I called my doctor this morning to discuss my recent sickness, and he immediately agreed that I needed a new medicine. However, he didn't want to prescribe it until I'd gone to the hospital to get checked out at Labor and Delivery and most likely get some IV fluids due to dehydration. Ok. No worries. I call my hubby and wake him up, we leave to go to Mercy Hospital. I've never been to Mercy Hospital. It. Is. Not. Fun. First off, it's in Baltimore. I don't like the city. I don't like the one way streets. I don't like honking. I don't like parking garages. But whatevs. I love my doctor. So we'll do it. Plus, I've heard wonderful things about the hospital. I get there, we go up to Labor and Delivery, and things are a little....chaotic. Some of the nurses are running around talking about someone's placenta; some are figuring out who needs epidurals; some are doing paperwork. NO ONE is helping the poor women in room 11 who has to go to the bathroom; NO ONE is putting an epidural into the woman who is 7 centimeters dilated in room 5, and for pete's sake, will someone PLEASE find Dr. Mac so they will stop asking for him on the intercom??? Anyways. My doctor had already called ahead to inform them I was coming and what to do. I get there. I get registered and the nurse says, "Oh. You're only 13 weeks. Just go down to the ER." (I'm sorry. WHAT? No, lady. Last time I went to an ER it took them 4 hours to tell me I was having a miscarriage and there's no way I'm going back unless I'm dying, or bleeding, or unconscious.) So, I, in my oh-so-pleasant-non-hydrated-vomiting state say firmly, "No. I'm not going. You can examine me here." She, equally firmly, says, "No. You have to go to the ER. Go talk to the midwife. But she's gonna tell you the same thing." So, I go to the midwife, and she says that they're dealing with a lot in labor and delivery, so if I want to be seen, I need to go to the ER. I said no, I'm going to go home if you won't see me here. She said, "You're probably dehydrated. You can't leave." I turned around, said, "Watch me." and then I left. I called my doctor on my way back to the car; he was really ticked off they tried to send me away, and called them back and apparently MUCH more firmly than me told them to see me right away. So they did. Hoorah! Turns out I was pretty severely dehydrated, and so two hours and a bag and a half of sugar water and a shot of Zofran later, I was on my way home, VERY happily hydrated and feeling a thousand times better.
Overall, though, the experience concerns me. I asked one nurse if they were understaffed today, and she said, "Oh no. It's always like this. Crazy place!" (Thanks. Big help. Can't wait til it's my turn. I'll try to use the bathroom BEFORE I come so I don't have to bother the staff with silly things like that....) But, this experience also made me appreciate my doctor even more. I think my idea might be to get a doula or a midwife to be part of my labor experience (you know, help me pee and stuff) that way I get to have the comfort of my doctor, but also the comfort of someone there looking out for the medical stuff before it's the doctor's turn and I push and stuff. Who knows. It was also interesting how much nicer everyone got after my IV. I said to Geoff, "Wow! These people are WAY nicer now!" He paused, and then as kindly as he could, but also laughing said, "Sweetie. YOU are way nicer now." So I believe perhaps my opinion at the beginning was slightly skewed. But just slightly.
For now, I'm off to drink some water. 80 ounces a day from now on! Gah.