Saturday, January 11, 2014


From my Wordpress, Scorched Ice:

Well, like many pregnant moms, I wish to skip the rest of this pregnancy and just get to the day already.  D-Day: Delivery.  Full term.  And not just delivery.  I want that kid to already be in my arms, happy, healthy, taking in the world for the first time.  And for me to not be passing out from blood loss (the first time, they had a hard time getting my uterus to clamp down and I loss more than I should of.  I was the first one to hold my son, but don't remember it).
With my son, I encountered complications that I'd rather not go through again, but probably will, like gestational diabetes.  Being an obese woman with GD, some people in the medical profession tend to treat ya like....well, like crap.  Or they stigmatize ya with other fat diabetic people.  Apparently, many of them are lazy and just want that insulin.  Or so was the impression I got from how the good doctors at Mount Caramel treated me.  Not all of them, two of them were really great and supportive, like many of the nurses there.  
Some were genuine and happy with my progress.  But most of them weren't.  If I went a few points over where my blood sugar was supposed to be, I was a horrible, stupid, selfish person.  And the chances of me having a stillborn went up and up and up and up each visit.  Which is just wonderful to tell a woman who's already suffered a miscarriage.  Let me tell ya.  
I worked my ass off to make sure I ate healthy and took care of myself for my son.  They didn't care.  I was a fat bitch who had the audacity to want a child.  How dare I.  I was treated like shit by most of those doctors and one nurse, because I was/am obese.  And that fucking nurse couldn't even talk, bitch was fatter than me!  Even though I was losing weight, I was still an awful person.  
I cried every fucking day because I was terrified of losing my son because Mount Caramel drove it into my head that I was going to have a stillborn.  No matter what I did, my baby was going to die, and that was my fault.  Shit, I didn't even want to visualize his future (like him in his crib, in his swing, playing with toys) because I didn't want to get my hopes up.  What kind of fucked up shit is that?  A pregnant mom is supposed to have those thoughts!  Nope, not if you're fat.  Nope, they've gotta stress you out, despite that you're already high risk, and stress is the last thing that should be on your mind.
Man, even during my bi-weekly stress tests, every time I was hooked up to the monitors, I feared--every fucking appointment--I feared that, despite I could feel him moments before--that he wasn't going to move.  That he was going to be dead.  Every fucking time. (Btw, the stress test and ultrasound technicians were great, they really were.)
When it came time to push him out, I was sobbing because despite that I could hear his heartbeat, I was terrified that he was going to come out dead.  And that was their fault.  Because they chose to stereotype me.
This time, fuck Mount Caramel West (Columbus, Ohio); I'm going to a different hospital, and I'm going to have health insurance.  I had better have a better experience, even if I do have GD again.  Other wise, heads are going to fucking roll.
I just want to skip pass all of that and have it be June whenever-this-one-decides-it's-time.  For me to be holding her/him in my arms, happy and healthy.  Who knows, maybe Riverside Hospital will be different?  Maybe I'll actually enjoy this pregnancy?  Between the ungodly incontinence and morning sickness, something's gotta give, right?


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