I schedule my first prenatal appointment on my mom’s birthday, November 10. I choose a doctor who is within network, close to home and highly recommended by a friend. I am nervous and get there 15-minutes early to do new patient paper work.
The staff is nice and the intake is easy and efficient. Pee in a cup. Get weighed. Undress and put on a paper gown. I am sitting, waiting and reading “Fit Pregnancy.” My doctor walks in.
“So, what brings you in today?”
“Well, I’m 6-weeks pregnant and over 40 so thought I should come in.”
She smiles. “Phew, that makes this a lot easier! Yes. You are pregnant. We never know if you already know!”
I love her. She is knowledgeable, gentle and had a child when she was my age. I get an ultrasound, a clean bill of health and am sent on my way with a picture of the embryo, a packet on hospital programs and an order for NIPT, a simple way to discover chromosomal conditions through blood tests.
That’s it. I call my sister on my way to work and go on with "business as usual" when I get there.