Office Dos and Don'ts

When I am not on call and juggling office visits and catching babies, I am still working in the office seeing both OB and GYN patients every single day of the week. I realize that most of you spend only a fraction of that time in any physician's office, and frankly, we can tell. Here are some helpful hints to make your day at the GYN go a bit more smoothly:

Ob/Gyn Office *Dos*
1. Do make an early appointment. Whenever possible, make your appointment the first appointment of the morning or the first appointment after lunch. Trust me on this one and see below.
2. Do arrive for your appointment at least 10-15 minutes early. I know, I know, why would you want to show up early when you just *know* you are going to be in the office for *hours* on end. Here's why: The Snowball Effect. Invariably, as is required by the office, your insurance, or pencil pushers from various state and local agencies, you will be asked to fill out some kind of form upon your arrival. These are usually not mind-shatteringly difficult, but they can take time. Then the receptionist has to verify your information, make sure your insurance is still good, find your chart, and send it down the line to the MA/RN who will be bringing you into the office. The MA then fills in any new information, takes your vitals, asks the reason for your visit, and takes you to the room. Imagine what happens when you are "just 15 minutes" late for your appointment, everything that has to be done gets done further and further away from your appointment time. Before you know it, you are in the exam room 30 minutes after your appointment time, and if you think your schedule is thrown off, multiply that by 12-15 patients in a half-day. If all of them are even 5 minutes late for their appointment time, it creates a significant backlog for the physician to overcome. We're good, but we can't reverse time. It's just not feasible.
3. Do know your personal and medical history. Be sure that you have approximate dates of any surgeries or hospitalizations that have occurred in the last few years. Know what body parts you do and do not have. Know what medications (and their doses) you are taking, for the love of all that is holy! I have no idea what birth control pills are in the pink rectangular package, and will not be able to divine it easily. Have a tentative idea of when your last period happened. I also have no idea what is in your medical history unless you bring your records to me to look at or have them sent to the office *before* your appointment, so please don't wave a dismissive hand and mumble something about how "it's all in there somewhere."
4. Do bathe. Applying soap and water to your body sometime in the 24 hours before the appointment is considered common courtesy. I really don't care if your legs or any other areas are shaved, hair maintenance really doesn't concern or bother me in the least, but the courtesy of bathing is much appreciated.
5. Do know what you want to accomplish. Write down the questions that you have or issues that you want to address at your appointment. In the hustle of the office routine, you will probably forget something. Keep a little list on a piece of paper or on your phone to review...and I stress *little.*

Ob/Gyn Office *Don'ts*
1. Don't make a routine appointment for an out of the ordinary problem. This, of all things, is my number one pet peeve when it comes to office visits. If you are feeling depressed, your libido is in the toilet, your uterus is falling out, or you feel like you are bleeding to death every month, even if it *is* just about time for your pap smear, please, please, PLEASE don't call the office to make an "annual exam" appointment. Believe it or not, GYN physicians do more than just pap smears. If you want to see the doctor for a problem, make an appointment for such. Here is something you may not realize: You do *not* have to disclose to the scheduler *what kind* of problem you are having! Simply stating you have a problem you would like to discuss with the physician is totally adequate and spares you any embarrassment you may feel. Annual exam appointments are usually given about 10 minutes, but problem appointments can be scheduled for 15 minutes-30 minutes. This means you get more time with your physician to discuss treatment options and formulate a plan to get you feeling better. In the same vein, don't save up all of your problems for your annual exam; there is only so much we can do in an annual exam. Change your birth control? Yes. Change your birth control, cure your depression, diagnose your infection, and evaluate abnormal bleeding? Not so much. Scheduling the appropriate kind of appointment sets up a "win/win" situation for all involved.
2. Don't expect to get an immediate answer/treatment/cure after one visit. Some problems (like infections) are easy to solve, but some problems are more complex and require data gathering and imaging studies. Your initial appointment may need to be followed by a secondary appointment in order to assimilate information and assess treatment efficacy. You may not have all the answers after seeing your physician one time, but I can assure, you will be headed in a definitive direction for treatment.
3. Don't be rude to the office staff. They are there to do a job, and when you get seen, how you get seen, and certain office policies (like late policies) are totally out of their control. We all work together as a team, and you can bet that if you are a raging b*tch to my MA, I am going to hear about it before I step foot in the room. I can't guarantee a warmed speculum in those cases, either (I KID, NO HATE MAIL, PLEASE!!) On the flip side, if our staff is rude to you we want to know about it, so please share your experience with us.
4. Don't expect your physician to (do even more) work for free. Trust me when I say that much of the "behind the scenes" work that we do goes uncompensated. It is common courtesy to inform you of your lab results over the phone (usually our nurses or clinical staff will do this), however, if you want to discuss the interpretation of your labs or formulate treatment plans based on the lab results? Make an appointment. Physicians' clinical opinions are based upon what we spent years learning; this is our professional service, and we deserve to be compensated for services rendered.
5. Don't attempt to dictate your own treatment. Dr. Google is great for answers in the middle of the night, but printing sheaves of paper dictating how you *think* you should be evaluated/treated is incredibly off-putting. I value an educated patient, and appreciate when my patients "do their homework." This is not the same thing as demanding of a physician a specific test or treatment that you happen to think you may need. We want to collaborate with you about your care, and have spent years of training learning how to do this. Our knowledge is not so easily replaced by We.b.M.D. or W.ik.ipe.d.ia.

Crazy Life

October has a special place in my heart. The fall weather is my favorite, football is in full swing, and the school year is settling into a routine. This year, however, it is also my favorite because September is finally freaking over! In the past 4 weeks of call I have cared for, delivered, operated on, or diagnosed the following:

- A twin IUFD @ 18 weeks, followed by a retained placenta requiring a D&C.

- 3 post-partum hemorrhages, transfused a total of 9 units of blood between them, one of whom almost lost her uterus, but was saved by a B-Lynch stitch.

- An 11 pound shoulder dystocia (baby and mom were fine).

- A 30 week severe IUGR IUFD, barely able to be delivered vaginally due to a contracted pelvis.

- A multiparous unmedicated, "I'm physically here, but mentally I'm not," precipitous delivery followed by a shoulder dystocia, complete with tight nuchal cord x 2, baby with a very purple face, but no other sequelae.

- A newly diagnosed placenta previa, possible accreta at 28 weeks gestation.

- An 8 cm ectopic pregnancy.

- A cervical ectopic pregnancy.

- More preeclampsia than I have ever seen or care to see again.

- A full labor and delivery unit, laboring patients in triage, delivering in the ORs due to lack of beds.

- A 360 pound, 28 year old patient who had never seen a gynecologist with excessive bleeding and a 10 cm complex right ovarian mass.

It's been a rough month to say the least! Not to mention the day-to-day office grind, allergies, a sinus infection that won't go away, and a poor prognosis for a family member, recently diagnosed with recurrent, advanced malignancy. Every day I see something that makes me aware of how fragile our lives really are, and I am so thankful for all with which I have been blessed. So I am taking all that I've learned from the above experiences, gray hairs, angina, and all and pressing forward into October. It can only get better....right??

Summertime....

...and the living is, well, kinda crazy. Isn't that always the way? The more free time we seem to have, the more we fill it up with visits to the pool, spending time with grandparents, and trying to keep our kids from growing up so darn fast. I had to take a bit of a break from the blogosphere. I had gotten into a very bad habit of reading too many doctor-bashing blogs, and it was making me incredibly bitter and angry. Partially because of the blatant misinformation being bandied about, and partially because I know so many great, caring, and self-sacrificing people that are physicians, and to hear us all painted with such an ugly brush really p*sses me off. Not to mention how reading about how much people hate us out there was making me wonder why I was busting my *ss going above and beyond for people who didn't appreciate a d*mn thing that I did. So, I stepped away from the screen for a bit, and took the time to look around me.

In that time, life brought several patients my way that helped me to remember why my job is so important and yes, even still, appreciated. I did a 2 am emergency c-section on a woman who was actively abrupting at 35 weeks and helped save her life and her baby's life, as well. I helped two women, one with an early demise due to a fatal fetal anomaly, and one with a heartbreaking term demise to deliver and make it through the absolute worst days of their lives. I attended several "routine" deliveries and got to be a part of the happiest day in many women's lives (dreaded hospital setting and all). And I waited out a prolonged labor, complete with three hours of pushing and a pretty scary shoulder dystocia, and helped a first-time mother to deliver her healthy, 9 pound 15 ounce baby.

In the spaces in between, I got to celebrate CindyLou's 6th (!) birthday and her "graduation" from Kindergarten, enjoy some time with family and friends on the weekends that I have off, and I even successfully completed 2 weeks without eating any carbohydrates at all (and lost 6 more pounds, yay!) I think of this time last year, as we were preparing to make this move, and I was dreading July (as I always did, with OtherDoc's mega vacation looming in the foreground). This year we have vacations planned in July and Bean's 3rd (can you believe *that*?) birthday, and only 1 full weekend of call. I am finding my life again, and still getting to work in a field about which I am just as passionate, now with less burn-out! Whee! I also want to thank the sweet anon poster who asked that I not give up on the blog...don't worry! I may lose chunks of time in between posts, but I won't forget about you guys. I just have to find a way to make this blog funny again, and not so depressing and whiny! I will continue to fight the good fight for Ob/Gyns out there, and do my best to stop the rampant fear mongering by providing the example which contradicts the general blogosphere "rule." Good doctors do exist, we by far outnumber the "bad" ones, and we prove it every. single. day. Happy 1st day of summer, all! I am going to the pool. :)

Dropping In and Frustration

Since my move from Whooville to Newville, I've had to make some adjustments to the new patient population. Perhaps the most frustrating of all, however, are the "drop-in" patients on Labor and Delivery. My previous hospital was a rural, community hospital. It was certainly off the beaten track, and the building? Was old. Really old. The L & D suites were certainly sufficient and functional, but luxurious? Not so much. You had to know where you were going to find the hospital, and it was quite the rare occasion to have patients just "drop-in" for care.


Not so for the new digs. This hospital is new. Pretty much Brand Spanking New, and posh, and beautiful, and, oh yes, right off of a major highway, visible for all the world to see. Which makes for the fascinating phenomenon that is the OB "drop-in" patient. "Drop-in" patients come to this hospital "because it is close," or "because it is nice," or "because it was on the way." So, what is so bad about working in a hospital in which everyone wants to deliver? Well, what is so frustrating is the women who *know* that they want to deliver at our hospital, but do not seek pre-natal care from physicians that cover our hospital. Therefore, any pre-natal labs or records, or history of complications are virtually inaccessible at the time that they come in for delivery. Often patients from the large, downtown academic center (who don't have insurance or have insurance not accepted by our practice) receive all of their pre-natal care "for free" at the downtown center clinics and the purposefully come to our hospital to deliver. The patients are often not troubled by this, and often seem mildly surprised that we "aren't all the same" and have no way to access their records. After all, they are getting exactly what they want. It is much harder for us, as physicians, however, to help these patients. Especially when it comes to their expectations for delivery. It is difficult to develop a proper rapport in the few hours that we have with them. I think that trust is so important in the delivery room.

Even more difficult are the transient patients who stop in on their way through town, like one patient who had absolutely no pre-natal care, and was on her way to deliver her baby somewhere "non-medical" when her water broke, and she decided to stop-in at our hospital. She had, indeed, broken her water, but she refused an ultrasound to assist with proper fetal dating because she was concerned that the "x-ray waves" would damage the baby. She then proceeded to refuse any medical assistance from the hospital at all for over 24 hours, tying the medical staff's hands, and putting them at risk for liability at the same time. Eventually, she agreed to augmentation of labor, and even requested epidural analgesia after a prolonged labor. With medical assistance, she eventually was able to deliver, but the baby boy had definite signs of septicemia (likely due to prolonged rupture of membranes) and ended up in the NICU for over a week. When all was said and done, the mother, upon release from the hospital, said that she and her infant would never step foot in another hospital again, despite the fact that it was with the hospital's help that her child was born and made well when he was sick. To this day I will never understand why she "stepped foot" in the hospital from the start, if she did not want any intervention that the hospital could offer. This case brought a lot of issues that plague the medical profession in this day and age to the forefront.

Thankfully, her baby, despite some health issues at birth (that likely could have been avoided with faster intervention) did well...but what if he did not do well? What if the infant did not survive? Then who is at fault? The hospital? The physician? The mother? These are the questions the haunt physicians' sleep at night. Obstetrical interventions are not only done to avoid lawsuits, they are done to protect the safety and health of both the mother and her baby. However, one bad outcome, one wrong decision, can result in catastrophic professional, financial, and personal losses for the physician. Is it any wonder that we are hyper-vigilant? Is it any wonder that we would jump at any opportunity to prevent a bad fetal outcome, even it it means surgical intervention risks for the mother? It is thanks to Jon Edwards and others like him that the cesarean rates are rising, VBACs are being refused, that patients are being over-monitored, and that interventions are becoming the exception rather than the rule. Without tort reform, without the ability of the physician to operate from another position than that of fear of a poor outcome, then I am afraid that obstetrical care will remain the same in this country for years to come. Please consider that your rage just may be misdirected.

Run, run, run

I'm coming off of another 18 day stretch of call, and has it been a wild ride. Most of the time, even with the unpredictable schedule I've come to expect, it isn't very often that I have a true, chaotic dash to the hospital to tend to an emergency. I know about most labors when they are early in the process, and can mentally prepare to leave for the hospital at the appropriate time. By the same token, most surgeries are planned well in advance. Of course, babies have a way of surprising even the most prepared, and they seem to have conspired against me in the past few weeks.

Emergency Dash #1 - Sunday afternoon, approximately 4 pm. I was out with CindyLou, Bean, and Mr. Whoo at the park, enjoying the weather. I answered an outside page from a husband, worrying that his term pregnant wife (OtherDoc's patient) had been in pain for 8 hours, and was now spotting. Of course, they were told to head straight to the hospital, and I pondered, loudly, why anyone would ever need wait 8 whole hours to make that call??? Just go, already!

As we rounded up the kids and were preparing to head out for ice cream, I received a "911" page from Labor and Delivery. Sure enough, the woman from the phone call had just arrived to triage...completely dilated. No time to change out of my sweaty workout clothes or to drop the family at home, we sped directly to the hospital. I dashed into the room, introducing myself, and promising that I was not some random person off the street in workout gear. Luckily, they believed me (or were so desperate that they just didn't care *who* caught the baby at this point), I made it just in time to catch the crowning baby boy, a mere 45 minutes after I had first received the page from the woman's husband. After all was finished, I joined my patient family in the parking lot, and we all went for some much deserved ice cream.



Emergency Dash #2 - Wednesday morning, 3 am. Awakened from a dead sleep, my groggy, sleepy brain was immediately doused with the equivalent of ice cold water as I saw the "911" page from labor and delivery. I dropped my glasses and the phone before being able to return the page. When I did get in touch with labor and delivery, I found that one of my patients had arrived in triage. She claimed that her water had been leaking since about noon the day before, but she came in because she was having pain. She was completely dilated, oh, and the baby was frank breech....and back down.

If ever there was an "Oh Shit!" moment, this was it. I think I got to the hospital in about 10 minutes flat (it usually takes 15), and the whole time I was on the phone with labor and delivery, checking fetal status, talking to the OR, and arranging for the patient to be in the operating room as soon as I arrived. The poor family medicine resident that had been up on L and D "just in case" she delivered before I got there (truly a nightmare, as a back down breech delivery in an inexperienced operator's hands would almost certainly lead to a head entrapment) offered to scrub with me. We did a true, stat cesarean section, complete with the nurses pushing the breech up from below. Luckily, the baby perked up nicely, despite a very bruised posterior. We got into the uterine arteries on both sides, due to the low position of the breech and extremely thin lower uterine segment, but were able to control the bleeding. Mother and baby boy ended up doing just fine, but I think I may have aged 5 years that night.

Emergency Dash #3 and #4 - I'm including these stories because they were eerily similar to one another. Both women were inductions, both in the same labor and delivery room, both on the same day, one week apart. Patient number #3 was an induction for post-dates. She had a very rough delivery with her last baby, and was leery of hospitals and interventions, but she had gone to 42 weeks, our agreed upon "exit point." She provided me and the hospital with her very simple birth plan, and everything progressed very nicely. She was 4 cm dilated at 11 am, and she decided on an epidural for pain control, as the narcotics she received at her first delivery made her have unpleasant hallucinations. I was at the office, seeing patients, when I got the call from labor and delivery. Her nurse had just come back from lunch, and as she went to check the patient. When she parted the labia, she saw the baby's head! Patient #3 was feeling *nothing!* She was fast asleep! I navigated lunch rush traffic as best I could, and, thanks to her excellent epidural, made it in time to deliver the baby boy at precisely 1:03 pm. She pushed exactly twice. Once for the head, once for the body. No tears, no pain, no long hours of contractions. She and her husband were thrilled, as was I.

Imagine the eerie sense of dejavu, when I had another induction, exactly one week later, in the same room. This time the induction was for IUGR, and the patient was a first time mom. Her induction progressed very smoothly, as well. At 11:30 am, I called to check in on her progress. Her labor nurse had just checked her, found her to be 4 cm, and medicated her with IV pain medication. Imagine my surprise, when a mere hour later, I got a call from the same nurse...she had just returned from lunch and was preparing the patient for an epidural. She checked the patient, as she was feeling pressure, and surprise! She was 9 cm and feeling very "push-y." It was yet another zig zagging race through town, at the lunch hour, where I seemed to catch every single light and get behind the *slowest* drivers on the planet. It is time like these that I wish I could have some kind of special "Ob/Gyn" flashing light to put up on my car to get people to move the heck out of the way!! I made it to the room, where she was trying with all her might not to push. I checked, found her to be completely dilated, and she proceeded to push. She delivered a healthy, if small, baby girl at precisely 1:03 pm. Weird, right?? Kind of cool, though.

Emergency Dash #5 - Yet another Sunday, about 6 pm. I had just arrived home after taking CindyLou over to the neighbor's for a playdate. We were just sitting down to the dinner that Mr. Whoo had prepared, when, you guessed it, I got the "911" page from L and D. This time, one of OtherDoc's patients, a G13P11 (that means 13 pregnancies, 11 babies) who had been wanting homebirth, arrived at the hospital. She stated her water had been broken for a week, she was 34 weeks pregnant, and "the baby just wasn't coming out." She was 9 cm when she arrived on labor and delivery. Fortunately, Sunday traffic isn't nearly as bad as lunch traffic, and I was there in time to help the resident deliver the little 34 weeker. The delivery was the easy part. The hard part came in the way of a retained placenta and post-partum hemorrhage (a risk in those grand multips). Thanks to cyto.tec and a banjo curette, we saved her a trip to the OR. Both mom and baby needed antibiotics post-delivery, probably due to her being ruptured for so long, but both went home a mere 4 days after delivery.

So, that's what I've been up to for the last few weeks. Freaking out, growing gray hair, and aging myself by leaps and bounds. Luckily though, all these moms and babies did well, so it was worth it. To say nothing of the other things swirling about, old job, new job, selling the house, looking for rentals, etc. I feel like I've been running a marathon, minus health benefits and sense of accomplishment. So, what have you been doing these days?

Revenge of the Pregnant Women

Oooooweeeeeeooooo. Scary, huh? Well, to a poor, unsuspecting, newly-recovered from the flu Ob/Gyn, it is the scariest prospect around. You see, for the first time (and I do mean, the very first time) in 4 years, I was oh-so-fortunate to have an entire 3 weekends off...in a ROW! The audacity! The outrage! Ohhhhh, and the payback. You see, 2 of those weekends were included on my vacation, which was less vacation, and more "how much activity can you cram into 10 days?" This was spent in the southerly regions and in Newville, the site of our pending relocation. The third weekend was Easter weekend, by some stroke of luck, I was able to convince OMFH to grant me the holiday off, to visit with Mr. Whoo's family in the Great White North. Easter weekend marked the beginning of the the Whoo Family's dalliance with "The Flu." It started with Bean, quickly moved to me, and took out CindyLou later on in the week. Mr. Whoo is the only one left standing, and he's starting to get that characteristic hacking cough. Surely, I thought in my fever-fogged brain, out of all that glorious time off, some of my patients would deliver in my absence. Much to their delight (and my relative dismay), they did not. Other Doc, throughout the whole of my vacation and time off, did not deliver a single patient of mine.


Instead, they all waited for me. So this week, between popping Day.Quil, Ny.Quil, and Mot.rin, I have been exceedingly busy. The day that I returned from vacation, I had an induction for post-dates (41 weeks and 6 days). She had received cervical ripening overnight and actually was really contracting well. About 5 minutes after I hit the floor, she SROM'd the thickest meconium fluid I had ever seen, this was followed by a 10 minute trip to the 60s for the fetal heart rate. I checked for a cord, couldn't find one, tried everything possible to get the kiddo to recover, and eventually went down for an emergent cesarean. The baby was out in less than a minute, and needed a little transition time, but ended up doing very well. Not the best way to start the morning. After finishing up the paper work and talking to the family, I saw a familiar patient roll up to the nurse's station...in obvious distress. She was supposed to have a repeat C-section later that week, but, she was in labor today. Back we went to the OR, where I delivered a 9.5 pound baby boy. I finally made it to the office that day around 3 o'clock.

The rest of the week continued in a similar fashion. There was a severe IUGR baby, born to a couple that struggled with fertility for a very long time. She was only 37 weeks, but the baby was measuring 32 weeks. We had watched the growth for the last few weeks, and it had steadily plateaued. The patient received only cerv.idil, but quickly labored and delivered a healthy, 5 pound baby girl. The placenta was incredibly calcified and quite small, so I felt confident the correct decision to deliver had been made. Unfortunately, there were a few inductions, one for preeclampsia and one for post dates that ended in late night cesarean sections. Both moms and babies did well, but I hate to have failed inductions. It makes me feel as if I have failed those patients.

Oh, and then the "weekend" came. My first weekend back since vacation, and, let's face it, I was already dragging from a busy week and a lingering illness, and OtherDoc had a similarly bad week. There were a million patients to round on, and about half a million circs (my favorite! Not.) I got the first call a little after midnight about patient at term with SROM. I had a little hope, as she did not want an epidural (score 1) and was only 2 cm when she was admitted (score 2!) Between my sick kids and being paged every hour from patients and from labor and delivery, very little rest was had between her admission and the call telling me that she was 8 cm at 4:00am. I arrived at the hospital right as she was beginning to push. Blessedly, it was a very nice, smooth delivery. No tears and a healthy baby. I'm sure my patients didn't appreciate being rounded on at 5 am, but I certainly wasn't coming back later! I did my umpteen circs, rounds, discharges, and spent the rest of the day trying, unsuccessfully to catch up on rest.

In the late afternoon, another "rule out labor" came in to triage. She had not changed her cervix, but she was post dates, and I decided to keep her for observation. I communicated several times with the nursing staff before I went to bed, and was assured she was "doing nothing." I took a Ny.Quil and was in bed no later than 10:30. Imagine my surprise when I received a page at 3:30 am telling me she was completely dilated. It was an all-too-familiar dash to the hospital in the middle of the night. I arrived, broke the bag of water, and she pushed out a beautiful 8.5 pound boy over an intact perineum. Once again, it was circs at 4:30 am, and rounds at 5 am. I have spent the rest of the day trying to recover. I am just now starting to feel human again. I really can't keep up this pace. I hope that I have done sufficient penance for my time off, and that the pregnant ladies are merciful tonight!

So, Anyway

Where were we? Oh yes, my gigantor baby story. VM has been my patient since I started practicing here in Whooville. I delivered her first baby shortly before the Bean, so imagine my surprise (and hers) when she came to me last spring, pregnant with her second child. VM had gestational diabetes with her last pregnancy, but it was very well controlled with diet. This pregnancy was a different story. We tested early, and began the diabetic diet and teaching very quickly, but her sugars waged out of control for a good 2 weeks. There were some ups and downs with her insulin control, but we finally struck a good balance. She remained well controlled for the remainder of the pregnancy...on paper, any way. Long about 36 weeks, VM's fundal height began to measure larger than her dates by more than 2 cm. (2 cm above gestational age or 2 cm below are considered in the "normal range.") The ultrasound revealed a fetal weight extending into the 90th percentile.

Due to her early gestational age, we decided to observe the fetal growth and aim for induction of labor at 39 weeks (the week after Christmas). All progressed merrily, with an ultrasound at 38 weeks predicting an estimated fetal weight of 10 pounds 7 ounces. "Ha ha!" we laughed. How *funny* that would be if it were *true*? In the back of my mind visions of shoulder dystocias danced in my head, but I kept repeating the mantra that "Macrosomia is not an indication for induction." over and over until the voices were quashed. VM presented for induction of labor for insulin dependent gestational diabetes at 39 weeks and 2 days. She received ce.rvi.dil overnight, and pit.ocin was initiated in the morning. Her previous pregnancy had been a spontaneous labor at 38 weeks, and had lasted a little over 4 hours. By 10 AM, VM was comfortable, with a good epidural, and she was *frustrated* that the baby had not been born already! I reassured her that induced labors were different, and that this baby was probably just a wee bit bigger than her last (8 pound 3 oz) baby. Right about noon, she began to feel the telltale "pressure." Sure enough, she was complete and at +1 station. She had no discomfort at all, and not much urge to push, so we turned back the epidural and let her "labor down." Nearly 30 minutes later, VM was ready to push. I remember that she was laughing, because she couldn't feel what she was doing. What she was doing was pushing like a champ. She laughed/pushed for about 4 contractions.

Then, the head completely crowned....and I just about died. It was a very, very, large head. The delivery was very well controlled, but the head just kept coming and coming and coming. I made eye contact with the nurse, and, mirrored in her eyes, I saw my own concern. She maneuvered the patient into McRobert's and prepared for suprapubic pressure. We wouldn't need it. The anterior shoulder slid under the pubic bone with only the slightest pressure. I think I actually breathed again once I felt that shoulder deliver. I lifted the small toddler, erm, baby into the waiting arms of her mother, and she cried and the baby cried with her. There was a very small second degree laceration that was easily repaired. The head circumference as 16", and the weight was 10 pounds 15.7 ounces. VM asked if she could "get credit" for having an 11 pound baby. "Without a doubt!" I said. So that is my eleven pound baby story; the largest baby I have delivered vaginally. (The largest by C-section was 13 pounds, ack!)

SO, what is the moral of this story? Well, I think there are a few things. For one, sometimes, despite all of the talk of ultrasounds being incredibly inaccurate in the third trimester, your baby *is* as big as the ultrasound says it is. But second! Even if your baby is ginormous, and you have to undergo a god-forsaken medical induction, you can still have a smooth, successful delivery. And third, as a physician, it reinforces to me that it is always best to prepare for the absolute worst, while trusting the process, and hoping for the best.

Commentary

There were a couple of comments from sarai on my last post that were rather lengthy, so rather than leave them in the comment section, I am posting them both here, in their entirety, along with my response. Italics are sarai's words, and the regular text words are mine

It can be very hard for the patient however, after having the doctor be wrong numerous times over the years with drastic consequences to your life. I don't watch Oprah, and the articles you mentioned irritate me, but yes, I do look for reputable internet sites, and before the internet was available, I researched.

sarai, I realize that your postings are coming from a place where you have been burned by the medical profession, but I certainly do not believe that physicians are anything more than fallible human beings who will make mistakes. That was not the point of the post.

That doesn't mean that I approach the doctor like I know more, and like I expect them to act as my puppet. But if I go to an OB appointment and say my baby isn't moving as much, and I am concerned about placental insufficiency, for example, I DONT want to hear "you're baby is moving just as much, it just doesn't feel the same because he has less room". Excuse me, doctor, YOU are not the one that's actually pregnant here, DON'T tell me how much my baby is or is not moving. YOU are not the one that will have to live with a dead child if there is a stillbirth (which the medical world is completely unable to understand how to prevent) I and MY HUSBAND ARE.

I think you are misunderstanding me. I *do* appreciate an informed patient. As I stated before, I practice collaborative medicine, not paternalistic care. I take my appointment time with patient to educate them and talk about treatment options. I even have a list of reputable internet sites on which to research information. That is completely different than someone coming in (or better yet, just calling the nurse line) and telling me that they have already diagnosed themselves, and now would like me to prescribe this medicine or order this test for them.

Again, I know that you've been hurt, but I am not the doctor that didn't listen well enough to you when you knew something was wrong, so please don't cyber yell at me. Just because I may vent my spleen on anonymous blog about things that irritate me about patients does not mean that I quickly dismiss them or am rude to them, quite the opposite actually. I take my patient's complaints seriously and act quickly on alarming symptoms. The dismissive attitude you are attributing to me does not apply in real life. You only see the seedy underbelly of my brain here.

You doctors don't always know how many times in person's life a previous doctor missed something important and the patient paid a heavy price. The doctor may have done nothing wrong, they may have met the standard of care, but to the person living with the consequences, it just doesn't matter, and they will do anything they can (watch Oprah, read really stupid Reader's Digest, surf the net) to try to make sure they get more observant care next time around.

Yes, as I said, "we doctors" are not omniscient. I did already know the patient about whom I posted, and have been doing her GYN care for 3 years now ( and each time I did her pap, her small speculum was warmed and lubed). She is not new to me or my practice. My care of her has been as observant as can be. Doctors are human, we do our best, and sometimes, despite our best efforts, it just isn't good enough. It sucks, and we try hard so it won't happen, and it bothers us perhaps more than you will ever know.

As a nurse, I've seen term babies stillborn, (decreased fetal movement, doctor ignored, or minimized), diarrhea was actually Ecoli, which turned into HUS, by the time treated (after being sent home 3 times) kid had stroke and ended up needing kidney transplant, a "viral upper resp infection" was actually a bacterial pneumonia, doc wouldnt believe patient couldn't breathe well 'cause sat was OK, vomiting and increasingly decreased LOC was actually juvenile onset diabetes (also sent home a few time before ER doc figured it out -- kid almost died.) This may be why some people are reading articles and trying to advocated more vigorously for their own care. I know I am. Even as I feel sincere empathy for you as I see the look on your face when you see my internet sheets........

See above, and there are even term stillborn babies where there were *no* warning signs. No decreased movement, no pain, no bleeding, sometimes babies just die. We do everything we can to prevent it, but despite our best efforts, babies still die. Yes, there are physicians that dismiss patient concerns, or miss pertinent signs, but we are not all the same person. Advocating for your own care (what you are talking about) and telling the doctor what to do and how to do it (what my post was about) are two different things entirely.

And here's something that just kind of bothers me about your blog, which, BTW, I otherwise enjoy reading.........it's judgement both from you and commenters, about women's birth choices.

Well, I can't speak for my commenters, but part of my job is to regard "women's birth choices" with my own clinical judgement. That's my job. If women come to me for care, they are, in fact, asking me to use my clinical judgement in their care.

If I'm reading your blog right (and correct me if I'm not), the "ideal" expectant mother in your practice wants to go into labor naturally, not mind being past due date, and not object if you feel at the last minute she needs a crash c-section. Moms who want to be induced (God forbid a week or two early) prefer a c-section straight off, or "insist" on a "happy vaginal midwife birth" even if things don't go according to plan are subjected to the eye roll.... Kind of a tall order, Dr. Whoo.....

I don't know if there is a "right" way to read my blog, so who am I to say who is "reading it right" or "reading it wrong?" I do think that you may perceive my words in a more malicious way than they are intended, and this is probably only highlighted by your bad experiences. I vent on this blog when things get tough to take, a safety valve, if you will, so that I do not blow up in the presence of an actual patient. There is no actual eye rolling going on in the presence of my patients. No matter their circumstances, personality quirks, or clinical needs, they are treated fairly and equally.

Loosely speaking, my "ideal" patient (as you put it) doesn't exist. My guidelines for delivery, elective or otherwise, are dictated both by the standard of obstetrical care, my clinical judgement, and the individual aspects of each patient. What I expect of my patient is a relationship of mutual respect and trust. Those are things that must be earned...by both parties. There is no "laying down the law." There is a give and take that is natural in these kinds of professional relationships, and quite honestly it doesn't merit many blogging entries because it is so routine. I don't think that you understand, you only see so much of me here.

One thing I did NOT NOT want with my first child was a crash c section. Either a vaginal birth, or a planned section, didn't care which. Of course, doc wouldn't do a c-section just because I wanted one, so we had a crash vag delivery with vacuum, (baby crashed too late to get c-section) where I got to experience watching my firstborn be revived, separated for her for hours after birth while she stabilized, and was so sore and torn up that I didn't want to have sex for months and months, and still deal with stress incontinence since that delivery well over a decade ago.....but because I didn't go to med school I didn't get to decide what would be better for me. I would like to argue, both as a nurse and as a mom which was physically better for me -- ugly vag birth or planned c-section. Yep, I'd choose c-section. Sorry.

I'm sorry that you had such a traumatic experience, and that it still haunts you. There is no way to predict when something like that is going to happen. Crash deliveries of any kind are heart stopping, but it *is* the physician's decision, in that moment, what will lead to the best outcome for mother *and* baby. If there is a terminal deceleration, and the baby is on the perineum, it is much more likely you will get a better fetal (and maternal) outcome with an assisted vaginal delivery.

I'm sorry that your bottom got torn up, and you had to undergo the trauma of seeing your daughter (successfully?) resuscitated. But, if I'm reading correctly, your baby survived. If your physician did what you wanted them to do, what you *perceived* to be "physically" better for you, and did a c-section, your baby's brain could have been deprived of several additional minutes of oxygen, with possible disastrous consequences. Whose fault would it be then? Yours? No, it wouldn't, it would be the physician's fault, who let the clouded judgement of an overly involved party (read, you) make the call. Instead of a torn up bottom, you could have hemorrhaged and required an emergent hysterectomy, precluding any future deliveries. Would you take the responsibility of zero future fertility, just because you *wanted* a surgery? Or is that the physician's responsibility? So yes, when you put your medical care into the hands of your physician...in that critical moment...you may not get to make that final call on what you *think* may be best for you. That is what a physician is there to do.

The recovery from next delivery was even worse, crash section, nobody's fault, but if I had it to do over again, possibility of crash section or planned section, well, I'd choose planned every single time. The crash carries psychological scars --- many of them. If you are lucky, you get to go to sleep and miss your baby being born. If you are unlucky, you have to stay awake, with no one talking to you, while your baby gets CPR. and your husband is God knows where. Physically, its a lot harder, too, and wound healing is not nearly as good than it is when the surgeon has time to take his time.

Agreed, but the point is the same, you cannot always predict these things. You said yourself, nobody's fault. Precisely. Planned surgeries are often more controlled than emergent surgeries...but not always. There are exceptions to every single "rule." Again, I sympathize that you have had such traumatic experiences, but the neither medical profession at large (in general) nor I (in particular) are to blame for this. I didn't have the perfect, ideal, rainbows and orgasms births that I would have loved to have, either, but I was fortunate and had 2 viable, healthy babies. I wouldn't trade that for any "experience."

The reason that patients want to run the show is because THEY have to live with the outcome!!!!!!! Tell yourself over and over and over again, its not about me, its not about me, its not about me!!!! especially in your profession where the stakes are so so high.......

But in order to be safe, objective, and effective the patients cannot feasibly run the show! They can (and should) be involved in the decision making process and development of a treatment plan, and they can consent or not consent, but they *cannot* "run the show." That is what a physician is supposed to do. Run the health care show.

This blog *is* about me! How I feel about the things that I do and that I see. Here, in this little corner of the internet, it *is* all about me. That doesn't mean that I disregard what my patients want. It also doesn't mean that I haven't had to make a decision that a patient was not capable of making on their own.

Maybe they really want to be induced when they know YOU, whom I'm sure they all really like, will be there. Maybe they are tired. Maybe afraid of late 3rd trimester stillbirth. Maybe they are struggling financially and need tax break. Maybe already not able to work anymore and trying to maximize maternity leave. Wanting to be induced at 38 1/2 weeks is not a sin.

Perhaps it isn't a "sin," per se, but it isn't valid medically. There is a lot of research to read about elective inductions, especially prior to 39 weeks. Often the outcomes are less than stellar, both maternal and fetal. Wanting your own physician, or "being tired," or "being afraid," or "needing a *tax* break (!)" are not viable indications for medical procedures that can have lasting impact on fetal and maternal health and well being. Elective induction of labor is associated with higher rates of cesarean deliveries, fetal distress (and dreaded "crash deliveries"), and fetal hospitalization for various immaturity issues.

Take a page from your midwives book. Listen to your patient. Ask questions. Try to figure out what the patient is afraid of. What she values. Try "why is this so important to you?" instead thinking "I can't believe she wants to have her baby by Christmas!" Find out what other experiences she has had with other health care providers. Maybe the last doc that did a pelvic jammed a large cold speculum where the sun does not shine, and she thinks you respect Oprah more than her. And remember, if she wanted a midwife, she'd probably be seeing one, so try to tactfully ask what she wants from your expertise, if you feel like she is treating you like her puppet.

Not to beat a dead horse, because I'm already feeling nuts for defending myself for talking about the way I feel on my own freaking blog, but how do you know that I *don't* listen? You don't know. You don't know me. You don't know how I treat my patients. The last doc that patient had for a pelvic exam was *me*, and I did not jam a cold, extra large speculum into her.

I've found that being a patient and having really horrible medical experiences makes me a lot less offended by my patients. Because if a patient asks me "will the doctor use a small, warmed speculum like it says to in Oprah's magizine?" my first thought is not to roll my eyes, it is to ask, "what has your past experiences with pelvic exams been like...."

Unfortunately, having really horrible medical experiences makes you a lot *more* offended by the things that I say, anonymously, on this blog, and causes you to extrapolate and frame my commentary in a less than favorable light. I hope my response has given you some insight. And truly, for all the snarking on the blog, I never forget that my patients are just people, just like me, with a different frame of reference. Even if it doesn't translate in text, I'm certain it translates well in person. I wish you healing as you attempt to move forward from your painful past experiences.

In the Middle of the Night

It's time for my husband's annual "man weekend" with his high school buddies. For almost a decade, he and his friends find a cabin in the woods somewhere and behave (I am assuming from the pictures) as 10 year olds...that drink. Junk food, video games, and staying up way too late are part and parcel of the festivities. They look forward to it every year, and I'm happy to have him go. (The wives have a "girl weekend" in the spring, just to be fair.) So when I found out that he would be out of town for a weeknight (when I am on call for my patients), I thought to my naive little self, what's the worst that could happen? Ha. Ha. HA!

So I went about my regular single parenting duties in the evening relatively unscathed. Picked up the kids, got dinner on the table while Bean protested loudly that it wasn't fast enough for him, wrestled two squirmy kids through bathtime, and got everyone tucked in by a reasonable time. Then I prayed really hard that I could make it through the next 12 hours without having to leave the house. The peace lasted roughly 3 hours. The first warning bell came as a page from triage. A 38 weeker, possible early labor, contractions 20 minutes apart. The triage nurse said she was pretty sure the patient was "not doing anything" but we decided to observe her and let her walk for an hour. My second warning came at 1 am. The patient had indeed changed her cervix from 1 to 3 cm. A definite keeper. "Ok," I pleaded with the nurse, "PLEASE keep her comfy and pregnant for the next 5 hours so I don't have to pack my kids up in the middle of the night to come to the hospital." The nurse was fairly confident that the patient was not contracting regularly, and could probably coast until morning. I settled into an uneasy rest...until 2:30 am. I returned the page, thinking that I was going to have to drag in to cover for the patient's epidural. Imagine my surprise and dismay when the nurse answered the phone with "She's 9!"

Shit. Shit. Shit. It was off to the races...throwing on scrubs, rousting the kids up in their PJs, and flying down the highway in the middle of the night. "At least it will be fast," I chanted to myself as I sped to the hospital. I deposited the kids with one of the nurses and stepped into the delivery room just before 3 am. The patient was completely dilated and ready to push. She hadn't even had a chance to get *any* pain medicine, epidural or otherwise, due to how quickly she had progressed. So, the patient started to push, and *then* all hell broke loose. The first push sent the fetal heart tones down to the 30s. Ummm, surely that wasn't right! I placed a scalp lead to get an accurate tracing...still in the 40s-50s. Scalp stim...up to the 60s. Oxygen, reposition, knee chest. Nothing would bring the rate back up. The baby was at zero station. Too far up for vacuum or forceps. We tried a few pushes, but the head wasn't descending fast enough and the heart beat was a slow tick, tick, tick of a baby running out of time. After a quick verbal consent, we called the OR to let them know we were coming down for a crash section. "We aren't ready!" they said. They had another case going and needed to call in a team. "No time for that," I said, "This baby needs to come out now."

We ran the patient to the OR. The staff assembled a rag-tag team of recovery room nurses, opened the crash section cart, and haphazardly prepped. There was no time for a foley or to count instruments. Every second felt like an hour, though only 5 minutes had passed from calling the section to draping the patient. The patient went to sleep, and we got the baby out in less than a minute from the skin incision. She looked like a *million bucks*! She squalled as soon as she left the womb. She was pink! and happy! and had Apgars of 8 and 9! and didn't look at all like her strip suggested. I had truly feared the worst, the last terminal decel that I had seen like that, the baby had anoxic seizures after delivery. Luckily, this baby was great. The collective sigh of relief was audible in the room as I placed her on the warmer. The rest of the surgery proceeded smoothly, and I was happy to let the family know how well she had done.

As for the kids? I ran back up to labor and delivery to find them happily snacking on graham crackers and juice. CindyLou was entertaining the whole floor, and she kept saying how she wanted to be a doctor "just like mommy." (Oy.) We got them gathered together, I thanked the nurses profusely, and drove back home. "I like to go to your work, Mommy" Cindy Lou chirped, "It's still *night time*!" Once at home, the kids went back to bed without a fuss, and I crashed into the best 2 hours of sleep of my life.

The moral of the story? I survived! It could have been the worst case scenario, but we all made it. The kids did fine, the patient did fine, the baby did fine. It could have been a disaster, but it wasn't. I am ever so grateful for that, and never have I been so convinced that I *never* want that to happen again! Scary things do happen in the middle of the night, and sometimes the outcomes are not as good. I'm thankful for the nurses and OR staff that did what they could to make the surgery happen quickly enough. I'm grateful for the compassion the nurses showed to me and my children by caring for them when I had to care for someone else. Most of all, I am so thankful that my kids were able to take it all in stride and go with the flow. They are pretty amazing. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and are not bothered by scary things in the middle of the night.

The Evolution of a Pregnancy (a conglomerate of myths and multiple patients, seen through the years)

Pregnancy is supposed to be a sort of "golden time" in a woman's life. The media tells us this in softly muted images of unblemished bellies and serene smiles. Our own family members knowingly wink and talk about how grand their pregnancies were and how "you don't remember the pain" of labor once you are holding your little (angelic and sleeping) bundle of joy in your arms. Before you become pregnant, the state of gestating a life seems almost mystical, magical, and other-worldly. It seems like somewhere you really really want to be.

Then, you take the plunge, and if you are lucky, you become pregnant. It is then and only then that you realize you've been duped! All the blissful, sighing moments you imagine in your pre-pregnant state are replaced with the bitter reality of puking your toenails up morning, noon, and night, or breasts so sore that it hurts when someone dares to *look* at them. The heartburn burns a path from stomach to esophagus so fiery, you are certain that the 9th circle of hell is cooler, and the mind numbing fatigue turns you into a zombie.

Then, your family and friends, so encouraging prior to your pregnancy, suddenly morph into this raging band of harpies...right before your very eyes! Then, the "advice" and the subtle "judgement" from all sides. Oh, I *never* got sick with *my* pregnancy. Not one time! Are you sure everything is ok? Wow, are you sure you are pregnant? You just look chubby! You don't look like you are gaining enough weight. Oh, no, no, no! You are gaining *way too much* weight! You should always... You should never... You are going to eat *that?* My husband's sister's cousin's best friend's aunt had a miscarriage because she ate too many hot dogs, you know. What was the heartrate? Oh, then it is definitely a boy/girl/fire monster. Face it, people are mean to pregnant women.

Dutifully, you make lists, and bring them to your obstetrician, who spends a good 10 minutes each session systematically de-bunking the myths and reassuring you that the soft serve ice cream that you had last week will not, indeed, turn your child into a four-headed fire monster. As for the heartbeat, naturally it is faster when the baby is smaller, and slower as the baby grows. NO, you cannot tell by the rate whether it is a boy or a girl. Truly, you cannot. You go away feeling somewhat assured, but uneasy. After all, every one you know has an opinion about your pregnancy.

Then, you reach in the second trimester, and you must endure unwanted belly rubs from strangers in the grocery line, accompanied by clucking "you are *how* far along, dear? Oh my, you are (way too big, way to small, carrying *high,* not carrying high *enough*, OMG are you sure you aren't having twins???) Then, these expert eyewitnesses will attempt to divine the sex of your child, simply by looking at the curve of your belly or the, er, thickness, of your derriere. It doesn't matter what the ultrasound says, honey, look at how big your ass is getting! That is a sure sign of a girl/boy (take your pick)! Fifty percent of the time, it works, every time, you know?

Rolling on to the third trimester, you start to fear how you will ever, ever get this growing baby out of your uterus, and your friends and family are now ready to regale you with the *horror* stories they've been keeping secret from you until you have reached the point of no return. Your already sleepless nights, filled with multiple bathroom visits as your precious bundle plays trampoline on your bladder, are now punctuated with fitful imaginings of epidurals that don't work, babies that get "stuck," episiotomies gone bad, and emergency cesarean sections. You turn to the internet for comfort, but instead only find more horror stories about Ob/Gyns that are only out to cut every woman that they have ever met, the evils of hospital births, and about how you should have had a midwife and a doula all along.

Alarmed, you present to your next visit, and try to determine whether or not your OB is one that will cut your belly in favor of getting home in time for dinner that night. Surprisingly, your OB seems reasonable about birthing plans and open to questions about cesarean rates and episiotomies, but you never know, the internets say to beware of medical professionals. Ultimately, you get to the final four weeks of your pregnancy, and you realize that perhaps you really don't care how the baby gets out as long as it does it soon. Your sister suggests that you should just "tell the doctor" to induce you, so you can have a Leo baby instead of a Virgo. You entertain the fantasy of asking the doctor to just "go ahead and cut it out, already," previous worries of cesarean section be damned. Your physician isn't swayed by your pleas for induction at 37 weeks. Heartless bitch.

The final week before your due date drags on. Your feet are swollen. You move like a 89 year old arthritic woman. You have the occasional contraction that makes you excited that the end of the pregnancy may be near, but nothing ever gets close enough. You visit triage once or twice, just to make sure you aren't in labor, and you get turned away, ashamed. You are tired of the "sure fire" ways to induce your labor. You've eaten enough Mexican, Chinese, and Eggplant Parmesan to induce 10 labors, but all it did for you was give you more heartburn (this kid better have some freaking hair!) You've walked the malls, rubbed your nipples raw, and had the most uncomfortable sex of your life, but there are no contractions to show for it. The due date comes and goes, and your OB tries to explain that the due date is more like a "4 week window" of when the baby is likely to come out, and not the day that you magically burst into spontaneous labor as you had been hoping. You are certain that you will be pregnant forever.

Then, one fateful night, you start to have regular, and (oh my lord) painful contractions. You begin to realize that all of the time you thought you were contracting, your uterus was just doing some minor stretching. These contractions? Hurt like hell. You arrive on Labor and Delivery with the bag you packed 5 weeks ago when you were hopeful that you were going to go early (because Aunt Melanie said she "just knew" you weren't going to make it to your due date). You are certain that you are already 8 cm dilated, because, holy hell, these contractions hurt. You are both dismayed to find that you are "only 4 cm," and relieved because you know you have reached the magical cervical dilation for admission. Your determination for a medication-free delivery wavers with each body-wracking contraction that you have. Finally, you just can't take it any more, and you "break down" and ask for the evil epidural. Only, it's too late. You are fully dilated and there is no time to do anything but push. Nothing ever felt so great and so horrible all at once. It is truly like your instincts just take over and your body works with you to finally push your baby out into the world. There's burning, stretching, tearing, grunting, and screaming, and then, relief...followed by a small cry and a warm, slippery body being laid upon your belly.

As you look down at your baby, and they look up at you, white with vernix, covered in goo, certainly not quiet or sleeping or serene, and hairless (heartburn be damned!) you know (despite what everyone else told you) with every ounce of your being that you will never, ever forget the *pain* that it took to get them here. You also know that it was worth it....all of it.

Seriously, people

Do not page your doctor on a Friday night because you are pregnant and notice a mucous-y, creamy discharge (not bleeding or pain) after sex. It is semen, you rocket scientist, and we really, really did not need to know that. Also, it is not an emergency, like the message says when it provides the number to have the doctor paged...at their home...taking care of their family...who has to take time away from that family to hear about the effluent from your nether regions after your feelgood Friday night. Seriously, think before you page, and have a heart. Doctors are *people*, not 24 hour information hot lines. Dr. Google is open 24 hours a day for "emergencies" such as this. Thanks so much. Heart, your overworked, cranky doctor.

L & D Concierge

I know I have said it before, but, it takes an amazing person to be a nurse in general, and an L&D nurse in particular. This week, as I sat at the computer behind the nurse's station, back to the counter, signing off charts and awaiting an epidural to be placed in one of my labor patients, I got a small glimpse into what ridiculous requests the nurses (trained and skilled professional people) had to stop their work and fulfill with a smile.

This day was fairly busy, 3/4 of the rooms on the floor were full (LDRP and post surg beds). There were 3 in labor, several postpartum ladies with babies, and a few post-op patients, triage was steady in and out, oh, and there were only 4 RNs. The deluge started with about 4 family members standing shoulder to shoulder at the front counter, not saying a word, but not moving, either. After about a minute of silent staring at the back of my head, I turned and asked if I could help them. They replied that they needed a nurse in room 10 (laboring patient). I checked the board, found the nurse hanging medications in another room, and let her know that the patient needed something. I went back to signing charts. Moments later, room 10's nurse came back out of the room, obviously flustered. When I asked what had happened, she sighed and said the patient was fine, but room 10's family needed some cokes. She handled it far more gracefully than I would have, because I would have been inclined to tell them where to stick their drink order. From there it just got better. As I sat/observed for that hour or so I heard requests of the nurses for:

~ socks for a postpartum patient (who had a scheduled induction and should have packed her own fragging socks)
~ cups of ice for kids to *play* with
~ pieces of paper and pens
~ putty to hang up a sign (um, WTF?)
~ a request from a visitor to a different floor for a *free* binky, since they forgot to bring their own for their child
~ extra diapers and a *case* of formula *to take home*
~ for the nurse to launder some one's own personal baby blanket that got a teeny bit of spit up on it
~ directions to the hospital from another state
~ a phone book
~ 7 cokes and 4 cups of coffee
~ a toothbrush
~ for the nurse to "re-do" a baby girl's hair because mom didn't like the *bow* color
~ for a nurse to take out a patient's garbage
~ and (the kicker) the snide comment to a nurse sitting to feed a "boarder baby" whose parents were sleeping, "Oh, I'd love to do what you do! Sit and hold babies all day!" GAH!

Not to mention beeping IVs, meds, labor checks, and other, more legit responsibilities. It was like I was observing a full service concierge desk at the Hilton instead of a hospital. As if being a responsible medical professional was not enough, they must be the waitress, janitor, Wal.Mart, Goog.le maps, Off.ice Depot, hairdresser, and babysitter. The worst thing, though, was that I don't think that I heard, in any of the above requests, a "please" or a "thank you." Unbelievable. So, remember to thank your nurses, people, and maybe, just maybe, go get your own damn coke.

Standing my Ground

So, alas, all good things must come to an end, and I am on call once again. I am taking call for OtherDoc, as well, not only for the weekend but until I leave town for Thanksgiving on Wednesday; he is on vacation this week. I know that I have bitched multiple times over about how very much I dislike taking call for his patients, but get ready to hear some more.

I think, scratch that, *know* that the man is seriously overburdened with patients (60-80/day!!) and I am quite sure that I wouldn't know my own ass from a hole in the ground if I were that busy, but he lets his patients run his life...and now they are trying to run mine. He is more than, shall we say, liberal with narcotic pain medications. Aw, face it, he hands it out like candy! It never fails, as soon as I take over his calls the pages for narcs begin. I can't stand seeking. It truly makes my blood boil, but I calmly state that I will not prescribe narcotic medications to patients that I haven't seen or examined personally. (Even then I rarely give narcotic meds, truth be told.) You should hear the stories, and if you work in the medical field, you probably do. Today it was, well OtherDoc gave me a prescription for (name your favorite narc here) and said I could have a refill, but he didn't mark the refill, so you just need to call it in (sic!). Ummm, sorry honey, but no. I'd be happy to call you in some Nap.rosyn for your pain until you can get to the office to be seen, though. Silence...then click. Sigh.

Even better still, OtherDoc had scheduled an elective term primip for induction of labor earlier in the week. The reason for induction? Well, because he was going out of town, of course. Labor and delivery has been insanely busy, so this elective induction got bumped, not once, but twice due to people being in actual (gasp!) labor. The news, each time, was met with shrieks and screaming at our office staff and labor and delivery, but there was nothing that could be done to accommodate her for her very elective (and early, at 38 weeks) induction.

The patient then decided that she wanted me to induce her on Monday, since I was covering OtherDoc. Never mind that I have never once met this woman nor examined her. Never mind that I truly don't *do* truly elective inductions because of the risks associated with them. *She* had already started her disability leave from work, thus she needed to have the baby now. (Priorities much?) Other Doc actually tried to guilt me into doing it, too! Her due date isn't even until the end of the month!

Could you just imagine, should the induction go awry, the cross examination? Dr. Whoo, why was this induction scheduled? Oh, the patient was tired of being pregnant? Hmm, that's not an ACOG approved indication for induction. Had you ever met this patient prior to *pumping her full of drugs to hasten a premature delivery*? On and on and on! Oh, by the way, drop your license at the door on your way out. I'd be painted in the media as "just another doctor" trying to screw up how women give birth. ('Cause, you know, all evil OBs really want to do is c-sections...all the better to ruin your "birth experience" my pretties! Cackling! Evil! Laughter!) But, I digress...Guess what my answer was? That's correct! It was a resounding "No!" I will be seeing her for an office visit this week, however, if she decides to show up. We shall see.

I am disconcerted at how browbeaten I feel by patients on such occasions. It shouldn't be so antagonistic to practice good medicine. One of my favorite attendings used to say, "This isn't Burge.r K.ing; you can't have it *your* way!" Only more and more often, it seems, you can! I fear for the future of my profession. Dr. Google-topia is closer than we think. Eep.

In other news, Mr. Whoo and CindyLou are wending their way to the grandparent's house, far, far away. Bean and I will be flying to meet them on Wednesday, since I have very little remaining time off, what with maternity leave and all. Yes, I *am* taking call for myself and OtherDoc alone, with a baby, for four days...is that crazy? I think, yes. Happy Weekend!