Żelazne sumienie

If you can read in Polish, I recommend this article from Gazeta Wyborcza. It’s an interview with Professor Romuald Dębski and his description of how to have a conscience and do your job too.

Pain

Part of my getting my shit together plan is to come to terms with the past and resolve any conflicts while looking ahead into the future. At least that’s what it says on the list.
Well, I’m not exactly going to do that.
I have one personal conflict in the family with my mother-in-law. It doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m not in need of patching things up just in case one of us were to pass on. It is what it is.


However, I thought I would just write something about the time I was ill, just to get it out. I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t even like to think about and avoid the topic altogether if anyone asks me about it.
I started to think about it again after reading an article about pain. You see, pain was my most dominant symptom.
The article which appeared in Gazeta Wyborcza’s supplement Duży Format. Wyłam z bólu. Oni pytali: co za śmieć tu leży? is the title of the interview of patient Anna Kleszcz by Grzegorz Sroczyński. The title in English would be “I howled in pain and they asked: what’s this piece of trash lying here?”
“Przez dwa lata prowadziłam prywatne śledztwo, na ile powszechne jest to, co mi się przydarzyło. Tortury w polskich szpitalach są niestety zgodne z prawem.” (“For 2 years I have led a private investigation of how common it is what happened to me. Torture in Polish hospitals in unfortunately in accordance with the law.”) Anna Kleszcz is fighting so that what happened to her and still happens to other parents each day will change. I wish her all the best. After reading her story, I felt like I knew her.

Ms. Kleszcz suffered from an abscess on her spinal cord. I cannot imagine the pain she suffered, but I can identify with what I can only call cruelty of the medical personnel which by not easing her pain, in fact, tortured her until she lost consciousness and almost until she lost her sanity. It reminds me of one of my doctor’s commenting to the other, “Do something. You are turning this poor woman into a crazy person.” And crazy with pain, I was.
In my case and in Ms. Kleszcz’s, the hospital did not lack the drugs or the means to administer them. The drugs are neither expensive nor addictive. They simply lacked normal human decency, and it is not an isolated incident. Ms. Kleszcz has the data to back up her claims. Additionally, she is collecting cases of patient suicides. People of all ages some with serious illnesses, others without, all sharing in pain, throwing themselves out of hospital windows or down hospital stairs. This is the determination and desperation of patients to end not their lives, but their pain.

I’m not surprised by Ms. Kleszcz’s shocking treatment. I was once that crazy lady writhing and screaming in pain in many a Polish hospital and no I’m not referring to giving birth. For that you scream in pain for awhile, but soon it all goes away and you get to go home with a baby. I just got, “We don’t know what’s wrong with you, but we suspect it’s all in your head.” Then they write on your release papers that you’re sick in the head but in Latin. You take those papers to the next doctor who starts out prejudiced against you and that’s how you go without diagnosis or treatment from doctor to doctor, hospital to hospital.
In the hospital they ask you to stop screaming, then they tell you sharply, then they start screaming. After that they send in the head shrinker. In my experience when you tell the head shrinker to go and fuck herself, you’re not any closer to getting the pain meds you need, but I did thank her (give her the finger) for suggesting meditation and acupuncture. That was right after I begged her for mercy. She showed me none.
I was tested and examined inside and out over more than a year. Every orifice was probed and if you could camera in there, then they did. They even cut some pieces from some pretty strange places and tested them but all was normal except the pain, the pain which kept growing stronger and encompassing more and more of my body.
In one hospital when I told the doctor that my bladder hurt (the main, but not only source of my pain) she said it was impossible. I insisted. She laughed and asked, “How do you know it’s your bladder?” I pinched her arm hard and twisted. She screamed, “Ow! What do you think you are doing?!”  I asked, “Did that hurt?” She shouted, “Yes, it hurt! You pinched my arm!” “How do you know it’s your arm?” I asked. That doctor didn’t help me either.

Countless doctors visits, hospital stays, tests, procedures, research. After 2 years of constant and increasing pain,I could tell you what I didn’t have. I didn’t have stomach ulcers, diverticulitis, stomach cancer, intestinal cancer, or bladder cancer. I did not have ulcers on the inner bladder wall nor bacteria embedded in the wall. There definitely was not a parasite of any kind in my bladder, stomach or intestinal tract, believe me, you don’t want to know how they check it. Additionally, I did not have TB of the kidneys, an ailment I did not even know existed. Although a very stupid ER doctor diagnosed me with kidney stones, my kidneys (as well as my liver) were all clear. Incontinence was not a problem either and bladder capacity seemed to be normal, well, normal for me (no gold medal bladder awards for me even before I was ill).
What did I have? Constant pain, at first starting in my bladder and then taking over practically my whole body along with the never-ending urge to urinate. Add to that intestinal spasms and the slow numbing of my backside and thighs and I was a wreck.
That’s the first time I ever thought that life was too long. I had ‘lived’ 2 years already with this pain and I couldn’t imagine living 2, 3 or 10 more. I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t. I barely ate or drank. I daydreamed about death the way people dream about winning the lottery. But just like the lottery, winnings rarely come right before you spend your last penny, and quick and painless accidental deaths rarely come to those contemplating suicide. I was gonna have to take matters into my own hands.
And I will leave that subject there.

I traveled all over Poland for treatment. I also went to a private hospital in Germany which sent me back to Poland untreated but on the right path to finding a proper diagnosis. I finally found help with doctor #28. Despite my informing him that the medical community was a kurwidół and all doctors were kurwy, he still treated me. (translated to whore’s den and whores – such a proud moment of speaking Polish but I was too sick to enjoy it) He told me what he thought my problem was based on my symptoms and test results. He suggested a treatment method and a time frame. His plan included pain relief. It took almost 5 months before any noticeable change took place, but while taking the pain meds I could sleep a bit. I could eat. After one year, I could smile. After a year and half we starting a weaning plan. After 2 years I was pain-free and thinking about children. I’ve had one relapse since then which was taken care of in a matter of weeks of treatment by the same doctor. It’s a pity he was not doctor #1.
There it is. I’ve got it out.

So you wanna have a baby in Poland, Part 4

I should finally finish this series and get to the birth of Rosie, I guess – especially since Rosie is 4 years old already and I have been writing this blog for what, 3 years now.
The fact that I see Rosie’s beautiful face everyday especially early in the morning – Mommy, you sleepin’? - should have reminded me to get my thoughts together and put something down on paper, well, on computer anyway. What reminded me that I should write, however, was a news story I saw the other morning (or rather heard,  I was doing my make-up) on TVN24. Apparently, Poland has a problem with aggressive patients. That’s what reminded me to write about Rosie’s birth. Don’t worry, Rosie wasn’t an aggressive newborn ;)
Ok, so the news report wasn’t exactly about aggressive patients…it was about signs hung in the doctor’s office to remind patients how to behave – to knock and wait, to not knock and wait, to just wait, to be nice to the personnel, to not be aggressive to the personnel, that aggression towards personnel will be prosecuted and that there is some registry of aggressive patients. Po prostu Bareja ;)
Even the coolest of the cool can blow their tops sometimes especially when we are sick, we have to wait in line for 3 hours,  the lady at the registration desk basically told us to feck off and the patient next to us has sneezed something gross all over our shoulder. Maybe we should keep our cool in situations such as these. It’s not the doctor’s fault. We shouldn’t take out our frustration and aggression on the doctor. But sometimes, just sometimes we should.
Let’s continue our story…
We had our little bald, baby Lizzie at home (she’s 6 now) and everything seemed perfect. One cool thing in Poland is that a mid-wife comes for a few home visits after you and baby come home from the hospital. Our mid-wife was very nice, helpful and experienced. I appreciated her visits very much. For you American moms some information- giving birth is covered under the health fund here– you don’t get a bill no matter what -even if you have complications, even if you have to stay in the hospital longer. The condition of the hospital certainly won’t be as nice as you’d like but, anyhow, you can’t really do anything about that. The mid-wife who comes to your house is within the health fund services as well, as are the first pediatrician visits and any GP visit for you and child (if you can just get your foot in the door…but more about that later).
What I didn’t know was that if you got stitches for any reason after giving birth, you could report back to the hospital and go to a special room where the nurses removed stitches all day long. I visited this room with these ladies after Rosie was born. They were surprisingly jolly for removing stitches from crotches and bellies all day long. My doctor, the Ordynator, did not inform me of the possibility to visit these jolly ladies with Lizzie. I had to go to his private office and pay to remove the stitches. It later turned out that he had MISSED a few and the mid-wife removed them for me in my own home (she carries a sterile kit with her).
I was enjoying my time as a first-time mom – diapers, breastfeeding and everything. Unfortunately, I got a pretty bad mastitis in one breast. Or maybe I should say fortunately, for my private doctor. 9 visits and 2 months later, I still had mastitis, 5 cm in diameter to be exact. It’s like having a 3rd breast – a very painful 3rd breast. Finally, I convinced my doctor to drain it, but when I arrived at the hospital at 7:00 a.m., baby in tow, he decided we would wait (?!?), treat it with a “laser” from some machine that looked like the control panel of Czernobyl, and I should come again to his private office.
I have a new doctor.
Who is not afraid of 3rd breasts…
…or scalpels.
Lizzie was soon turning one. It was time to take stock.
Our inventory:
Mom with 2 healthy breasts, no wonky 3rd breast thanks to the new doctor and his trusty scalpel
Dad – very enamored with the new baby and grateful to the new doctor for returning Mom to normal, well, as normal as Mom gets
Baby Lizzie makes 3, unaware of breast issues, sleeping through the night, eating “real” food
We asked ourselves, Hmmm, why not 4? And why not now?
That’s exactly what my doctor asked when I visited him for a check-up and said that we planned to try to get pregnant in a couple of months. He said “Why wait? You have a beautiful egg just waiting to be fertilized”. Actually he said something like this, “Dlaczego? Piękna jajeczka czeka.” Is it wrong that I told my husband that eggs can be fertilized for up to 15 days? And that for those 15 days vigorous sex was needed at least twice a day? Nah, that’s not wrong. I mean look at the results – Rosie! Yep, we made ourselves a baby Rosie. We even got to see her on the sonogram in egg form. Amazing, isn’t it?
Well, the whole pregnancy went fine. I was much more tired this time taking care of a baby (Lizzie was 1 when I got pregnant), carrying a baby and looking after myself and our home…oh, and my husband…oh, and working. By week 36, I was ready to pack it in and had already planned my last week of work. Rosie would be arriving any day now…except that she wasn’t. Each child is different as is each pregnancy blah, blah, blah and I should have known to expect anything. What I wasn’t expecting was to be pregnant ONE MONTH longer with Rosie than with Lizzie. Believe me, I was so relieved to be on my way to the hospital.
My relief ended when I actually entered the hospital. I knew where to go because I had been a patient there a few times before. We had official permission for a family birth from my former doctor, the Ordynator. It was a little after 7:00 a.m. and not much was going on at the hospital yet. The nurse opened the door at the Admittance Office and asked loudly, “What’re you doing here?” I thought it was pretty obvious but answered, “Having a baby”. “Not here,” she replied. “Why not here?” I asked. “We’re full,” and she closed and locked the door from the inside.
It was all a little too “no room at the Inn” for me, but I wasn’t ready to start looking for a manger just yet.
I didn’t sit down either because as you may know, it is practically impossible to sit down while in labor. I paced the waiting room and waited for Misiu who was parking the car.
He came in and the zadyma began. The nurse was quite flustered by Misiu and got the Doctor on duty. I remember this in a kind of a fog because I was in labor and my point of concentration was between my legs not on the doctor in Izba Przyjęć. The Doctor (whose nickname is too vulgar to write here) very unkindly informed us that the hospital was full and that we should go to another hospital. It was 7:15 a.m. – the start of morning rush hour. I informed him right back that there was no time and he said with one hand on the door handle, “You’ll make it”. He did not examine me nor did he offer transport. And a “full” hospital means that NOBODY is giving birth, all the birthing rooms were unoccupied. The regular hospital rooms, however, were full.
Not to put the cart before the horse, I told the Doctor that he could transport us – baby and me – after the birth. He said, “No. That is not possible”. I began yelling at him that it was not a fecking toothache. The baby was on its way. Then he finally examined me, quite roughly, said all was ok and left. I told the nurse that I couldn’t just leave, that I was afraid that something could go wrong. She did a quick KTG (CTG) and declared, “You hear that, lady. Your baby is alive.”
What a relief.
Misiu’s stance the entire time was, “Doctor, you will admit my wife to this hospital”-which he repeated over and over. I’m sure that all the Polish folks reading this understand very well, but I will spell it out for the rest. I was no longer a private patient of the Ordynator. I know that being his patient wouldn’t have made the hospital any less full, but you can be sure that if I had still been his patient, we would not have been treated so poorly.
It was 7:30 a.m. and we had been escorted to the door and asked to leave.
I realized that this was probably going to be the first birth in this hospital unattended by any medical personnel, but you can’t stop the birthing process just because the Doctor says no. There we were in the waiting room. What to do? Risk a car trip that would take at least 45 minutes maybe longer? Drive down the street to Biedronka’s parking lot and call an ambulance? Give birth right there in the waiting room? Another couple had arrived for a planned C-section and had heard everything that had transpired. They were in panic – for us, not for themselves. We choose the last option as the only option. Rosie was on her way out and there was nothing we could do about it.
I can tell you that  if you want to get the ball rolling, just remove your pants in a public place. Things will definitely start happening after that. In fact, more problems should be solved by pants removal. (I accept no legal responsibility for this advice. Remove your pants in public at your risk.)
Things will happen - such as doctors will admit you to the hospital…it may also have had something to do with something Misiu said involving the words “dam ci w łeb”, but who can be sure?
Does that qualify us for the aggressive patient registry?
At 7:45 a.m. I was walked upstairs to the birthing area. One annoying thing is that they repeat the admittance procedures upstairs – extremely annoying when you are a foreigner and in labor. Anyhow, I told them that I was in labor - in labor-labor not just first contractions-labor and was promptly hooked up to the KTG for the second time. Super.
Slowly and loudly, the mid-wife said, “When you feel the baby move, press this button.”
Me: How about when the baby starts to cry I press this button?
Mid-wife in her smooth “I am talking to a crazy person/flight attendant” voice: Once again, when you feel the baby move, press this button.
Me:-----
After a  minute-
Mid-wife: You don’t seem to understand. When the baby moves, press this button.
Me: I understand very well. The baby is not moving because the baby is coming OUT.
The mid-wife took her first peek under the sheet and shouted “Oh my, let’s get you to the birthing room”.
It was 7:50 a.m.
Across the hall to the birthing room we went where Misiu was waiting for us.
There was some water breaking. I learned a new word “kucaj” and that kucanie is a great birth position. I learned that drugs are expensive and there are not enough for the mid-wife and for me ;) I got a vitamin B shot. My strength gave out during kucanie and the mid-wife helped me onto the birthing table for the grand finale and said that I was very zgrabna for a pregnant lady (compliment no 1). No cutting was necessary – but in a crucial moment  the mid-wife looked up at me from between my legs. I expectantly awaited her instructions when she said,(compliment no 2)…
“You know what? You have a really nice smile. Please tell me that you don’t use just plain old toothpaste. Now push.”
And just like that Rosie was born which I was able to see reflected in the light fixture on the ceiling. Misiu cut the umbilical cord. There were some tears. All was well.
It was 8:00 a.m.
4 years ago.

So you wanna have a baby in Poland, Part 3

I suppose that in this post, Part 3, I may get to the part where I actually have a baby. Let’s hope…
There I was, reaching the end of my pregnancy. The crib had been purchased and set up. The “Baby Whisperer” had been memorized. The baby carriage had been purchased and my hospital bag had been packed. All we needed was permission from the doctor, The Ordinator, that we could have a “family birth” and most importantly, contractions to start the birth. Contractions and we’d be rolling.
That was what I was most worried about - the contractions.  How would I know that the birth was starting? I mean I had had Braxton-Hicks contractions.  How were the “real” contractions different from that? None of my pregnancy books could satisfy this question nor could my doctor. I was worried then but now after 2 births, I can say that you just know. B-H contractions are sort of around your pregnant belly while labor contractions come from your core. At least that’s how I describe it.
In preparation for the birth, I started to get a lot of advice from well-meaning friends who already had kids. There were also a lot of horror stories from a friend of a friend of a friend. I tried to take all the advice with a pinch a salt and focus on the positive. I was worried first of all about my baby, then that I would need an emergency c-section and lastly about the episiotomy. Really, this episiotomy thing was stressing me out until a friend explained it her way –

Friend: Chris, you want an episiotomy.

I want a lot of things but episiotomy isn’t high on my list.

Chris: I do?

Friend: Yes, you do. Think about it. It’s like if you have an old pair of underwear and you stretch out the waistband. Wouldn’t it be better to cut the stretched out waistband and sew it back up as it was before?

Well, um, I kind of had to agree with her but was concerned that in this scenario my vagina was the stretched out waistband, but anyhow, no sense worrying about what you can’t control. And you can’t control it, that’s for sure.
So when I finally felt like this was it, we called our mothers and then my doctor and headed to the hospital. My doctor said he would call the hospital for us and tell them that we were on the way. He wished us a “Happy Easter” as it was Easter Sunday and explained that he would not be present at the birth. That much I figured anyhow. When we arrived to the almost deserted hospital, everyone was very nice. Most of the nurses also worked for the Ordinator in his private office and they remembered me. I am quite memorable ;) I was admitted with all the unpleasant admittance procedures such as enema and shaving but it was really the least of my worries.
Then the nurses asked me the very delicate question, I suppose necessary for their paperwork, if my husband was the father of my baby. As he was seated right next to me, I opted for the affirmative answer ;) I’m not sure why it was so important because in Poland any child conceived during marriage is considered to be fathered by the husband even if you state otherwise. The husband/maybe father-maybe not father can of course apply to change the paternity of the child.
When we got upstairs to the birthing area, I saw that the doctor and nurses were enjoying their Easter breakfast. I went to the birthing room and things got rolling after that. To cut the story short, I can tell you that in Polish, the only thing you need to know when giving birth is the word “push”. It is kind of a hard word in Polish – pchać. I had a better method, I taught the doctor and midwife “push” in English. The birth went something like this:
Czy Pani jest gotowa? No to push! Push! No to, nie push. Nie pushujemy teraz. Ok, ok no to push! Push! Dobra, dobra, Jeszcze jeden push i już.
Simple, really.
There were some complications at the end with the umbilical cord wrapped around my Lizzie’s neck. I almost don’t remember those panicked moments until she started to cry and got her color. Thank goodness, all turned out well.
And yes, there was an episiotomy, which was sewn up very nicely by the doctor. At least that’s what the other doctors said, especially the doctor whose job it was to check the crotches in morning rounds. It went something like this:
The door slams open, say about 5:45 a.m. waking you and baby. Babies usually room-in with mom in Poland. A nurse takes your temperature, well actually, a nurse tells you to take your temperature (with the thermometer which you had to bring from home). She will come back in a minute to check it. Then the door slams open again and Dr. Crotch enters.
He mumbles, “Dzień dobry. Proszę pokazać krocze.”
What? “Good morning. Please show me your crotch.” That’s it. No, my name is… How are you feeling this morning… Nothing. If you wanna see my crotch, you’re gonna have to try harder than that. For heavens sake, he didn’t even close the door behind him and I am crotch to the world. What to do?
I reply, “Pan pierwszy.”
They say that a large part of how you are treated depends on you and I can say that it is true. After that, Dr. Crotch was much nicer and at least engaged in a little niceties before examining my crotch. I wanted him to remember that we were people not just crotches but I did feel a little sorry for him. It’s difficult to remember about the people behind the crotches when you have to check 50 crotches every morning before breakfast.
It wasn’t  so bad really, my first birth in Poland. True, the anesthesiologist came to my room with his cup of tea in one hand and his Easter white sausage in the other hand, to inform me that no anesthesia would be administered for a normal, vaginal birth. I was in so much pain, I wanted to jam that sausage down his throat but the fantastic doctor, Dr. Nice, explained that I was less than an hour away from holding my baby. She stayed with me the whole time and she knew what she was talking about. Less than an hour later Lizzie was born, our little Easter baby.
Goodness, that was 6 years ago. Where did the time go?
Happy Birthday Lizzie!
Part 1
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So you wanna have a baby in Poland, Part 2 -No to chcesz rodzić dziecko w Polsce, Część 2

I suppose in Part 2 of “So you wanna have a baby”, after we have secured funds, selected the hospital and have the doctor all settled, we can start with the getting pregnant part.

That means you should have sex, a lot of sex. Or not.

I personally used the calendar method in order to get pregnant. I know that many folks use that method in order to NOT get pregnant (which in my opinion is too risky), but it worked a charm for us in actually getting pregnant. But we still continued with the sex, you know, musialyśmy poprawić. (make corrections)

Too bad my doctor kept getting in the way. (not literally)

Firstly, after our miscarriage my doctor explained that these things happen and that it probably means nothing for our future fertility. He expressed his sympathy, declared me healthy and then hit us with his recommendations.

His suggestions after a miscarriage:

You should wait. Wait. And wait some more. From 6 months up to a year. (No explanation as to why. Just because.)

You should get full genetic testing of yourself and spouse. (In my opinion, after one early miscarriage, this kind of testing is pre-mature.)

In addition to genetic testing, checking the ovaries and fallopian tubes for defects was deemed necessary. (Quite invasive for a person with one, early miscarriage.)

I declined all his suggestions explaining that I’m no spring chicken and didn’t want to wait. I told the doctor we’d start trying again in a couple of months. I explained that if we had problems again, I would consider checking into the problem further. At that point, his suggestions became urgings, strong, almost angry urgings and that’s when I understood that my doctor was sliding down the slippery slope, the patient/customer -customer/patient slope. His business practices were interfering with my health care. We firmly declined additional procedures and went on our way.

After a few months, (yay!), we got pregnant. No drug store tests were needed for me. I was sure. We scheduled a visit with my doctor and we were rolling. That’s when I found out the whole pregnant-lady, doctor’s-office procedure.

At my doctor, it went like this:

Come to the doctor a little bit early for blood and urine tests. It was unbelievably convenient to have a lab at the doctor’s office. Then go to another doctor for a USG, checking yourself if anybody is in there and who’s next. Incredibly inconvenient for people who don’t speak Polish very well. After the USG, wait with all the other pregnant ladies for the doctor to call you for your visit. (If you are further along, you should add a visit to the basement to the KTG before returning to the waiting room)

The doctor’s visits which occur about once a month for the entire pregnancy, last anywhere from 5 to 15 minutes. Then you need to pay the doctor (hand to hand) and then pay the nurse for the blood and urine tests, the USG and also the KTG if you had one. I was unaware that the USG was not included in the price and did not start paying until I was about 7 months pregnant. Tight accounting policies ;)

Seems like a fiasco for a pregnant lady- knocking on doors, up and down stairs, waiting, waiting and more waiting. It wasn’t that bad, really, except the time they kept me waiting 3 hours for my KTG. The system is designed so the leading doctor spends the least amount of time with each patient as possible while still giving the patient a complete work up. It’s a business decision.

Everything was going fine. I was reading up about things like breast pumps and baby whispering. I tried to learn all pregnancy, birth and baby vocabulary in Polish. Really, things were great, in my opinion, until about the 5th month when my doctor asked me when I was planning to go on sick leave (L4). My eyes got big and I asked him what was wrong. He replied that nothing was wrong. I asked in panic what was wrong with the baby, with me. I thought that for sure I had misunderstand him or just missed something important that he had said in Polish. He said that nothing was wrong. So why the sick leave, I inquired. That’s when my doctor explained that it was customary for pregnant women in Poland to take sick leave for the second half of their pregnancies.* My father would offer that as proof that Poland must be a very rich country (my father has many such claims about Poland after 2 short visits). I breathed a sigh of relief and declined the L4, safe in the thought that if I needed it later, it would be available to me. Fortunately, I didn’t need it.

I felt great throughout my pregnancy and remained active. It was a really great time in my life - the anticipation of becoming a mother, of meeting my child. I gained a bit of weight which is par for the course and laughed when at +10 kilos at month 7, my doctor told me to slow down. Would a doctor in America say something like that? I’m not so sure.

*In order to avoid any nasty comments ;) – I am aware that not all Polish ladies take sick leave when they are pregnant. I am aware that some ladies need to take sick leave when they are pregnant. Having said that, I have seen many women take sick leave when they were pregnant who fully admit to not actually needing it but rather saying that they “deserve it”. I am not judging, just informing.

PS Pregnant women do not have to go to a private doctor during pregnancy. For fun, I decided to inquire at my family doctor’s office about a “pregnancy'” visit. I was given an appointment about 5 months in the future. I explained again to the receptionist that I was currently pregnant and needed an appointment now. Her reply, “Well, you should have thought about that before.” “What? Like before I was pregnant?” I asked. “Yes,” she said, “A lot of women make several appointments while trying to get pregnant and then cancel them when they are not needed.” Cool, huh?

Part 1

Przypuszczam, że w części 2 "No to chcesz rodzić dziecko", po tym jak już mamy zabezpieczone środki, wybraliśmy szpital i mamy załatwionego lekarza , możemy rozpocząć tę część, kiedy zachodzi się w ciążę.

Oznacza to, że należy uprawiać seks, dużo seksu. Lub nie.

Ja osobiście stosowałam metodę kalendarzową, w celu zajścia w ciążę. Wiem, że wielu ludzi stosuję tę metodę, żeby NIE zajść w ciążę (co moim zdaniem jest zbyt ryzykowne), ale udało się błyskawicznie zajść. Ale ciągle jeszcze uprawialiśmy seks, no wiecie, musieliśmy poprawić.

Szkoda, że ​​mój lekarz ciągle się wtrącał. (nie dosłownie)

Po pierwsze, po naszym poronieniu lekarz wyjaśnił, że takie rzeczy się zdarzają i że prawdopodobnie to nic nie znaczy dla naszej przyszłej płodności. Wyraził współczucie, uznał, że jestem zdrowa, a następnie walnął swoimi zaleceniami.

Jego sugestie po poronieniu:

Należy poczekać. Poczekaj. I poczekaj jeszcze trochę. Od 6 miesięcy do roku. (Brak wyjaśnienia dlaczego. Po prostu, bo tak).

Powinniście wykonać pełne badania genetyczne dla siebie i małżonka. (Moim zdaniem, po jednym wczesnym poronieniu, tego rodzaju badania są przedwczesne.)

Oprócz testów genetycznych, sprawdzenie jajników i jajowodów, żeby wykryć potencjalne wady wydawało się również niezbędne. (Dość inwazyjne badanie dla osoby z jednym, wczesnym poronieniem.)

Odrzuciłam wszystkie jego sugestie i wyjaśniłam, że nie jestem już młódką i nie chcę czekać. Powiedziałam lekarzowi, że zaczniemy próbować ponownie za kilka miesięcy. I wyjaśniłam, że jeśli znowu będziemy mieć problemy, to wtedy zbadamy sprawę gruntownie. W tym momencie jego sugestie stały się naciskami, mocnymi niemalże wściekłymi naciskami i wtedy zrozumiałam, że mój lekarz zaczął zjeżdżać po równi pochyłej, po tym stoku - pacjent / klient - klient / pacjent. Jego praktyki biznesowe były ingerencją w moja opiekę zdrowotną. Zdecydowanie odrzuciliśmy możliwość dalszych dodatkowych procedur i poszliśmy w swoją stronę.

Po kilku miesiącach, (yay!), byliśmy w ciąży. Nie potrzebowałam żadnych testów z apteki. Byłam pewna. Zaplanowaliśmy wizytę u mojego lekarza i zaczęło się. Wtedy poznałam te wszystkie procedury pomiędzy kobietą w ciąży a gabinetem lekarskim.

U lekarza, poszło tak:

Przyjdź do lekarza trochę wcześniej na badania krwi i moczu. To było niesamowite udogodnienie - laboratorium w gabinecie lekarskim. Następnie udaj się do innego lekarza na USG, sama sprawdzając czy ktoś tam jest i kto jest następny. Niezwykle uciążliwe dla ludzi, którzy nie znają dobrze polskiego. Po USG, czekaj ze wszystkimi innymi paniami w ciąży do lekarza, aż wywoła ciebie. (Jeśli jesteś w bardziej zaawansowanej ciąży, należy dodać wizytę w piwnicy na KTG przed powrotem do poczekalni)

Wizyty lekarskie, które mają miejsce raz w miesiącu przez cały okres ciąży, trwają od 5 do 15 minut. Następnie trzeba zapłacić lekarzowi (z ręki do ręki), a następnie zapłacić pielęgniarce za badania krwi i moczu, USG i również KTG gdybyś miała takowe. Nie wiedziałem, że USG nie było wliczone w cenę i nie zaczęłam płacić aż do około 7 miesiąca ciąży. Surowa polityka rachunkowości;)

Wygląda to jak totalna porażką dla kobiety w ciąży, żeby tak pukać do drzwi, łazić po schodach w górę i w dół, czekać, czekać i jeszcze czekać. Nie było tak źle, naprawdę, z wyjątkiem tego razu, kiedy przytrzymali mnie 3 godziny do KTG. System jest zaprojektowany tak, żeby lekarz prowadzący spędzał jak najmniej czasu z każdą pacjentką przy jednoczesnym kompleksowym badaniu pacjentki z góry na dół. Jest to decyzja biznesowa.

Wszystko było w porządku. Czytałam nawet o takich rzeczach jak pompy do odciągania mleka z piersi i o zaklinaniu niemowlaka. Próbowałam nauczyć się całego słownictwa dotyczącego ciąży, porodu i dziecka w języku polskim. Naprawdę, wszystko układało się wspaniale, moim zdaniem, do około 5 miesiąca, kiedy mój lekarz zapytał mnie, kiedy mam zamiar iść na zwolnienie lekarskie (L4). Moje oczy zrobiły się duże i spytałam go, czy coś się stało. Odpowiedział, że nic się nie stało. Zapytałam w panice, co się stało z dzieckiem, ze mną. Myślałam, że na pewno nie zrozumiałam go albo coś ważnego umknęło mi gdy on mówił po polsku. Powiedział, że nic się nie stało. Więc dlaczego chorobowe, zapytałam. Wtedy mój lekarz wyjaśnił, że jest w zwyczaju, żeby kobiety w ciąży w Polsce brały zwolnienia chorobowe w drugiej połowie ciąży.* Mój ojciec powiedziałby, że to dowód, iż Polska musi być bardzo bogatym krajem (mój ojciec ma wiele takich uwag o Polsce po 2 krótkich wizytach). Odetchnęłam z ulgą i odmówiłam przyjęcia L4, bezpieczna w myślach, że jeśli będę go później potrzebować, to będzie dla mnie dostępne. Na szczęście, nie potrzebowałam.

Czułam się wspaniale przez całą ciążę i pozostawałam aktywna. To był naprawdę wspaniały czas w moim życiu – oczekiwanie na stanie się matką, na spotkanie mojego dziecka. Przybrałam trochę na wadze, co jest na porządku dziennym i śmiałam się, gdy po przybraniu 10 kg w 7 miesiącu, mój lekarz powiedział mi, żeby zwolnić. Czy lekarz w Ameryce powiedziałby coś takiego? Nie jestem tego taka pewna.

* W celu uniknięcia nieprzyjemnych komentarzy;) - Mam świadomość, że nie wszystkich polskie kobiety idą na zwolnienie, gdy są w ciąży. Zdaję sobie sprawę, że niektóre panie muszą iść na zwolnienie, gdy są w ciąży. Mimo tego, widziałam wiele kobiet na zwolnieniu, gdy były w ciąży, które w pełni przyznawały, że tak naprawdę nie potrzebowały tego, ale raczej mówiły, że "na to zasługują". Nie osądzam, po prostu informuję.

PS Kobiety w ciąży nie muszą iść do prywatnego lekarza w czasie ciąży. Dla zabawy, postanowiłam dowiedzieć się w gabinecie mojego lekarza rodzinnego o wizytę w ciąży. Dostałam termin za około 5 miesięcy w przyszłości. Wyjaśniłam ponownie recepcjonistce, że jestem w ciąży teraz i potrzebuję wizytę teraz. Jej odpowiedź: "Cóż, trzeba było pomyśleć o tym wcześniej." "Co? Jeszcze zanim byłam w ciąży? " zapytałam. "Tak", powiedziała: "Wiele kobiet umawia się na kilka spotkań, podczas gdy próbuje zajść w ciążę, a następnie odwołuje je, kiedy nie są potrzebne."

Fajnie, co?

Część 1

So you wanna have a baby in Poland…

So, you wanna have a baby in Poland.

You should start from choosing your hospital.

After you have chosen your hospital, you should choose an OB/GYN associated with that hospital. Your OB/GYN will perform some tests, give you some vitamins and wish you luck in getting pregnant. Your OB/GYN will not actually come to the hospital for your child’s birth, but at least you can allude yourself that the thousands of zloty you have paid your OB/GYN will make him/her feel morally obliged in some way.

Actually, I’m wrong. You shouldn’t start from the hospital or the OB/GYN. You should start from checking your bank account for sufficient funds.

I suppose that is a good place to start anywhere, not only in Poland.

In my case (funds secured), I chose the “baby” hospital where I had unfortunately spent some time in the scary “interna” section a few years back. It only made sense to then choose the boss of the hospital, the Ordinator (sounds cool, like The Terminator), as my private doctor. I made a pre-pregnancy visit and we were rolling.

We, however, suffered a false start which landed me in the hospital. I knew the situation didn’t look good but was still taken aback when the sonogram technician informed me that “You, ma’am, are no longer pregnant”. Too bad for me that the bad news was delivered just as another patient opened the door, asking “Można?”. I quickly covered my bloody legs in shame. I didn’t even have a moment to myself to think about what I had just been told. I had to hurry up as a line was forming. I quickly dressed as I had undressed, blood and all, in front of 2 technicians while patients peeked their heads in to check if it was their turn yet. They have the “rodzić po ludzku” campaign, maybe they should have “miscarry po ludzku” too.

I was admitted, the next day given the “standard procedure” and sent home on the 3rd day. My papers indicated I had occupied a bed for 3 days which is important because the hospital doesn’t get paid for stays under 3 days. 5 days is better.

I was placed in a room with 5 other women, 4 of whom were recovering from hysterectomies and one other who was waiting for hers. In case you have never been hospitalized in Poland, you should know that patients love to talk about their illnesses and operations, the more gruesome the better. The ladies in the room were a bit annoyed that I wasn’t holding up my end of the conversation and by the second hour in that room, I went to the nurses station and asked to be moved to another room.

My doctor immediately agreed (benefit of going to his private practice). He had not wanted to place me anywhere near the baby ward and he thought I wouldn’t understand what the ladies were jabbering on about. I was placed in a double room with a university student who was waiting to get a cyst removed from her leg (and yes, she showed me the cyst). Not very gynecological in my opinion, but she seemed happy even after they had re-scheduled her operation for the third time. She was missing her exam session at uni. I think that was the point. What an wasteful way to get out of your exams.

Anyhow, I was not allowed to eat or drink prior to my procedure which was not a problem considering how bad hospital food is. The next day, I was led to the procedure room by a very nice doctor who later was the doctor at my first birth. I was surprised to see 5 people in the room besides myself. That seemed like a lot for something they assured me was routine. The anesthesiologist began to fill out the forms with me. Name, address, date of birth, PESEL…All was well until - “Czy pani jest na czczo?”

I had never heard na czczo before and couldn’t even ask the doctor what it meant. I told him in Polish that I didn’t understand and asked him to ask me another way. He asked, “Czy pani jest na czczo?” Hmm, that didn’t seem to be another way but just the same way as before. I repeated that I didn’t understand and could he ask me in another way (czyli innaczej). He asked me louder. Then, he asked me slower. After that he asked me louder and slower. I still replied that I didn’t understand. He turned to the other doctor and asked if I had bumped my head (really). That I did understand and I reminded him that I’m not Polish. C’mon, duh, he filled in my very-not-Polish name on the form. Anyhow, the other doctor, Dr. Nice, asked me if I had had anything to eat or drink (czyli na czczo) to which I replied no, and we were rolling.

I hopped on the table and a man sat down in front of me and with no greeting (excuse me) spread my legs. I immediately sat up and asked who he was and what he was doing. (He thought I had bumped my head as well). He was still looking at me with no explanation when I asked by the way who the 5 people in the room were and what they were needed for. With a heavy sigh, he explained that Dr. Na Czczo was going to administer the anesthesia, Dr. Nice was to assist as were the two nurses who were opening a sterile kit which included, gulp, a saw (I am not kidding). I nodded and asked “A pan?” to which I got an exasperated reply, “I am the doctor!” I stuck out my hand as if to introduce myself and said “Ja jestem pacjentką, najważniejsza w tym pokoju”. He was not impressed.

Then Dr. Zblazowany asked me to sit back so Dr. Na Czczo could begin knocking me out. As the mask went on, Dr Na Czczo (whose intelligence was already in question) asked me (as is practice in administering gas) who the first king of Poland was. I answered “jakiś Bolesław ale pierwszy prezydent USA był Waszynton”. Next, he asked me to count backwards from 50. I told him that I could count back from 10, 5 times and he said to begin. I was out before cztery. I suppose they were relieved.

I woke up some time later in my room. Dr. Nice told me that “smacznie pani spała” and that I could go home the next day. I went to the shower room to get washed up. In the shower room, I met another lady who was intently observing me (which is BTW not cool in any shower/stranger situation but especially not cool in a hospital).

“Well,” she said as I struggled to somehow maintain my privacy, “what’re you in for?'”

“I was pregnant,” I replied.

She cackled, “Well with all that blood, I guess you aren’t anymore”.

Polish hospitals, gotta love ‘em.

I returned to my room where I set in to watch the soaps with roommate and waited till the next day to go home.

Women of Wroclaw, rejoice…

…for you have joined the civilized world.

Anesthesia during childbirth is now available to the women of Wroclaw.

And this time, they really mean it.

Read more here.

Such a headline could be read any given month over the last 5 years in Wroclaw (and elsewhere). The only problem with such an announcement is that until now access to anesthesia for birthing moms was purely hypothetical. The reason? Well, as the Polish saying goes - if you don’t know what it’s about, it’s about the money.

I am not suggesting that moms had to pay for anesthesia. That would have been too easy. Anesthesia, other than a shot of Dolargan* or in my case Vitamin B, was not available because there was no one to administer it…unless you needed (or “needed”) a c-section. Then you were good to go.

Hospitals are refunded a set amount of money for each procedure performed. That includes vaginal births and c-sections, respectively, no matter what resources are actually used in said birth. This amount, on average, is enough to cover the staff, equipment, drugs, etc. needed for each birth or c-section. Hospitals are strongly motivated then to use as few resources as possible with each birth. This system, in fact, would work just fine if not for the lack of anesthesiologists. Even if the hospital allowed patients to pay for the anesthesia, it is not possible to pay for the anesthesiologist.

So, it sounds like I am complaining. Boo-hoo, poor American mom gives birth in this 3rd world country. It was soooo painful and and they didn’t help me at all.

Not true. Ok, it was painful, but they did try to help me…somewhat. Didn’t I mention the Vitamin B shot?

I have given birth in Poland. Twice. Without anesthesia of any kind. I simply didn’t need it which was convenient because they weren’t offering it. Birth is painful. It is true. It is very painful even, but what was more distressing for me than the pain was my complete and total lack of options. You have to give birth i już. Koniec. Kropka.

And so I did. Misiu says that I did an excellent job as well. Don’t you know that I am Super Mom? I even have a t-shirt that says so.

Now if only Wroclaw could do something with its roads.

:)

*Demorol.

Urine test po amerykańsku czyli my medical exam to work in Baltimore

My medical exam to work as a teacher in the US looked a little bit different than the one to work in Poland – not better, not worse, just different.

First, I had to show up to a municipal building (if I remember correctly) on a Saturday with all necessary paperwork. I could not get the physical done by my own physician which was problematic as I did not live in Baltimore yet. Anyway, I showed up early in the morning with at least 150 other people who were to be employed by the city of Baltimore and proceeded to wait and wait and wait. What? You have to wait for stuff in America?!? Yes, you do. Did I burst your bubble? ;)

Finally, it was my turn to see the doctor. Maybe he was a good doctor or maybe not. It was hard to tell because the physical exam didn’t involve much physicality. The doctor didn’t really even look at me, let alone put his hands on me. I could have had leprosy for all he noticed. The doctor asked me to turn myself around a few times and I twirled accordingly as if we were 16 year old girls and he was checking out the prom dress I was trying on. Then he asked me to turn my back to him and he whispered, “Can you hear me?” to which I whispered back, “Yes, I can”. Believe me, the ability to hear whispering was not a skill most needed to work in the Baltimore City School District. The doctor scribbled and stamped something on my papers and instructed me to go for my urine test. I wandered around until I found the line for the urine test, the very long line. I found the last person in line and like everyone else in line I sat down on the floor. I guess we were in for a wait. All the better to produce some more urine, I supposed.

By groups of 6 the ladies were corralled into the bathroom by a large and gruff-looking lady who had two other large and gruff- looking ladies to help her. I couldn’t blame them for their gruffness. They were spending their Saturday processing urine samples. When it was finally my turn along with 5 other ladies, I noticed we were going to do this “drug test” style, in full view of witnesses to prevent any urine-tampering. This urine test, unlike the one in Poland, was not to check if we, candidates for employment, were healthy. It was to check if we were clean. As I am, was and always have been squeaky clean, I didn’t really mind. I mean I had already given a set of fingerprints, what was a little urine among friends?

We filled out our labels, stuck them to the containers we had been given and headed for our stalls. We were instructed to fill our containers at least to the halfway point and not to cap them until they had been checked. Checked for what, I didn’t ask. Doors opened, we did our business and waited. The head gruff lady held my urine up to the light, looked at me disappointingly, threw my urine back into the toilet bowl and declared, “That’s not enough.” I exclaimed, “Well, it’s not like I’ve got more!” To which she laughed and directed me to the nearest soda machine.

I bought a Coke or two and drank and drank and drank. I drank so much that I could no longer wait at the end of the line and begged someone from the first group to let me go ahead. Once inside the bathroom, I was grateful to receive my container and proud to hand it over, filled to the brim. The gruff-looking lady had a laugh saying it was the clearest urine she had ever seen and instructed me to put the cap on. Ahhh, it was done and I could go home. I had a long drive ahead of me, made even longer by all the potty pit stops on the way.

PS In the company where my mother works, all employees are subjected to random urine drug tests. All names of all employees are in the potential pool of people to be tested at all times. I mean passing a previous test does not exempt you from the random drawing for the next one. My mother, quite possibly the cleanest lady on the planet, wouldn’t even eat poppy seed cake at Christmas for fear it could show up in her urine.

What happens in my mother’s company if you fail the urine drug test? You get a blood drug test. And if you fail that? Easy, you are fired. So, what to do in my mother’s company if you are less than clean and you are called up randomly for a drug test? That’s easy, you quit before you get fired. My mother says that record “quitting” days are on Mondays after big weekend football game parties.

Stay clean!

A sad update

On November 1st, my nephew’s mother-in-law died of breast cancer. She was 50 years old. She did not go to the doctor even though her lump was so large and in such a location that it was visible to the naked eye. She did not go to the doctor even though her mother and grandmother died of cancer in their early 50’s. She did not go to the doctor even though the visit would have been free. She did not go to the doctor because she was busy planning her daughter’s wedding.

Being present at her funeral was enough to persuade my mother-in-law to finally allow us to make her an appointment for a visit to the gynecologist’s office. She has not been for a check-up in 35 years. It’s sad that it has taken an event like this to finally get her to change her mind, but I am grateful for this opportunity.

I am now reading up on the new guidelines for breast cancer screenings which has changed the recommended age to start mammograms from the previous 40 to the now 50. I’m still processing the information and haven’t reached my own conclusions yet. Considering the case above, an annual mammogram starting from age 40 may have saved her life. Or it may not have. Having said that, the guidelines released by the United States Preventive Services Task Force are just that - guidelines.

Ladies of Poland…

…of America, of the world – go to the doctor! I am starting my own campaign to encourage the women I know to go to the gynecologist once a year for a pelvic exam, a pap smear and a breast exam. That’s it. That’s all I want from you.

There has been a lot of talk in the media reminding ladies to go to the gynecologist and get checked out. The topic comes up periodically in the Polish media and then everyone forgets all about it. I usually forget all about it too. Why? Because it doesn’t apply to me. I go to the gynecologist once a year. Why? Because I have been taught since I was a teenager that I have to go to the gynecologist once a year. I don’t even think about it. I write it in my calendar and a month or two before, I call and make an appointment. I show up for my appointment, get examined, pay (if I’m going private) and go home. A week or two later, the doctor calls to tell me the result of my pap smear and that’s about it until the next year unless I have some medical problems, need a prescription or get pregnant ;)

This year, I am not forgetting about it. I can’t. I am going to nag all the women I know until they are shamed into going to the doctor. I can’t forget this year because my nephew’s mother-in-law is dying from breast cancer. She’s 50. One year ago, she was dancing at her daughter’s wedding and soon her daughter will be crying at her own mother’s funeral. And why? Because the last time she went to the doctor was after giving birth to her now adult son, and when she found something in her breast, she was too busy planning her daughter’s wedding to even go to the doctor.

According to a recent article I read (Seks i Antykoncepcja – Polki 2009), 40% of the women who live in bigger cities go to the gynecologist regularly. I thought that percent was pretty pathetic until I read the next statistic. 2% of women in the countryside go to the gynecologist regularly. The reasons given by the women for not going (according to the article) are many. They are ashamed to go, some citing unpleasant visits in the past. Others feel that regular visits are unnecessary, that doctors visits are for when you are ill not when you feel healthy. Some claimed that they cannot afford to go to a private doctor and the wait for an appointment with a public doctor is too long. Others say that they don’t know a good doctor and the rest admitted that they don’t have a good reason why they don’t go.

I have a mission. To get my mother-in-law to go the gynecologist. Her last visit was 35 years ago. We managed to persuade her last year to get a mammogram on the pink bus. Luckily, the pink bus caught her on the way in to Biedronka ‘cause if they had caught her on the way out, she probably wouldn’t have got on and been examined. Unfortunately, that exam only confirmed for her the idea that if you go to the doctor, the doctor will find something. They found something in her breast which later turned out to be nothing, just a left-over from a bout of mastitis she had had years ago.

This is just one of the pink buses that offers free gynecological exams

I asked my gynecologist about it and he agrees that the phenomenon described in the article does exist. He also suggested that some Polish women are prudish about a doctor seeing them naked. The strangest part is that after a pelvic exam, according to my doctor, some women do not want to remove their bra for a breast exam. I’d much rather expose the breast area than the pelvic area, wouldn’t you?

How am I going to get my mother-in-law to the doctor? That part I haven’t figured out yet. I’ve already tried the logical approach, explaining the benefits of preventative medicine, etc. She totally agreed with us and sent my father-in-law for a week’s stay in the hospital to get a comprehensive physical. We’ve tried yelling at her which ended in tears (hers) but she didn’t budge. We’ve tried the emotional angle explaining how we don’t want to lose her and…nothing. We even tried to work on her guilty conscience. What would happen to “father” without her?…and nothing. We thought for sure that witnessing the pain surrounding the illness of her grandson’s mother-in-law would certainly have an effect on her if at least out of pity for all of us but…nothing. Her defense –My pension is too little for a doctor’s visit. Our response- We will pay for it or you can go to the same doctor publicly. Her defense – You have to wait 6 months for a visit. Our response – 6 months is sooner than never! Her defense – You have to die of something. We don’t have a response for that one.

I think the best method is going to be just making her an appointment and driving her there. We’ll have to do it like we’re taking the dog to the vet. Don’t actually say the word “doctor'” so she won’t suspect where we are going and promise her a treat at the end. I hope it works.