This is a change, but with OtherDoc's wife as an "office manager" and the writing on the wall WRT any immediate change in the office and/or call schedule (not happening). I find myself invigorated by the possibilities out there. I am young, female, American trained, with a decent (I think) personality, and a strong work ethic. There is a lot of opportunity out there for me. I hate the concept of moving again, but, it may be worth it if I can find a job with one day call per week, and one weekend call per month (instead of 4 paltry days off per month, pathetic). Thanks to all of you for still checking on me! More detailed bread and butter OB/GYN in the next post, promise. Happy Weekend!
This week has been crazy, nuts. Not in a good way. Deliveries and rescheduling of patients...the bane of my very professional existence. My office staff insists on scheduling me 7 patients in an hour. I am not pleased. I find myself actively fantasizing about other jobs. Less call, more life. Less than 40 patients seen per day. I spoke with another hospital this week. I find myself looking more toward relocating than staying and making this place work. This is a change, but with OtherDoc's wife as an "office manager" and the writing on the wall WRT any immediate change in the office and/or call schedule (not happening). I find myself invigorated by the possibilities out there. I am young, female, American trained, with a decent (I think) personality, and a strong work ethic. There is a lot of opportunity out there for me. I hate the concept of moving again, but, it may be worth it if I can find a job with one day call per week, and one weekend call per month (instead of 4 paltry days off per month, pathetic). Thanks to all of you for still checking on me! More detailed bread and butter OB/GYN in the next post, promise. Happy Weekend!
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Feliz Naviblah
So where was I? Oh yes, Thanksgiving travel with an infant. The day started out well enough. We had splurged on the extra luxury of actually departing from the teensy tiny airport in Whooville, as opposed to driving 2 hours to BigCity to fly out as per usual. The flight left around 9, so we got to the airport and checked in around 8. No baggage to check (thanks to Mr. Whoo), but I did have my (oh so stylish) breastpump, a diaper bag, and a 14 pound infant in the baby bi.jorn. The first two puddle-jumping flights were great. I had a bottle of freshly pumped milk so that I didn't have to get half naked in one of those itty bitty planes. Bean had his second breakfast and filled his diaper in that order, and all was right with the world. We arrived in the BigCity airport with just enough time to change Bean's pants and for me to grab a quick bite to eat. Our next flight was scheduled to go out on time (a first for me on this particular carrier with the letters N and W prominent in the name). Then it all started to unravel.
The flight was full, not unexpected for the day before Thanksgiving, so I had to check the breastpump planeside and the diaper bag was too fluffy to fit under the seat so I took as much as I thought I would need (diaper, blanket, burp cloth) and jammed the bag into the overhead compartment. I was seated near the front of the plane, window seat, next to a rather portly gentleman. Being of an ample posterior, myself, we were very, ahem, cozy (read jammed together with very little room to move). Bean was sleepy and cranky, so most of my attention was focused on getting him settled. It took a while to notice that we were taxiing a little longer than usual. Then the announcement from the pilot, inclement weather in our destination was forcing them to delay departure for approximately 30 minutes, so we were going to sit on the runway until we could take off. Ummmm, WTF? They didn't know that the weather was bad before they jammed us on the plane? The cessation of movement awakened the Bean, so my last weapon in the arsenal, the almighty boob, was offered in the most awkward and uncomfortable way....ever. We got through the wait on the tarmac, and he fell blissfully asleep once we were in the air. The remainder of the flight passed uneventfully, until we reached the destination. Then, for some undisclosed reason, we then proceeded to circle the city, unable to land for an additional hour and a half. I *had* to pee, and Bean needed a new diaper. When it became evident that we weren't landing any time soon, I braved the airplane bathroom, infant in tow. Of course I was very near the front, and the bathroom was all the way in the back, so I did my best not to whack each and every aisle seated passenger with either my arse or my baby's feet. Peeing in that laughably small restroom with the baby in the baby bi.jorn was effort enough, but changing a diaper in there? Damn near impossible. I put the burp cloth down for a minute on the only available counter space (the sink) only to have it get sopping wet. Bean screamed throughout the whole ordeal, for extra fun, and I was near tears myself by the time we had finished. I did my best to avoid the disapproving eyes as I headed back toward my seat with my overtly vocal, unhappy child, wedged myself back in between the window and Mr. Portly, offered Bean the other boob, and willed the plane onto the runway, like, yesterday.
We did finally make it to the ground, a grand 10 minutes after my connecting flight had departed. (No, of course, I wouldn't have the *good* fortune of the flight being delayed!) I want to know, if the weather was so terrible, why flights were still leaving on time?? It was about 1:45 pm (felt like midnight) and the next flight out wasn't available until after 7 pm. With the darkening skies and this carrier's oh so stellar reputation, that wasn't a gamble that I was willing to take. I had been scheduled to arrive at my destination city at approximately 2:30 pm, my sister in-law, niece, and nephew were to pick us up, and then we were to drive 3 hours north to the Grandparent's house. I phoned my sister-in-law and we both agreed that she could drive to my present airport and pick me up before my next flight even left (ha, ha!) So we estimated that she was a little less than 2 hours away, so I took myself to the Chili's and ordered fajitas and a margarita. All was right with the world once again....until Bean blew out his diaper and needed a full wardrobe change, bunting and all.
Flash forward 3.5 hours when my sister-in-law finally arrived, having underwent a small circle of hell, herself, involving ice storms, driving rain, and holiday traffic to get to the airport. As we settled in the car, I thought, surely, things would get better from there. Fate laughed loud and long at that assumption. The weather went from driving rain to freezing rain to blizzard-like snow, the traffic got increasingly snarled, and the three children got increasingly testy. What should have been a 4-5 hour drive turned into an 7 hour drive. We had reached a tenuous peace, with all three children finally asleep. We turned the radio to an all Christmas music station, and proceeded to laugh about how horrific the entire journey had been. Just after we had reached the last 30 minute leg of the trip (through snowy, country back roads), my nephew began to cry to get out of the car seat. Then my niece awoke and cried because she was still sleepy, my poor SIL was doing all she could to see the road through the blizzard, and there was no placating the children. As we turned onto the final road to the Grandparents house, Bean awoke to complete the trifecta, the screaming escalated, the road was icy, we were behind a car going precisely 2 miles an hour, and playing in the background? A cheerful "Feliz Navidad." Delirious from prolonged travel with children, my SIL turned the volume up over the throng of screaming voices, and we sang along at the top of our lungs....either to save our sanity, or because we had completely lost it, I am still unsure. We slid past the driveway just after midnight, arriving safely but insane, a mere 16 hours after the journey had began (it takes 11 hours to drive the distance between our houses). I vow to never, ever, fly anywhere ever again. That is all.
The flight was full, not unexpected for the day before Thanksgiving, so I had to check the breastpump planeside and the diaper bag was too fluffy to fit under the seat so I took as much as I thought I would need (diaper, blanket, burp cloth) and jammed the bag into the overhead compartment. I was seated near the front of the plane, window seat, next to a rather portly gentleman. Being of an ample posterior, myself, we were very, ahem, cozy (read jammed together with very little room to move). Bean was sleepy and cranky, so most of my attention was focused on getting him settled. It took a while to notice that we were taxiing a little longer than usual. Then the announcement from the pilot, inclement weather in our destination was forcing them to delay departure for approximately 30 minutes, so we were going to sit on the runway until we could take off. Ummmm, WTF? They didn't know that the weather was bad before they jammed us on the plane? The cessation of movement awakened the Bean, so my last weapon in the arsenal, the almighty boob, was offered in the most awkward and uncomfortable way....ever. We got through the wait on the tarmac, and he fell blissfully asleep once we were in the air. The remainder of the flight passed uneventfully, until we reached the destination. Then, for some undisclosed reason, we then proceeded to circle the city, unable to land for an additional hour and a half. I *had* to pee, and Bean needed a new diaper. When it became evident that we weren't landing any time soon, I braved the airplane bathroom, infant in tow. Of course I was very near the front, and the bathroom was all the way in the back, so I did my best not to whack each and every aisle seated passenger with either my arse or my baby's feet. Peeing in that laughably small restroom with the baby in the baby bi.jorn was effort enough, but changing a diaper in there? Damn near impossible. I put the burp cloth down for a minute on the only available counter space (the sink) only to have it get sopping wet. Bean screamed throughout the whole ordeal, for extra fun, and I was near tears myself by the time we had finished. I did my best to avoid the disapproving eyes as I headed back toward my seat with my overtly vocal, unhappy child, wedged myself back in between the window and Mr. Portly, offered Bean the other boob, and willed the plane onto the runway, like, yesterday.
We did finally make it to the ground, a grand 10 minutes after my connecting flight had departed. (No, of course, I wouldn't have the *good* fortune of the flight being delayed!) I want to know, if the weather was so terrible, why flights were still leaving on time?? It was about 1:45 pm (felt like midnight) and the next flight out wasn't available until after 7 pm. With the darkening skies and this carrier's oh so stellar reputation, that wasn't a gamble that I was willing to take. I had been scheduled to arrive at my destination city at approximately 2:30 pm, my sister in-law, niece, and nephew were to pick us up, and then we were to drive 3 hours north to the Grandparent's house. I phoned my sister-in-law and we both agreed that she could drive to my present airport and pick me up before my next flight even left (ha, ha!) So we estimated that she was a little less than 2 hours away, so I took myself to the Chili's and ordered fajitas and a margarita. All was right with the world once again....until Bean blew out his diaper and needed a full wardrobe change, bunting and all.
Flash forward 3.5 hours when my sister-in-law finally arrived, having underwent a small circle of hell, herself, involving ice storms, driving rain, and holiday traffic to get to the airport. As we settled in the car, I thought, surely, things would get better from there. Fate laughed loud and long at that assumption. The weather went from driving rain to freezing rain to blizzard-like snow, the traffic got increasingly snarled, and the three children got increasingly testy. What should have been a 4-5 hour drive turned into an 7 hour drive. We had reached a tenuous peace, with all three children finally asleep. We turned the radio to an all Christmas music station, and proceeded to laugh about how horrific the entire journey had been. Just after we had reached the last 30 minute leg of the trip (through snowy, country back roads), my nephew began to cry to get out of the car seat. Then my niece awoke and cried because she was still sleepy, my poor SIL was doing all she could to see the road through the blizzard, and there was no placating the children. As we turned onto the final road to the Grandparents house, Bean awoke to complete the trifecta, the screaming escalated, the road was icy, we were behind a car going precisely 2 miles an hour, and playing in the background? A cheerful "Feliz Navidad." Delirious from prolonged travel with children, my SIL turned the volume up over the throng of screaming voices, and we sang along at the top of our lungs....either to save our sanity, or because we had completely lost it, I am still unsure. We slid past the driveway just after midnight, arriving safely but insane, a mere 16 hours after the journey had began (it takes 11 hours to drive the distance between our houses). I vow to never, ever, fly anywhere ever again. That is all.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Whoop, dere it is
Do you ever get inappropriate song lyrics stuck in your head on constant repeat? (Whoop! Shakalaka-shaklaka-shakalaka, whoop!) Just me? Damn. The inspiration for my chosen song of the weekend is not so funny, unfortunately. It seems that Bean may be in the early stages of whooping cough or pertussis. A child in the daycare was just diagnosed this week, and yesterday he started with the characteristic cough. Since he is such a little man, and has not completed his vaccinations yet, he is now on antibiotics to (hopefully) keep him from developing the paroxysmal coughing spells that are pathognomonic for the illness. Poor guy. He actually otherwise seems very happy. He is eating and sleeping well, so that is all that I can ask in this situation. Hopefully we have caught the illness in the mild stage in time for him not to develop the severe symptoms. Fingers are crossed.
Did I mention that I am playing single parent this weekend? Well, I am, and boy, is it rough. Mr. Whoo is off in the woods with his (boy)friends, acting like 13 year olds (video games, junk food, staying up late, oh and also with beer, lots of beer). They do this trip once a year, and I think it is great for their friendship, but man, it is difficult at home. When CindyLou was a baby, she decided to get her very first stomach bug when Mr. Whoo was off on his "guy" weekend. Bean just had to do her one better, I guess. You may remember at the onset of this blog that the wives started their own little get-away weekend. We didn't do it this year (logistics were tricky with pregnancies and whatnot), but are in the early stages of planning next year's trip. (A whole lot less video games, same amount of alcohol, and more spa time.) CindyLou and the Bean have actually been angelic, though, so I have been really lucky. She is off on a playdate right now, and he is sleeping somewhat peacefully in his swing. Hence, blog time! Woot!
I am taking a little longer to adjust back into a full work schedule than I anticipated. I am booked for new patients out into April, with women approaching me personally in the hospital and elsewhere (!) requesting to be seen sooner. I also am trying to decrease my patient load for less deliveries per month in hopes of eking out some sort of better lifestyle. I am going into the 3rd year of a 4 year contract, and I have a lot to consider. Now, with two children, I am finding that lifestyle is becoming increasingly important. I came in to this opportunity with the attitude that I could do anything for 4 years (just like residency). When I come out of this contract $200,000 of my student loans will have been repaid. (You read that figure correctly.) This is huuugge. I will not be "debt free" but the amount left over to pay after that is entirely manageable. I love the location and the patients. I do not love the call schedule...at all. I am still only getting 4 days off per month (every other weekend). I am on call 24/7 all week long and 2 weekends a month. This is too much. I was led to believe that call would be 1 in 3 when I arrived here. This never materialized, and I am somewhat bitter. My employer is looking to expand, and I am hopeful that adding one or two more OB physicians is in their sights in the coming years. If I could have a true 1 in 3 (or 4) call with 1 in 3 (or 4 )weekends, I think I could be a very happy camper. If this does not happen, I'm afraid I may have to start the process to look elsewhere. Bleah. I hate moving. I am trying to be patient.
I am glad to be back with my patients. It is awesome to get back into the OR, and catch some babies. One of my favorite patients is due this month, and I can't wait to deliver her second baby (I delivered her first about a year and a half ago). That is the part that I love about OB, the continuity of care and the relationship with the patient. It is such a privilege to be a part of such an intimate occasion as childbirth. I wish sometimes that I didn't love my job as much as I do. I wish it would be an easier decision to scrap years of training and debt and say "I'm staying with my babies." I just can't. I love my children immeasurably, but I know that the work that I am doing is more than a job, it is a calling; just as much as motherhood is a calling, and so I do my best to serve both of my passions in an equitable way. It isn't easy, and I will state now that I am choosing not to engage the work vs. stay home debate mongers here. A few of the comments I have received and chosen not to publish are hurtful, not only to me, but to women in general, and I will not allow this misogynistic rhetoric on my blog. If you are looking for a fight, please look elsewhere. We women are doing the best we can, and we don't need members of our own sex seeking to tear us down for the choices we make in life. With that, it is time to nurse the little man. Happy weekend, one and all...thank you for reading my stream of consciousness. :)
Did I mention that I am playing single parent this weekend? Well, I am, and boy, is it rough. Mr. Whoo is off in the woods with his (boy)friends, acting like 13 year olds (video games, junk food, staying up late, oh and also with beer, lots of beer). They do this trip once a year, and I think it is great for their friendship, but man, it is difficult at home. When CindyLou was a baby, she decided to get her very first stomach bug when Mr. Whoo was off on his "guy" weekend. Bean just had to do her one better, I guess. You may remember at the onset of this blog that the wives started their own little get-away weekend. We didn't do it this year (logistics were tricky with pregnancies and whatnot), but are in the early stages of planning next year's trip. (A whole lot less video games, same amount of alcohol, and more spa time.) CindyLou and the Bean have actually been angelic, though, so I have been really lucky. She is off on a playdate right now, and he is sleeping somewhat peacefully in his swing. Hence, blog time! Woot!
I am taking a little longer to adjust back into a full work schedule than I anticipated. I am booked for new patients out into April, with women approaching me personally in the hospital and elsewhere (!) requesting to be seen sooner. I also am trying to decrease my patient load for less deliveries per month in hopes of eking out some sort of better lifestyle. I am going into the 3rd year of a 4 year contract, and I have a lot to consider. Now, with two children, I am finding that lifestyle is becoming increasingly important. I came in to this opportunity with the attitude that I could do anything for 4 years (just like residency). When I come out of this contract $200,000 of my student loans will have been repaid. (You read that figure correctly.) This is huuugge. I will not be "debt free" but the amount left over to pay after that is entirely manageable. I love the location and the patients. I do not love the call schedule...at all. I am still only getting 4 days off per month (every other weekend). I am on call 24/7 all week long and 2 weekends a month. This is too much. I was led to believe that call would be 1 in 3 when I arrived here. This never materialized, and I am somewhat bitter. My employer is looking to expand, and I am hopeful that adding one or two more OB physicians is in their sights in the coming years. If I could have a true 1 in 3 (or 4) call with 1 in 3 (or 4 )weekends, I think I could be a very happy camper. If this does not happen, I'm afraid I may have to start the process to look elsewhere. Bleah. I hate moving. I am trying to be patient.
I am glad to be back with my patients. It is awesome to get back into the OR, and catch some babies. One of my favorite patients is due this month, and I can't wait to deliver her second baby (I delivered her first about a year and a half ago). That is the part that I love about OB, the continuity of care and the relationship with the patient. It is such a privilege to be a part of such an intimate occasion as childbirth. I wish sometimes that I didn't love my job as much as I do. I wish it would be an easier decision to scrap years of training and debt and say "I'm staying with my babies." I just can't. I love my children immeasurably, but I know that the work that I am doing is more than a job, it is a calling; just as much as motherhood is a calling, and so I do my best to serve both of my passions in an equitable way. It isn't easy, and I will state now that I am choosing not to engage the work vs. stay home debate mongers here. A few of the comments I have received and chosen not to publish are hurtful, not only to me, but to women in general, and I will not allow this misogynistic rhetoric on my blog. If you are looking for a fight, please look elsewhere. We women are doing the best we can, and we don't need members of our own sex seeking to tear us down for the choices we make in life. With that, it is time to nurse the little man. Happy weekend, one and all...thank you for reading my stream of consciousness. :)
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