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August 8, 2001
I’ve got to catch up on 3 weeks to be current, and this is a long story, so I hope I don’t lose you in the midst. I’m currently working on another entry, one for our 5th wedding anniversary, but damn it, that was Saturday! See what having two small kids does to a person? Deadline-schmeadline! So, I’ll just post it when I’m done, and that will have to do.
The Ultrasound
It’s been 3 weeks since our ultrasound. Believe me, I was prepared to trash the entire “linear-time” thing to just post about the ultrasound. That is, if it hadn’t been so completely awful. Nothing is wrong with the baby, let me get that out of the way, but the ultrasound tech and the radiology group I went to was terrible.
I need to say that with Chloe and Ivan I had the most wonderful ultrasound tech, Layne. Layne was a part of the very large (12 OBs, 6 midwives and 3 NPs) practice I went to for care with those pregnancies. Despite being completely busy at every moment, she managed to remember my name every single visit. I had something like 12 ultrasounds with Chloe, 4 with Ivan, and she never forgot who I was, or Chloe, or Ivan or John. She managed to convey the fact that she truly cared for my entire family and me. John and anyone else I thought fit were welcome to watch the ultrasound, and Layne was the perfect hostess. Having an ultrasound with her was nothing short of fantastic. So, to be fair, I had high expectations. I did try to lower them, because if coming across one Layne was a wonder; two would be a miracle. But nothing could have prepared me…
Right after my 19-week appointment with my midwives, I drove over to the Radiology group they had recommended. John and the kids had planned on going with, but John had been fighting the flu all week, and decided that he needed the rest more than anything. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise because as soon as I had arrived, the receptionist told me “Glad you didn’t feel the need to bring anybody. We don’t allow extras.” Extras? Okkkaaay…Right then, I should have left. I should have known that it wasn’t going to go well. But I decided to stick around – I told myself that maybe the ultrasound tech would be a little nicer. Oh no, no, no, no, that wasn’t going to happen.
A few minutes later, the ultrasound tech popped her pointed little head out from the back and said “Ryan?” That’s my last name people. She didn’t even say “Heather”, or “Heather Ryan” for God’s sakes…she called me “Ryan.”
I walked back and stepped into the closet-sized ultrasound room. The tech fired up the machine and motioned for me to lie back on the table. I’m familiar with the routine, so I got up there and adjusted my waistband down for her. No thank you, nothing. She roughly tucked in the paper cover and then opened the door, leaned out and called someone’s name. A second later a young, pimply faced girl came in. The tech said, “I’m training today.” No, “This is so-and-so, would it be alright if she came and watched?” Nothing. Thus far, though, I had only gotten 4 words out of her, and “please” or “thank you” didn’t seem to be part of her limited vocabulary.
Ice-cold gel hit my belly and I did a double take. Apparently the warmer that is ATTACHED to the machine was too much trouble to turn on. Techie didn’t even blink. “Okay, Okay,” I thought to myself, “But I’ll still get to see the baby.”
Nope. You guessed it. Strike two on that one. The screen was turned away from me, and Techie was not about to turn it towards me. I asked her four times, and each time she said some variation of “It’s just our policy. Besides, I’m training.” I felt like asking her to please answer me in complete logical sentences, but I wasn’t certain she would understand.
After 35 minutes of this routine, I was getting angry. Not any angry, the red kind of angry, where your cheeks fluster and burn and you say things that otherwise would never even cross your normally polite mind. Techie was grunting out weird commands to the trainee, and I dug in, and asked again, with my most “I’m-really-ticked-off-right-now-and-if-you-don’t-give-me-an-answer-I-like-you-will-most-definitely-feel-my-wrath” voice, if I could see the screen. She began to answer with the now familiar rule when I interrupted her, and said, “You know, it sounds like English, but you aren’t making any sense.” (In my mind, there were curse words peppered in there, but I was trying to act like an adult). She shot me a look, and I added, “If you don’t let me see the screen then I will get up and leave. And I’ll call my insurance company and make sure you don’t get paid.” Techie responded with a prissy “Oh, we’ll get paid.” I said, “No, you won’t. I don’t care if you send me to collections, I’m not paying for this.” I meant it too. At that moment, I was The Supreme Goddess of the Ultrasounds, and I was not bowing down to no man, woman or pseudo-medical professional.
Of course, my insurance company probably would have paid, as would have I, but that didn’t change the tension in the room. “Fine,” said Techie, “I’ll let you see the screen for a few minutes at the end.” Okay, so we lost the battle, but damn it, we’re winning the war. I laid back a bit and relaxed.
True to her word, I was able to see the babe for about 3 minutes at the end. I had to block out the incessant “We never do this”, and accompanying head shaking by Techie, but it was worth it. Techie even took 2 pictures of the babe and gave them to me, again admonishing, “We never do this.” As though I should feel lucky! I have stacks of ultrasound pics from Chloe and Ivan. I even have pics from my ER ultrasounds with this babe (which by the way, were about 10 times better than this one).
As soon as Techie felt I had seen enough, she turned off the machine, and began cleaning up. I sat up and said, “So, do you know the sex.”
“Yeah.” (Completely flat. She sounded like she was ordering a year’s supply of toilet paper or something.)
(pause)
“So, are you going to tell me?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I think it might be a girl.”
Now, I don’t think I need to mention that I have absolutely no faith in this person whatsoever, so I decided I needed to know how close “might be a girl” means.
“70%-75% sure that it’s a girl.” (pause) “But you mentioned you had one of each, right?”
Okay, is that supposed to make me feel better?
So I ask, “Why is it only 70%-75%?”
“Well,” she said, “I didn’t see a penis…” and then she trailed off like she was talking about Alaska or the freaking Outback or something. She was also developing a serious case of glassy-eye, and I decided that was my cue. I had tapped her for all she was worth, and this was gonna have to do.
I verified with my midwife that everything came back normal, and it did, so the whole “No peeking” policy was really and truly normal. My midwife was rather horrified at my experience, and was going to call up her clients and ask if they suffered the same treatment. The tech’s name didn’t ring a bell with her, but she said that they’ve had some staffing issues, so I wonder if maybe that’s it. I truly had never heard of such treatment before. Even in the ER, as I think I may have mentioned, I was treated better.
In the past week or so, I’ve decided that I really truly want another ultrasound, and found a place that does a purely commerative one complete with VHS tape, 5”x7” photo, and about 10 little ultrasound photos. Plus, they will confirm the sex. It’s $75, but at this point, I feel it’s money well spent to see the babe one more time. I’ve made an appointment for next Friday, the 17th, and I will most definitely include the results in an entry.
After recovering from the horrors of the ultrasound, I’ve discovered that my waist is rapidly disappearing. While this might normally be cause for panic, it has been accompanied by the most wonderful jumps and jolts from the wee one, that I can’t complain. Around week 20 I started getting good kicks and bumps. As always, I’m amazed at these movements. Short of the birth itself, is there anything more momentous?
The past few weeks have been filled with these moments, each unique and special. I find that I prefer not to mention most of them. They are the baby’s and mine alone, and the silence only bestows the sanctity of my bond with her. I can’t force this bond to last forever, nor would I want to. But I can keep something small for myself, and this is one of the things I choose.
heather r
(Dec 8, 2001)
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