My first appointment with my midwife
Alexia cleared her own tokophobia and developed a method that has helped women clear theirs for more than 10 years.
My first appointment with my midwife couldn’t have been more different from what I was expecting. My disappointing doctor’s appointment was nothing compared with what this lady had in store for me.
Sitting in the waiting room, I was imagining a warm, caring lady who would ask how I’d been and how I was feeling, and fuss to the point of annoyance (I hate fussers). She would be knowledgeable, compassionate and… err…
I was greeted by a bedraggled woman who struggled to find her desk, let alone a pen! We had forms to fill in, she said. Oh great. And injections.
WHAT? Injections? Now?
I thought they were at the next appointment!
“Really?” I said, showing her the whites of my eyes.
“Oh yes!” she said, smiling a freakish smile. “Are you OK with injections?”
Am I OK with injections? The short answer: NO! I was NOT OK with injections. But I wasn’t sure she would be interested in hearing my stories. Like the time I got sent home from work after having a medical, because I never fully regained my colour after the injection – I had to be driven home! Or the time I was training in NLP with Paul McKenna on phobia day. He was giving us a demo with someone who had a fear of needles and injections, and I was on the verge of leaving the room because I couldn’t bear him holding a needle that glinted in the light right in front of me. It didn’t matter that I was five rows back in a room of around 100 people. I was freaking out, let me tell you. Sweaty palms, shaky voice, teary eyes… I had ALL the symptoms!
So when she asked me if I was OK with injections, all I could manage was, “No, not really.” The God’s honest truth was that I needed a good couple of days to panic before any injection came my way. Announcing them like that messes with my head. Thankfully, she was a kind and compassionate soul. Noticing my obvious distress and my need to panic for a while before having the injections, she said, “Oh well, we’ll do those at the end – we’ve got this horrible form to fill in first.” There was so much wrong with what she said that I was aghast.
So, for the next two hours, I sat very tense while being interrogated, all in the name of form filling. By the time we reached that inevitable “When was your last period?” question, I was feeling a little jaded. Predictably, exactly the same thing happened as with the doctor. She assumed that because the last period I could REMEMBER was in September, I must be 12 weeks pregnant and due in July. Bonkers, I tell you. The fact that it would have to have been a miracle conception bypassed this medical expert too. But to make sure, she got me on the bench and had a good old prod.
“Ooh yes! That feels about right. We’d better get you sent off for your scans.”
Scans? Already? This was happening waaay too fast for me. What followed was a farcical search for the phone under various piles of paper and several painful conversations to get me booked in. All the while, I tried not to think about the imminent injections.
Finally, a date was set and we were FINALLY getting round to the ONLY thing I could focus on. However, because of the traumatic nature of said injections, I have since blocked that experience from my mind.
Fear Free Childbirth is a publication and is not a substitute for medical or mental-health care. If you’re struggling to cope or in crisis, please contact your GP, midwife or a qualified professional.
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