The Penultimate Doctors Visit

Yesterday was my second to last visit to the OB/GYN pre-baby birthing. We are now less than two weeks from our son's birthday. Yay, and EEK!

My appointment was set for 2:45 pm. I showed up at 2:35 pm. I left Elizabeth with her Aunt Amy, she went Christmas shopping and to the video store.
Meanwhile, I sat in the doctor's waiting room with about 20 other people.
For some reason, people like to bring their whole family to their doctor's appointments. I am pretty sure I was one of very few patients who was there solo.

Another woman who has arrived solo sits in the chair in front of me and strikes up a conversation with someone who is a distant acquaintance of hers. I know that they are not close because he asks her halfway through the conversation what her first name is. It's Karen, for those keeping track.

Karen, for some reason, wants to talk about her painful drawn out divorce proceedings, the affect they are having on her children and her finances and her soon to be ex-husbands new girlfriend. Her name is Taren. Ironic?
Karen's distant acquaintance, who we come to learn only knows of her because she contracts work through his place of employment (so not only are they not close friends, they are sort of co-workers), is less than interested in pursuing this conversation with the behemoth that is Karen, yet, Karen lacks social skills or plain doesn't care about other people's discomfort, and rattles on.

At about 3:15 pm another train wreck comes into the waiting room. This woman is probably around 35 years old, looks 65, and that equals meth addict. She is toting a small child, a girl. This "mother" is disheveled, her clothes are dirty, her purse is from 1982, her hair is not combed and is trying to jump off of her head. Her child didn't fare any better. She's wearing pigtails that look like they were fixed five days before and she's been sleeping in the hairstyle ever since. Her clothes are also dirty, and her hair is one big knot. They both look like they have fleas.
It makes me very sad. The mother spends her first 15 minutes at the office in the bathroom. Hmm. I wonder. How puzzling.

After the alleged nose powdering, she emerges and sits on the chairs recently vacated by Karen's hostages, er, acquaintances. Karen is checking her voice mail on her cellular phone, presumably to see if anyone she called to bitch about her divorce has called her back. I assume not.

At one point I sniffle, and Fleas snaps her head over to look at me. Perhaps she thought I was a kindred spirit in speed. I am not.

They FINALLY call my name. I jump up like a flea off a dead dog. Unfortunately, there was another Jessica in the office, and they meant HER not ME! Argh! At least I got to move my seat away from Karen, who was busily trying to make eye contact with me to restart her story, and Fleas and Fleas Junior.

At 3:45 pm, the nurse finally calls MY name and we adjourn to the examination room.
By 3:55, my blood pressure is taken, my pee has been examined, and I've heard the baby's heartbeat. All good.
I have to get partially nudie for this appointment so the nurse leaves to give me privacy. By 4:07 pm I have been examined by the doctor and he has also left, wishing me a Merry Christmas on his way out.

It takes me longer to put my shoes back on than it did for my OB to examine me.

During that examination he sees my C-section scar and actually asks me, for the 100th time, oh, you're having a C-section? Uh, duh! This is the man who will be cutting me open and removing another person from my person.
He also asked me AGAIN if I wanted a tubal ligation. This is the third time I've been asked that. Going into my surgery, I better pin a note to my crotch that says "Please, don't sterilize me!"

My confidence is slipping.

At least it's all almost over. 13 days.