To my OB:
We are breaking up.
It’s not you; it’s me.
I’m just not ready to commit.
There’s someone else.
Those are all lies.
I don’t care if you hate me.
I’m looking for a long-term relationship that will last through birth and post-partum care.
I have no new doctor lined up yet.
I know we’ve got history. You were my doctor before. You helped me when I was getting horrible migraines from the Mirena. But then, when it was time to remove the Mirena, you left me half naked on a table in a very cold room with a piece of paper for a blanket. For close to three hours. I should have known then that you didn’t value our relationship or my time. But I waited until my insurance made us break up because they didn’t think we should see each other anymore. And, since that authority figure was telling me that we couldn’t be together, I got all Romeo and Juliet and romanticized you into something that you were not.
I started seeing a nice man. It wasn’t all fireworks and acrobatics, but he was kind and helped with the big decision of whether or not we were ready to start trying to conceive.
Then the insurance company sent me a letter and said that we could get back together and I thought it was the best thing in the world.
We got pregnant right around the time that you and I reunited. Maybe you seemed like good luck after months of trying. (Or maybe we figured out biology. Hard to say.) The first couple of appointments were fine. But they were also with your NP. Then, it was your turn.
Waiting waiting waiting. Explaining the same things over and over and over. You never read your notes. I had to tell you the test results that your office emailed me. I had to remind you what you told me during the last appointments. I had to request the tests that you said I needed to get at certain times. Even then, I made you sound amazing and then, after a three hour wait one morning, my husband thought you were less than impressive. The doubts started creeping in…
Then, there was the thyroid thing. The whole experience was horrible. After several hours in your waiting room and some not great appointments, you repeatedly recommended a medication that I can’t take. We’ve been over my thyroid history repeatedly. It became painfully obvious that you do not review records, notes, or anything else to prep.
The situation nagged at me. Sure, the Ricki Lake documentaries didn’t help. But if you won’t listen to me about a simple medication and you never review your notes, what on earth are you going to do in the delivery room?
I began to feel a sense of dread. I dreaded dealing with you and your staff. With the constant need to feel like I was my only advocate during this pregnancy. I didn’t want to change OBs late in my second trimester. But more importantly, I didn’t want to dread my appointments. I didn’t want to feel unheard. I didn’t want to feel like I have no say in what my baby’s birth is like.
And just like that, it’s over. I’ll find another doctor. I won’t regret this decision. (I even unliked your Facebook page. Take that.)