[Diary of an Expat Bride] Doctor, doctor

In a city as large as İstanbul finding an English-speaking doctor was not a difficult challenge. The doctor I chose and stayed with for the next eight years worked out of a well-known private hospital in İstanbul. I also appreciated not just that the doctor spoke English, but also the secretaries and nurses. I happily went to this hospital and doctor yearly for my check-ups. The private hospital my doctor practiced at seemed more like a luxury hotel than a medical facility. A giant fountain in the lobby, well-dressed attendants everywhere, with the exception of a few people walking around in scrubs and white jackets, it seemed like a fabulous holiday resort.

After Can and I were married and got pregnant soon after, Can and I naturally scheduled an appointment with my doctor, who was also an obstetrician. This visit was different than my annual appointments. Those were pretty easy, with standard questions and procedures. I was barely in the examining room for five minutes. This was normal, but now since I was pregnant, I expected more time. We had a lot of questions, we were very nervous, and were (whether correctly or not) relying on my doctor to provide us with some answers and comfort.

Despite the odds and dire predictions of doctors both in the US and Turkey, I had gotten pregnant easily and naturally. Our happiness was short lived when I started bleeding in my first trimester. My doctor didn’t know why I was having this sporadic bleeding and wasn’t very comforting. He put me on bed rest and prescribed weekly injections of hormones. I followed his instructions to the letter, but the bleeding did not stop and when it became heavy, I would call him in a panic. Unfortunately, I never was able to reach him by phone, which only increased my anxiety. Disenchanted and desperate, I decided to get a second opinion.

Many of my Turkish and foreign friends suggested I see a doctor at a modest private hospital near the airport. Before making an appointment, my husband Can called the doctor. We weren’t sure if this doctor spoke English, so we thought it best that Can explain everything. What first impressed me was that we were able to reach him right away, unlike our current doctor. Second, he told Can nicely that he didn’t want to talk to him, he wanted to talk to me, and I could speak slowly in Turkish if needed. I instantly felt a connection with this doctor, as he asked me more detailed questions than my doctor of eight years. He reassured me over the phone without patronizing me. He acknowledged my concerns and spoke with me for 20 minutes, even though I wasn’t his patient yet. He told me to come in that day and that he would try and see me when he had a break.

Can and I got ready and went immediately to the hospital, which was near his parents’ home. There were no fountains or ornate statues in the lobby of this hospital. A cluttered, busy reception area, old plastic chairs and horrible yellow floors and rust colored linoleum gave this place the classic hospital feel. I doubted I would see any Turkish celebrity here, as I usually did at my other hospital. Still, we checked in with the friendly secretary and went to the cramped, small waiting room for my doctor. The nurse/secretary told us to wait in the general waiting room, and she would come and get us when my doctor was available. We waited for a couple of hours, normal since we did not have a set appointment. In that time, the nurse checked on us three times. She just wanted to let us know she hadn’t forgotten us, and I appreciated the gesture. I also appreciated not being in a room full of women with big, pregnant bellies. We were still afraid we were losing our baby, and the sight of anyone pregnant made me burst into tears.

When our turn came, I immediately knew we had made the right decision by seeing this doctor. He listened to me intently as I told him my medical history, and the current problems we were having. During the ultrasound he took the time to explain my ultrasound to me and to show me where the bleeding was coming from. According to him, the bleeding would continue until my 14th week, and I should remain as calm as possible. He had seen lots of women with similar problems have healthy babies and pregnancies. He also told me to get off of bed rest, as the most dangerous thing for my baby at that time was my mental health, which was not good. He advised me to go back to work at least part time as the bleeding was not caused by standing up or lifting things.