Professionals Shouldn't Wear 3-D Vests

It's no secret that I love my OB.  She's seriously fantastic.  She's saved my life twice, and gave me a fantastic birth experience with the Sunbean.  She's young enough to be open to just about anything, and experienced enough to know what's safe.  She's an organic foodie, too, which gives her some bonus points.  However, she's not good at referrals.  I hated the pediatrician referral she gave us (love the one we have now), and here's a fantastically ridiculous story about the physical therapist referral.

About 6 weeks into my pregnancy, I started having some serious sciatic nerve pain.  I know, I know.  A little early, but not for me.  I have a very crooked back, and one leg that is 2 inches shorter than the other.  I had early sciatica with the Sunbean, and I was expecting more of the same.

I didn't do physical therapy with the Sunbean because I was working full-time and it seemed like a monstrous hassle.  It is, if you were wondering.  I thought I'd give 'er a try this time, so requested a referral.

I was sent to a group that specialized in maternity care.  Sounded perfect.

As I was filling out the textbook of paperwork, a woman wearing one of those 3-D vests (you know, with pumpkins and ghosts that stick out....strike one) came up and called me 'sweetheart' (strike two).  Oooookay.  One:  you are a professional, for crying out loud.  Lose. the. vest.  Two:  my name is Abbey.  Unless you are my grandmother (which you are not) or my husband (definitely not), you may. not. call. me. 'sweetheart'.  Or 'honey'.  You just can't.

I follow pumpkin-vest to my room.  Even though I was wearing form-fitting yoga pants (which is what I was instructed to wear), she gave me a pair of XXL bootie-shorts.  Do any of you fellow Mormons see a problem here?  And for crying out loud, I'm not an XXL.

Then, she asks me a litany of questions.  Most of the same ones I'd already filled out in the 1,000-page packet.  I mentioned I was taking prenatal vitamins (obviously) and a DHA supplement.  I don't expect the average Joe to know that DHA is important for pregnant women, but this lady supposedly works with preggers all day long.  It was like she didn't believe me.  Maybe she thought it was a street drug.

Then, she asks about my back.  I tell her I have a 30-degree S-curve.  She asks if I have ever been to a doctor to have that officially diagnosed.  WTH?  Um, yes.  I did not have my husband measure that curve with the x-ray machine in our garage.  Honestly.

Why I was still standing there in my bootie-shorts, I have no idea.  But then she has me touch my toes.  It is a medical fact that I will never be able to touch my toes.  The curve in my back prevents it.  Well, this lady doesn't believe it.  She goes on to tell me that my doctor probably doesn't know much about scoliosis (hmmm...the orthopedic surgeon with 35 years of experience treating scoliosis patients....probably a complete dunce) and that I can't touch my toes because I must not exercise enough.  Oh.  em.  gee.

In retrospect, I think I did a knock-out job keeping my temper in check.  Or maybe I was just in shock over the entire experience.  Either way, this woman didn't get her head bit off by me, which is a miracle.

As if that's not enough, she then notices that my hips aren't in-line.  I'm well aware of that fact, as I have spent the past 27 years of my life hemming clothing 'crooked' so that it will look straight on me.  I refer her to my encyclopedia of paperwork, and remind her that my left leg (or is it the right?  i can never remember) is 2 inches shorter.  She literally rolls her eyes and asks again (I swear I am not making this up) if I have ever been to a doctor to have that checked out.

By this point, I am searching the room for evidence that she is really a physical therapist.  I'm sure she has the real one locked up in the closet or something.  But for real, my husband and I do not sit around measuring ourselves for fun.  We just don't.  I have known for fifteen years that my back is crooked and my leg is short.  Like, as in, I went to the doctor.  And had x-rays.  And measurements.  And scoliosis braces.  None of that is my idea of a good time.

The rest of the appointment proceeds with much of the same, and she finally decides she will need to do some research before she can treat me.  Inside, I'm cracking up.  As if I'd be returning to this group.  I (politely?) tell the receptionist that I won't be back.

Thankfully, I'm now working with a fantastic therapist who gives me deep muscle massages for an hour a week.  I think I love her.

Moral of the story:  please don't wear those 3-D vests.  And don't call me sweetie.  And don't ever go to that physical therapist.  She's crazy.