A Little History - Doctors Make Mistakes Too

When I was 5.5 weeks pregnant, I had some spotting. My baby book said this was normal but to let my doctor know, just in case. I called, my doctor was out of town, and her receptionist referred me to a different doc. When I tried to make an appointment with the new doctor, she asked me what my delivery plans were. I hadn't even met with my doctor yet to figure out my due date!


I got the impression she was trying to sell me her delivery services - she was the one who told me that my doctor didn't do deliveries. Finally I convinced her that she should give me an appointment to check out the spotting so we could determine if a delivery plan was even necessary. It's safe to say I went into this meeting with a bad attitude.


When I met with this doctor the next day, she took a full family history. I was considered a high risk pregnancy due to several factors. As each factor came to light, the doctor would inhale sharply and shake her head. When I told her my weight, she exclaimed, "You're morbidly obese and that's going to be a problem!" By the end of her information gathering, I felt down right guilty for getting pregnant.


She asked me if I had given a sample. Now, the irony is that I considered peeing in a cup while I was in the bathroom because I thought there was a possibility they would want one. But there were no lids for the cups and I'm used to sample cups having lids ... so I peed in the toilet like a normal person. Anyway, I told her no and off I marched to the bathroom.


My sample wasn't very big - it had only been about 10 minutes since I went. I leaned over to put the cup on the back of the toilet so I could put myself together ... and I dropped it - from chest height, all the way to the floor. Pee splattered up my pant legs and a few drops even reached my shirt.

Well, bad attitude + Spanish Inquisition + spilt pee + hormones = serious wreckage. I was such an emotional wreck at this point that I placed my forehead against the bathroom door and bawled. After about 30 seconds, I tried again (and I thought the first sample was small!) and went to meet with the doctor.

She did an ultrasound to see if the spotting was indicative of a greater problem. As I walked into the room, I noticed a chart on the wall showing how large one's uterus should be each week of pregnancy. When she measured mine, she promptly told me mine was smaller than it should be. I checked the posted chart, and it was actually slightly larger. She followed my eyes to the chart and said, "Oh, maybe not." That was it. I thought, "Boy, lady, you do this for a living - I can see not memorizing the chart, but surely you should check it before telling a pregnant woman that her uterus is the wrong size!"

But the real kicker was yet to come. As she flipped on the lights, she said, "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there's a good chance your pregnancy isn't viable. You can see your uterus here on the screen, but there's nothing in it." Now, she is a professional and, presumably, understands that women in the first few months of pregnancy are often hormone-fuelled time bombs just waiting for something to set them off. She didn't even bother to look at me while she was talking. To say I was pissed off (especially after the aforementioned Spanish Inquisition) would be an understatement.

She scheduled a follow-up ultrasound and sent me on my way. I was about 20 blocks from home and utterly dejected; I decided to walk. That was one of the darkest walks I've taken in my entire life. Images of coat hangers (sorry, it's true) were floating through my mind. Then I thought ... this woman made a few mistakes while I was there, it's possible she just doesn't know what she's talking about. I resolved to google 5.5 week ultrasounds as soon as I got home.

As it turns out, 5.5 week ultrasounds don't necessarily reveal a fetus. At that point in the pregnancy, the fetus is tiny and it takes a very careful, dedicated technician to find it during a standard ultrasound. When I went for my ultrasound the following week, the technician not only found little baby Johnny's fetus, but I got to see his heartbeat too! I was crying tears of joy as I got dressed.

When I saw my regular doctor for my originally scheduled prenatal visit, I told her about my experience. She gave me a strange look and told me that I must be mistaken - that doctor is a good one who is in it for the love of the children, not the money. I stood my ground, but she never conceded.

When I told her I was moving to Brooklyn and would like a recommendation for a doctor there, she told me I should continue commuting to Manhattan. She said no doctor in Brooklyn would meet the quality of care I'd receive in Manhattan. Since I was pretty unhappy with the quality of care I'd received thus far, I decided to take my chances. Boy, am I glad I did!