The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Four o'clock today and I drop Sugarpop off at the circle drive of the clinic of the baby doctor. We were right on time, but I had to go park the car and then trek back to the clinic. Construction around the clinic has reshaped and relocated the entrance several times in the past 9 months and we are forced to the clinic down a chain link fence corridor. I took the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. I always think I'm in better shape than I am (and I'm not). Those last few stairs always do be in!

I'm hustling because for most of the visits we've been called back right on time and I didn't want to face a Sugarpop-less waiting room and then try to find her amidst the rooms of crinkly papered exam tables and paired knees pointing to the ceiling tiles.

But I enter the waiting room to find her sitting in a chair. The room is crowded with every gal seemingly near full-term. Only two doctors are running late; but HUZZAH! ours isn't on the list. I take a seat next to Sugarpop and we start discussing middle names (I'll post on that later). Every time the door opens we expect to hear us called, but after eight callouts we are still sitting. It's nearing 5 o'clock and our name is finally called. It's a new nurse and she does the usually routine (blood pressure, urine test, baby's heartbeat--a nice calorie burning 142 bpm) and leaves. Normally we may have a 15 minute wait until the doctor comes in, but 30 minutes pass and nobody. I step out into the hall and find Sugarpop's P.A. She comes into the room to chat for a minute, but it's now after five and she's heading home. 

We hear muted "Have a good night." "See you tomorrow." "I'm so glad tomorrow's Friday!" through our door and I poke my head out again and ask a nurse if we've been forgotten. "Oh, no we won't leave you overnight, we're just really stacked up right now." 

I return to the exam room and Sugarpop has depantsed and is wrapped in a sheet on her bottom half. We are now one hour and forty-five minutes into our visit. We're not upset. The wife is a little uncomfortable on the exam table and we ponder whether it's proper etiquette for a patient naked and wrapped in a sheet to sit on the doctor's chair. W decides not to and stretches out on the exam table.

I've discovered that I can carry on a normal conversation with my togaed, pregnant wife, in a doctor's exam room surrounded by pamphlets on strep B and clamidia, for approximately one hour, seventeen minutes, and forty-nine seconds. Then I just stop. I've got nothing. Nothing to say. Nothing to add. Again not upset, just shutting down. I entertain Sugarpop for the next 30 minutes by reading to hear from an Osteoporosis pamphlet about an 81 year old widow named Anne. It starts out with her fracturing her hip and becoming afraid to go out and be active like she once was--thereby isolating herself from her friends. Don't worry. By the end of the tale Anne has made a full recovery and pamphlet closes with a picture of her playing shuffle board.

For the next 20 minutes I read to W from the June 2007 O magazine about the 4 Love Types. We can't decide if we are Builder, Navigator, Explorer, or Director. Thanks for nothing Oprah!

After bumming about not discovering our Love Type we hear a wrap on the door and it's the doctor. She apologizes and says today is just crazy. We've known the good doctor for years--the W taught her kids in school--so we chat a bit and then the doc gets down to business.

End result? Because we were in the waiting/exam rooms for 1/10 of an entire day the W has dilated to 2 cm getting close to 3. Last week she was less than one. Gotta think all that dilatin' happened while we waited.

And though we are no closer to knowing our true Oprah sanctioned Love Type, today we moved a couple of centimeters closer to meeting our baby.