Getting to know the labour ward a little sooner than I’d like.
On her visit (chez moi, very nice), the midwife found my blood pressure to have reached 140/80; with a booking pressure of 100/60, the significant increase along with my unexplained swelling caused some concern. She’s to take another reading on Friday - if the diastolic figure reaches 85, she plans to monitor me, threatening hospital admission if it reaches 90. Boring - have to avoid if that if I possibly can I’m thinking. I’ve always had such low blood pressure, so I smugly decide that admission is highly unlikely.
Today when my own checks reveal a reading of 170/100, I actually admit myself without struggle or permission. Over the space of 4 hours I’m subjected to various blood and other tests, fetal activity monitoring (they’re squirming as usual, oblivious to my issues and seemingly perfectly happy with textbook heartbeats), but with no real conclusion as to why my ankles look like cold custard poured into a pair of tights, and why my blood pressure has gone from a healthy low to an alarming high in a matter of days.
Since it’s customary to comment on the staff, I won’t disappoint. I was lucky enough to spend most of the time with the kindest, most helpful, caring, attentive and wide angel on earth (nurse, midwife? I never have got the hang of hospital uniforms). Then, the tranquility shattered as Dr Sour arrived, clearly having left his bedside manner in the car park.
Not only did he pay little attention to and dismiss most of what I said, he had scant disregard for the obvious concern of my GP, midwife and the angel, with the air of someone who has better things to do with his time. (”Why did you come in?” he asked).
Like many people, I have a blood pressure monitor at home, but bought it when on special offer more for curiosity than serious medical need. However in this case it proved a very useful first alert, with the readings tallying pretty much with those of the calibrated hospital machines. Obviously displeased at what he seemed to consider my intervention, he asked why I possessed one. I paused saying that I didn’t know how to answer. I spent the afternoon in a large, clean and pleasant room, though clearly too cramped for his ego.
When he left the angel apologised to me for his manner. I felt sorry for her having to do that, but it did make her even more lovely. When I asked for his name and confided that I found him a bit abrupt, there was a certain rolling of the eyes that said it all. “You and me both…” she said, her halo glowing brighter than ever.