Doctor's visits are coming fast and furious these days. Because of a bunch of things that make everyone slightly worried, we're preparing as if we're going to schedule the delivery this Friday.

Yow!

It went down like this. We went to the doc and met with the nurse practitioner, whom we like very much. She said, "Hmm. We'll schedule it early, because we sure do want to avoid getting to labor."

We said, "Ok. But why?"

The explanation was logical, if not exactly what we wanted to hear. But the message was the same: early. "When?" we said.

Out walked the nurse. We waited. In walked the nurse.

"April 28," she said.

"Isn't that later than we wanted?" we said.

"Of course not," she said. "I just talked to the doctor."

"Hmmm," we said. But we did not argue.

A week went by. We returned for another appointment. In walked the doctor, whom we also like. The nurse was not about.

"Is the 28th late for this?" we said.

"Of course," said the doctor.

"Hmmm," we said. "The nurse told us early was better, too."

"Oh, it definitely is," said the doctor.

"Why are we scheduled for so late?" we said.

"Scheduling department," said the doctor.

"Should we move it?" we said.

"Yes," said the doctor.

"Let's do," we said.

Out walked the doctor.

We waited. "This is sort of crazy," one of us said to the other. "Why are we the only people who know what in the hell is going on? Maybe we should talk to the lady with the alligator purse."

In walked the doctor.

"I'm moving it to Friday," said the doctor.

"Great idea," we said.

...


"This Friday?" we said.

"Yep," said the doctor.

"That's this week," we said.

"Yep," said the doctor. "Earlier is better."

"Right," we said. "We heard that from the nurse."


A decision like this sets wheels in motion that generate a lot of official-looking mail. A few days after the doctor's saying "measles" and the nurse's saying "mumps," we received notice of a scheduled consult with the anesthesiologist. Anesthesiologist always make me laugh because we once worked with a guy who had a dippy fiancee who was an aestheticist and I thought she was an anesthesiologist, which is obviously a much more demanding job.

So I skipped out of work for a few hours and headed to the hospital for a consult. For some reason - probably because the anesthesiologist had to stick around in case someone needed his services - we had to meet on the Labor and Delivery wing, which meant that, owing to a press to get as many beds a possible in there, we had to meet in a tiny exam room with scary machines on the wall. Relaxing!

Dr. Gu came in and asked us the following questions:
- Do you have an allergy to latex?
- Do you smoke or use drugs?
- Do you have high blood pressure?
- Do you have anemia?
- Do you know if you're allergic to any drugs?
- Do you have any heart problems?
- Why do you need anesthesia?
- Do you have any questions?

That's it. All the answers except for the last one - hopefully they have a record of the whole "being pregnant" thing on file somewhere - have got to be written down in 17 places in that hospital. And when we did indeed have questions, he said, "Oh, well, now that you asked about risks, I'll have to tell you all of them (sigh)."

Why is it that a telemarketer will call and ask you about your pectoral implant surgery, but the damn doctor never knows where your file is? Is there only one copy?