Tuesday, June 21, 2005
The Importance of Bedside Manner
A few posts ago, I announced our forthcoming baby's gender (female). But this information actually deserves a more detailed story, so here's the narrative of how we came to this knowledge.
At the ultrasound clinic, we were first attended by a technician (a nurse or something). She got out the ultrasound equipment, poured the jelly on Shelly’s belly, and turned on the switch. The first thing we saw was a perfect little view of the soles of our baby’s feet. It was way cute. The nurse then moved all around, checking kidneys, bones, heart, brain, etc. She measured the baby’s femurs, humeri, and skull. A straight-on view of the baby’s head looked very skeletal (understandably, since the skull itself is what’s going to show up most on the ultrasound), so then she said, “Sometimes the profile is a little cuter.” And indeed it was. All of the pictures they printed for us to take home were of our baby’s profile. You could see the little nose and lips, and the right hand was raised in front of the face, almost as if the baby were saying, “Power to the People!” The nurse was very kind and polite, and explained that our baby was “very cute” (though I’m sure she says that a lot). As she finished up, she said that the doctor would be there in a moment to check her measurements and follow up, and we should save our questions for her, including the gender.
In just a moment, the doctor came in and redid everything the nurse had done, only she did it quicker. Measurements, checking, surveying, and complimenting. The baby looks good. Structurally, everything is in place. The baby looks healthy and strong, and about 20 weeks old.
As she finished up, the doctor asked us if we had any questions. Shelly asked a question in one word: “Gender?” The answer was quick and short. “I can’t tell. The legs are crossed.” She put the sensors back into position to look at the crucial area. “See—you can’t really see anything. I can tell you that I didn’t see anything distinctly male, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there, because I didn’t get a good look. Usually as I go around I can get a glimpse of something, but I didn’t this time. Sorry.” With that, she turned off the machine and whisked out of the room.
We were left stunned. We didn’t know what to do or what to say. It didn’t take too long before Shelly began to cry. I held her and tried to tell her it would be okay. We were not only sad that we didn't know the gender of our baby, but also upset at the manner in which we were tossed aside. This doctor should understand that couples who do want to know the gender of their baby (which we identified ourselves as) really want to know. She should have known that we’ve had this day marked on our calendar as the day we’ll find out an important piece of information about our child, and that we’ve been telling our family and friends that we’ll find out. She should know it’s important to us. But when we asked, it really seemed like she didn’t care.
Shelly slowly got dressed, but couldn’t stop crying for about 15 minutes, when they opened the door to our room, thinking we had left. The doctor appeared in the door. Stupefied, she asked, “Is there anything wrong?” I told her our problem--we were very disappointed. Quickly, she offered, “Do you want to take another look?” Shelly was on the table and ready to go in three seconds.
It seemed the baby had moved a little bit. She found a good view, looking upward toward the baby’s bottom. The two little legs extended out to the left of the screen, and there was a nice black void between them. “I think it’s a girl,” she said. “This is as good a view as I can get, and I don’t see anything there.” She explained that of course diagnosing a boy is a much surer thing than diagnosing a girl. If you see something, it’s there. If you don’t see something, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t still something there. But this woman has seen thousands of ultrasounds (I assume), and she sounded as confident as she ever is when saying “It’s a girl.” She told us to go ahead and buy girly things, but save our receipts, just in case. To my untrained eye, the picture looked very clear. There was nothing there.
We sighed with relief as she left the room this time, to the sound of our thanks. This time, we got up and left the building fairly quickly. We felt good. We’re having a girl. True, the doctor still tried to hedge her bets, and gave us a whole bunch of caveats, but she seemed fairly confident, and I felt pretty confident too.
At the ultrasound clinic, we were first attended by a technician (a nurse or something). She got out the ultrasound equipment, poured the jelly on Shelly’s belly, and turned on the switch. The first thing we saw was a perfect little view of the soles of our baby’s feet. It was way cute. The nurse then moved all around, checking kidneys, bones, heart, brain, etc. She measured the baby’s femurs, humeri, and skull. A straight-on view of the baby’s head looked very skeletal (understandably, since the skull itself is what’s going to show up most on the ultrasound), so then she said, “Sometimes the profile is a little cuter.” And indeed it was. All of the pictures they printed for us to take home were of our baby’s profile. You could see the little nose and lips, and the right hand was raised in front of the face, almost as if the baby were saying, “Power to the People!” The nurse was very kind and polite, and explained that our baby was “very cute” (though I’m sure she says that a lot). As she finished up, she said that the doctor would be there in a moment to check her measurements and follow up, and we should save our questions for her, including the gender.
In just a moment, the doctor came in and redid everything the nurse had done, only she did it quicker. Measurements, checking, surveying, and complimenting. The baby looks good. Structurally, everything is in place. The baby looks healthy and strong, and about 20 weeks old.
As she finished up, the doctor asked us if we had any questions. Shelly asked a question in one word: “Gender?” The answer was quick and short. “I can’t tell. The legs are crossed.” She put the sensors back into position to look at the crucial area. “See—you can’t really see anything. I can tell you that I didn’t see anything distinctly male, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there, because I didn’t get a good look. Usually as I go around I can get a glimpse of something, but I didn’t this time. Sorry.” With that, she turned off the machine and whisked out of the room.
We were left stunned. We didn’t know what to do or what to say. It didn’t take too long before Shelly began to cry. I held her and tried to tell her it would be okay. We were not only sad that we didn't know the gender of our baby, but also upset at the manner in which we were tossed aside. This doctor should understand that couples who do want to know the gender of their baby (which we identified ourselves as) really want to know. She should have known that we’ve had this day marked on our calendar as the day we’ll find out an important piece of information about our child, and that we’ve been telling our family and friends that we’ll find out. She should know it’s important to us. But when we asked, it really seemed like she didn’t care.
Shelly slowly got dressed, but couldn’t stop crying for about 15 minutes, when they opened the door to our room, thinking we had left. The doctor appeared in the door. Stupefied, she asked, “Is there anything wrong?” I told her our problem--we were very disappointed. Quickly, she offered, “Do you want to take another look?” Shelly was on the table and ready to go in three seconds.
It seemed the baby had moved a little bit. She found a good view, looking upward toward the baby’s bottom. The two little legs extended out to the left of the screen, and there was a nice black void between them. “I think it’s a girl,” she said. “This is as good a view as I can get, and I don’t see anything there.” She explained that of course diagnosing a boy is a much surer thing than diagnosing a girl. If you see something, it’s there. If you don’t see something, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t still something there. But this woman has seen thousands of ultrasounds (I assume), and she sounded as confident as she ever is when saying “It’s a girl.” She told us to go ahead and buy girly things, but save our receipts, just in case. To my untrained eye, the picture looked very clear. There was nothing there.
We sighed with relief as she left the room this time, to the sound of our thanks. This time, we got up and left the building fairly quickly. We felt good. We’re having a girl. True, the doctor still tried to hedge her bets, and gave us a whole bunch of caveats, but she seemed fairly confident, and I felt pretty confident too.
Comments:
Some friends of mine just had their baby. It was supposed to be a boy and they had gotten everything blue and painted the room and everything, but they got a bouncing baby girl. Turns out there was an "errant thumb" in the ultrasound. So predicting male babies may be easier, but not entirely foolproof. Congratulations, by the way.
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