On a particularly frigid day in January 2018, I found myself lying on a cold examination table at the Maternal Fetal Medicine Center, awaiting a technician who would assess my unborn child. I was there mainly due to my fundal height measuring slightly off, but my doctor had reassured me that the odds were overwhelmingly in my favor—99% chance everything was perfectly fine. I had left his office just the day before, tears streaming down my face.
As the technician entered, her demeanor immediately set me on edge. She scanned my chart, then abruptly halted, scoffing as she turned to face me. “Have you been taking these medications throughout your entire pregnancy?” she inquired, her finger jabbing at the page.
“Yes,” I responded, “I take Zoloft for anxiety and Ativan for PTSD because—”
She interrupted, “And who prescribed these medications?” Her tone dripped with skepticism, as if I’d picked them up from some back alley.
“My psychiatrist—who specializes in treating pregnant women—prescribed them. He ensures I’m on a safe dosage and monitors me regularly.” As I spoke, she scribbled furiously on my chart, then highlighted the words “DRUG EXPOSURE” in bold letters, as if it were a scarlet letter. She informed me that I would need a more comprehensive ultrasound to check for any potential harm to my baby due to my “drug use.” She insisted on personally escorting me to the fetal cardiac center for an appointment that day.
In that moment, I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. Despite knowing I was receiving quality medical care and prioritizing both my mental health and my unborn child, self-doubt crept in. I felt ashamed for needing medication. I feared I had somehow harmed my baby.
“I don’t take these medications for fun,” I began to explain, “I’ve struggled with anxiety since childhood, dealing with everything from OCD to insomnia. My mother’s unexpected death at 22 made things worse—”
But then I stopped. Why was I justifying myself to someone who clearly didn’t understand? I owed her nothing. She wasn’t my doctor, and frankly, her judgment was unwarranted. It’s infuriating that some people can only see the baby and overlook the mother’s well-being. Spoiler alert: we’re connected. It’s infuriating to be judged without context, especially when mental health challenges don’t need a backstory to be valid.
My scans turned out fine. The detailed anatomy scan had already been suggested by my physician, and the results were normal. The fetal cardiologist reassured me that there was no significant link between antidepressants and heart issues. I didn’t have to return for future pregnancies.
Fast forward to June 2019, when I was back at the same high-risk ward for a level two anatomy scan with my second child. To my dismay, the same technician walked in. Upon glancing at my chart, she launched into her familiar lecture, “Have you really been on these medications during your pregnancy?”
“Yes,” I replied confidently this time. “I know what you’re going to say, but I have everything under control. My doctors are closely monitoring me, and I am fine.”
And I was fine. I am fine. Caring for oneself while consulting with healthcare professionals is the best path forward. That’s the essence of self-care and responsible parenting.
In a world where women often face scrutiny for their choices, it’s vital to stand firm in our decisions and prioritize our health.
For further insights on pregnancy and mental health, check out this excellent resource on in vitro fertilisation, as it provides valuable information for expecting parents. And for those considering self-insemination, our post on essential information is a must-read.
In summary, I faced judgment from a technician for taking necessary medications during my pregnancy, but I learned to advocate for my mental health and trust my medical team. We must prioritize our well-being, as it ultimately benefits both us and our children.
Keyphrase: Ultrasound technician judgment during pregnancy
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