On meeting your ex-obstetrician
Today I ran into the doctor who delivered DS by C-section.
That lady is forever ingrained on my soul because she gave me a healthy baby with an Apgar score of 9/10. This is in contrast to DD, who came out the natural route under a different doctor and nearly died. DD’s Apgar was 2/10, which means she was hanging on by a thread. If that. We’re lucky she made it.
So, every day since DS was born, when I see him sleeping in his bed, I feel gratitude to my obstetrician for getting him out safely when, really, the odds (with a very low and calcified placenta) were against it.
And I was excited to see my obstetrician today. I feel so fond of her, it’s almost like she’s a part of my family. I remember how she arrived at my hospital room at 9pm each night, even though she’d just done a full day at her clinic, just to check up on me.
But you can’t keep seeing an obstetrician for no reason – you kind of need to be pregnant (no I’m not).
So, today, she recognised me and we greeted each other with kisses and hugs. We caught up on the years gone by; she cooed at the pix I showed her of my darling little DS, and then she said it. She said those magic words: “You’ve lost weight!”
“Yes!” I said. In actual fact I’ve put on a little since October, when I tried to cut down on wine and discovered that salted caramel chocolate made a tasty substitute.
“Lots!” she said.
“Yes!” I smiled, overjoyed.
And then I realised. It was a line she of all people is safe to say: last time she saw me I weighed 80kgs and was six weeks post-partum.