During my routine prenatal session with my midwife, I discovered that simply because of my height and weight, I will be labeled a “high-risk pregnancy.” At the time, I was not a bit phased by this. I know that the BMI charts were created by insurance companies who are experts on health and would know what a healthy weight and height combination is, of course (sarcasm). My midwife wasn’t the least bit concerned because I told her what my diet looks like and my recent weight loss (roughly 50lbs over the past 2 years). My reply was simply, “Well that means insurance will pay for more tests, right?” and then I laughed. I was genuinely not phased because I know that the BMI charts are a result of a bunch of fat-prejudiced white guys who decided that skinny is better. Whatever. I’m long since over it.
But then…
I called to make an ultrasound appointment and ended up nearly in tears.
To make a long story short, the woman trying to help me schedule my ultrasound heard the words “high-risk pregnancy” and referred me to the only place that does high-risk pregnancy ultrasounds, which severely limited my ability to schedule an ultrasound at a reasonable time and place. Now granted, this was a miscommunication because I have never made an appointment like this on my own and I wasn’t sure how the heck to read the order that had been printed. Also, the woman was asking for information that wasn’t labeled the way she was asking for it. So, I do not blame her for trying to be helpful with the information she had been able to gather from me.
The problem here is that this “high-risk” label caused unnecessary strife for me and my midwife and every other person I subsequently called, nearly crying. (I was frustrated and just wanted to see my baby and do as my midwife needed me to do.)
You see, I spent the next hour and a half trying to get ahold of my midwife and trying to figure out if there really was only one location that I could get an ultrasound done. I got ahold of her, thank goodness. She was lovely and patient and straight up said the information I had gleaned was wrong. (Yay!)
I finally got ahold of the right place and the right person and left out the “high-risk” label while scheduling the ultrasound (for fear that I would get transferred to the wrong place, again) and I got my ultrasound scheduled! It’s today, by the way. 🙂
So, all this to say…LABELS SUCK.
It literally says on my chart: “Obesity complicating pregnancy”
Um, seriously? I’m obese? Since when is a size 12 obese?? Granted I’m not a size 12 through the middle right now, but I’m making a friggin’ person in there so I get a pass.
Here’s a pic of pre-preggers me if you’re looking for a reference point.
The high-risk label really did come as a surprise to me. I figured if the midwife talked to me about my diet and whatnot, she could take the label off. Not the case, it seems. It is discouraging to have made so many changes, to have seen so many changes, but then for it to come to naught, in a sense, when it comes to medical professionals.
Frankly, you can take your high-risk, obese labels and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine. Because I don’t fit those labels. And I’m sure there are plenty more Moms-to-be that are in the same boat as me.
But I don’t need to prove anything to anyone. I eat highly nutritious foods—lots of fruits and veggies. I feel better than I have since High School. I have healed and am still on a healing path—spiritually, mentally and physically.
I’ll just need to be my own advocate and go into medical environments remembering how far I have come and how much happier my body is these days.
Eat well. Keep moving. Let your body do what it’s going to do and be the shape it’s comfortable being. I’m not about to force myself to try and fit an across-the-board, generic label that doesn’t allow for difference and diversity. Difference and diversity are what make up this world. And it is wonderfully and beautifully made.
Searching For Health And Healing Through Food 