First it was the resident. Who walked in, filled with glee. Fully convinced my midwife had screwed up.
"I noticed that you haven't receieved any prenatal blood work, or your Diabetes screening and that you are under the care of the midwife."
Now, maybe it was because I had just received what the hospital called "breakfast" - which mostly just made me think that I wanted to continue fasting. Maybe it was that the nurses arrived every 2 hours to take my vitals, and then chastized me for not sleeping. I was a bit tetchy.
So, in she waltzed, with this delight in her eyes, that my midwife had screwed up. She was surprised when I went through the testing requirements and detailed why they hadn't been done (I was a plasma donor - I know what my blood type is, what Mr. Spit's is, I was immunized against Measels at the ripe old age of 23). She left, looking a bit defeated. I felt for her, because I was looking at my breakfast, and I was feeling defeated.
Then the perinatologist resident walked in. Indicating that my doctor was out of town, and that she had decided that I was not to be discharged today. Not at all. Nope, not going anywhere. Never mind that my OB was content with me being discharged, and the nurses felt that I should be discharged, and there was a home monitoring plan set up, nope - she didn't like this.
I could see the sign on the nursing station, asking doctor's to discharge their patients, and all I wanted to do was to go home.
Today, I remember as being a day of fighting. I didn't realize the fighting had only just begun.