The Paper Weight

Yes, we all expect to fill out forms when we go to the hospital. And anyone who has any experience with the military knows that 90% of what the military does is paperwork. However, neither Ray or myself was prepared for the amount of paperwork we received on our first visit.

Let's see if you can keep count.

So on our first prenatal visit we were scheduled to see Mrs. Cruz. But before we could see her, we had to fill out just a few forms. There was a personal medical history form; a family medical history form, general health form; privacy statement; prenatal survey; spousal abuse questionnaire (I actually laughed at this one. Yes, I know abuse is a very bad thing, but it sounds so funny when I try to put the words, 'Ray' and 'fearing for my safety' in the same sentence.) Okay where was I, oh yes, there was also the mental health history form and the prenatal education survey.

After Ray and I gave enough information for the FBI to know the location, age, and physical health of every family member we know, we proceeded to our appointment.

Mrs. Cruz was not an OB like we were expecting. She is actually one of the head nurses for the OB/GYN. Cruz started our first meeting by going through every page of questions that Ray and I had just painstakingly answered. Everything I marked was questioned and double checked. When it came to the Sickle Cell anemia question I almost felt like I was being interrogated. It felt really weird defending my disease. It was like helping an anemia. It wasn't that she didn't know what sickle cell was, its just that she needed to know if I really had the disease and how was it affecting me.

Excuse me as a take a moment to go off on a rant here. Every time I'm in the hospital it never fails that someone will ask me what I think is one of the dumbest questions you can ask an adult with Sickle Cell Disease. And Cruz was no exception:

"Are you sure you have the disease and not the trait?"

Of course, I'm always polite and respond with my usual, "Yes, I'm sure. I have the disease."

But more often then not, one of these quirky responses is just waiting to jump out out my mouth-

"27 out of 29 emergency room visits can't be wrong!"

"Yes I have the disease. Psych! I fooled you. I really have the trait. Ha, Ha, ha , Ha!"

"Yes, I am diseased! There, I said it. Why can't you just learn to accept me and my lifestyle. I'm tired of living my life pretending to be a trait. This is who I am. I'm diseased and proud of it."

"My disease comes every month like clockwork. But last month it was six days late and I started to worry. So I took one of those at-home disease test and it came out positive! I'm going to have a trait!"

"Oh, I had the trait last year, but decided to upgrade to the disease. You know, living with a deadly blood disease is totally in right now."

"Disease, I wish I could quit you!"

Well, enough of my ranting, now back to the story.

After reviewing my paperwork it was time to bombard Ray and I with more information then our little brains could hold. Cruz was a non-stop talking machine. She started spewing out information about what I should eat, how I should sleep, what I could and couldn't do, and who I could and couldn't do it with. With every change of topic came a stack of material to reinforce everything she just said. We got handouts on meat safety, food preparation and food intake. For physical fitness there was the weight gain handout, physical limitation handout, and a schedule of health classes provided by the hospital. With prenatal education came the flyers for every prenatal class offered this side of the Mississippi along with car seat safety booklets and at-home hazards pamphlet.

Next, I received a personal prenatal book that I was instructed to treat like the 'ring to rule them all', and have with me at every single appointment from now until the baby's six week check-up. We were also given homework. We had to read the book cover to cover, and re-read each corresponding chapter before every OB visit.

Finally we were given what I cheerfully call the prenatal guilt-trip package. It consisted of a stack of pamphlets describing every disease the Ray or I might pass on to our baby. I believe that if they made this pack of paper mandatory reading for all high school students you would see a dramatic drop in teen pregnancies. Every pamphlet is filled with the same message of how you might give your baby a dreadful deadly disease that you didn't even know you were a carrier of.

About an hour later and ten pounds heavier, Ray and I left the OB/GYN, our hands loaded with paperwork and our minds full of mush. I really can't remember half the stuff the nurse told us and I'm sure Ray remembers even less then that. The two most important things we both got out of the meeting was that yes, we are going to have a baby, and despite everything that could go wrong there is a good chance that nine months from now we will deliver a healthy, happy baby.