I’m having a little pity party for myself here.
It seems all of the midwives at the hospital where I want to deliver are taken for the month of July. As is the wonderful midwife who works with the hospital I don’t like. I knew this about the midwives at my hospital of choice, but I let Dr. Mug talk me out of calling them right away. Damn doctors. I always do what they say, just because they can name every single bone in my body.
So I got an email back from one highly-recommended midwife, who said that she’s probably not going to do deliveries this summer, but I should try her partner. So I called the office, because since this partner will be working with some other midwife based in the Bronx, there is a chance that this partner will be working out of the Bronx. (I will not be driving to the Bronx for my midwife appointments. No way, no how.) The answering service was there and the guy was rude to me. Being pregnant, crazy and already upset, I proceeded to cry for, like, a half an hour.
I’m sure everything will turn out for the best, but right now I’m just feeling sorry for myself. Which I hate doing, because my life pretty much rocks (you saw my kitchen, right?)
The midwife with the dumb answering service guy–his name is NEIL, no anonymity for you, rude guy–has a nice crunchy-sounding profile on the web. She also has a degree and English Lit and Theatre, just like yours truly. Hopefully she’s not too crunchy, but just crunchy enough. She works with my friend Gwen’s doctor, who Gwen likes a lot. And she’s very new to the practice, so she probably is not booked. Plus Gwen is pretty sure she takes my insurance because she claims she’s seen women furiously writing report cards in the doctor’s waiting room. So hopefully I will like her and we’ll go with that. Ok. I think I’ve talked myself down. Thanks for listening.