Ante Natal

So Friday was another visit to hospital, to see the consultant and firm up the date for the caesarian section, or so we thought. We had dropped Godzooky 1 at school and Godzooky 2 at Grandma’s. Experience has taught us that visits to the ante natal clinic are not quick affairs and small children do not have the patience to deal with them, I sometimes doubt my own patience there. I must admit that I do revel in the secret language that goes on in ante natal clinics. Upon arrival a midwife approaches and asks: “Have you brought the, you know?” She’s referring, of course, to the urine sample. It’s handed over by Mrs Zilla like a spy package, all furtive and secretive. In a couple of minutes she’s back. There’s a problem. Mrs Zilla has some sugar in her, you know. Now this isn’t totally unexpected. Mrs Zilla has a history of sugar in her you know. Both previous pregnancies she had sugar in her you know. She’s had to have Glucose Tolerance Tests both times. This for the uninitiated is where they ask you to fast before you go, then give you a very sugary drink, it was Lucozade first time around, second time some dodgy brand, NHS cuts I guess. Then they prick your thumb every half an hour to test how your body is processing the sugar. Apparently if your body doesn’t process the sugar well, the baby absorbs it and can grow to unfeasibly large proportions. Mr s Zilla doesn’t like having this done, and I can see why. It takes about three hours and she’s not a big fan of Lucozade, or generic sports drinks. Plus there’s the mess made of your thumbs. At the start of this pregnancy she managed to negotiate with the consultant that she would only have to have a Glucose Tolerance Test if she had sugar in her you know on three occasions. A couple of months ago she forgot about a midwife appointment and had a bottle of Coke and some chocolate the day before the appointment. Strike 1! Friday was strike 2, and the midwife insisted that she return today to give another sample. So this could be strike 3, and Glucose Tolerance Test time. I’ve pointed out to Mrs Zilla that at least this will get it out of the way and she can relax and have some nice things around Christmas, but I’m not sure I helped. After that little problem came the hour wait to see the consultant. Thinking ahead, I’d taken my book with me, Mrs Zilla didn’t show much foresight in this respect. There wasn’t much in the way of reading material around. I tried to interest her in a leaflet “Making love while you’re pregnant”, but she didn’t share my enthusiasm. I returned to my book, and then the questions started: “What are you reading?” So I show her the book. “Is it any good?” Yes my darling that’s why I’m trying to read it. “What’s it about?” To stop further questions I tell her. “It’s a travelogue, these two nutters think that by taking a picture of Elvis to the North Pole they can help the Baby Jesus bring peace to the world.” That stops the questions. Eventually we are ushered into a consulting room, which is empty, but this is normal procedure, you then wait here for the consultant to arrive, after about 20 minutes normally. The door opens and a young woman comes in and sits down. She’s a Senior House Officer, we are not deemed worthy to have the consultant apparently. She’s nice, and checks the size of bump etc asks another of those secret questions: “Everything alright down below?” and writes up a few notes in the vast folder that represents Mrs Zilla’s pregnancy history. After approximately 5 minutes we’re despatched off to the blood testing area. It’s only when we arrive there that we realise that we didn’t ask any of the questions we had. When do we go to hospital for the section, for instance. Given the length of queue waiting for blood tests Mrs Zilla resolves to ask today when she returns for strike 3. UPDATE Mrs Zilla did indeed strike out, and now faces a Glucose Tolerance Test on Monday.