The Clarklet Saga – Why the NHS is the most stressful part of expecting

I’m really looking forward to the little Clarklet, and even with all the little niggles that come with being pregnant, I’m starting to enjoy the process. No hubby, don’t worry, he will still be the one and only addition to our family!

Today’s little drama involved a Midwife visit. For most people this isn’t the most stressful thing one has to deal with during a pregnancy but if you are partially-sighted with an overactive imagination this is the worst part of the experience.

Our doctor’s is the nearest to where we live but is still 25 minutes walk with two ‘busy’ roads to cross and no pedestrian crossings or traffic lights as far as I know. Don’t forget I am short-sighted!

So I set off at 11.45, knowing the appointment is at 12.30. I stress if I am late and am usually early for everything. I was 3 minutes early for the last appointment two days before and I felt unsettled, even though they were late in seeing me!

I go up an incline and then turn a sharp corner to go up a steep hill. I have to stop every few minutes to massage my back as my belly is pulling me forward and I haven’t got used to the extra weight yet. At the top of the hill is a main road. I go to the curb, hold my breath, cross my fingers and put one foot out on the tarmac. Oops, what;s that moving thing? B*****, it’s a grey car. The only clue I have to the purveyor of encroaching death is the surroundings appear to be moving, Nope it is not the trees turning into triffids but a car the same colour as the bleeding road. I quickly step back.

It was raining today by the way, thought I would just mention that. Luckily I found an umbrella while going through some old clothes bag a few days ago so I was relatively dry – swearing under my breath – but dry.

Second times the charm, I psyche myself up, hold my breath, cross my fingers and lurch across the road as fast as my stumpy legs will take me. I used to have nice legs by the way. I received a lot of compliments in my teens and early twenties, now they just look like transplanted tree trunks, but I digress.

I’m safe across the road, now and am half-way. I have a pleasant-ish couple of minutes walking by the park and have to cross the road again to go down the never-ending hill. It wouldn’t be so bad if said hill wasn’t going to have to be climbed at the end of the appointment. Just call me Prometheus.

I crossed the road without incident and proceeded to go down the impossibly long hill (and to my eyes, mountain). You might think I am exaggerating slightly. In fact I am prone to this, but consider for a moment walking with my eyes. I can’t see the end of the road, my sense of time is hazy so it literally feels like a road that goes for ever until you hit the bottom. The doctor’s is that last house on the hill so I can’t miss it.

The bit going down is fun until the world tilted and I had to fling my arms out. I had slipped in to some dog mess. Yes, Newport, Wales has a doggy doodoo problem and today it was also my problem. What was worse is that my maternity trousers are slightly too long for me so my trouser leg also had a nice brown coating at the bottom. Lovely. So I’m stopping to rub my shoe against passing vegetation every few seconds with a new explosion of vocabulary I didn’t even know I knew.

I arrived about ten minutes early, so I was happy about that. The Midwife was already there and she greeted me. Trouble is I didn’t know it was her until I heard her voice and as I have only heard it a couple of times I haven’t quite associated it yet plus I was hyper-grumpy over the journey + doggy poo incident.

In case you are wondering there is no direct buses there and a taxi would cost around Β£12 total which we can’t really justify at the moment.

So I sit down on the ripped seats in the waiting room and wait for the call. About ten minutes later I hear a disembodied voice, “Ceri, Ceri”. the ghost of NHS past? Nope it is the Midwife calling from across the room where I can’t see her. I don’t know if she is motioning me or pointing at something or what. So I say, “What do you want me to do?” in the general direction the voice is coming from. She says to come over so I wander over to the ‘voice’.

…and the appointment began. It went well, Baby appears to be fine although shy of the ultrasound. Every time she found him, he squirmed away! I found some secret delight with that. I have a feeling I was supposed to be impressed that I could hear a heartbeat but as I have my own doppler at home, I am not so easily impressed.

Anyway, after trekking doggie doodoo all over the Midwife’s office floor, I felt slightly guilty but also slightly consoled after having to mount an expedition to get to the place and deal with being treated like I can see when I obviously can’t. I don’t know why they bother to keep records, I really don’t. It’s not as if they read them.

The upshot is, now the community midwife is venturing into the community and seeing me at my home next time!

Oh and I put my trainers and trousers straight into the washing machine when I got back!

What do you think? Please comment.

4 Replies to “The Clarklet Saga – Why the NHS is the most stressful part of expecting”

  1. Sounds like you had a nightmare today, although on the plus side she is coming to see you next time and hopefully all the others times after that.

  2. What a nightmare! Had similar incident wherein the oldest of my three trailed dog doo all over the brand new library rug in town. Not popular!
    Glad u are getting the community midwife. We had one for all three of ours (they ran their own unit). And you’ll be impressed how quick Hubby can drive to the unit when labour starts πŸ˜‰

    1. We, by which I mean I, want a home birth. Some dippy midwife at the hospital put down consultant led care on my notes so the ‘official’ midwife says I can’t have one until a doctor signs it off. A doctor hasn’t even seen me and I have no appointments to see one as there is no reason. So I shall be exercising my human rights to ignore that idiocy until there is a proper medical reason to chnage my mind.

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