I still wanted to think there was just something tricky but everything could still be fine. I teared up as we were leaving and Rob offered to just hang out with me until the next appointment. I declined and went to meet with a client instead.
I dropped my client off for a home visit with his mother, telling him I’d be back to pick him up in a couple of hours. Then I went back to the doctor’s office to have the ultrasound.
Stonefaced, I approached the window and handed my script to the 7 month pregnant woman at the desk. I held back, stiff, no tears.
Rob and I were led back into the ultrasound room where I disrobed and I prepared myself for the discomfort of an internal ultrasound. The doctor waved the ultrasound wand around for a few moments. She looked at my uterus and ovaries and said my ovaries looked good. Nothing about my uterus.
“Am I still pregnant” I asked beginning to sob.
“Yes.” She said carefully. “Give me just a minute and we’ll talk about it and I show you what I’m seeing.”
“Ok,” she said taking in a deep breath, her voice calm and even, “Its not good news. You’ve had a miscarriage.”
She moved the monitor so I could see it and pointed to the small fetus.
“How long has the baby been dead?”
“I would guess 2-3 weeks.”
Now I was really sobbing. I thought I knew my body, knew how to listen to it. But I hadn’t heard a peep.
She told me I could put my clothes back on and that she or my regular doctor could counsel me on my options. I waved dismissively that I didn’t care who talked to me.
I crouched on the floor next to Rob balling and holding each other. We held on and held on, until suddenly I realized I need to get dressed. I then had to call a coworker to pick my client up.
“I’m sorry to bug you.” I said through sobs.
“What’s the matter?”
“The baby’s dead.” I managed to eek out while hyperventilating.
“Oh, Karin. Oh, KARIN. I’m soo sorry.” And I knew she was.
It so happens the coworker I spoke with has been through this on multiple occasions and I have to say, it made it much easier. She told me not to worry about anything, she’d make sure everything was taken care of. I gave her some phone numbers and she told me to just take my time and take care of myself.
The doctor came in and gave me information on my options. I could: do nothing and wait for my body to take care of it, she could send me home with some medication to cause my body to get rid of it, or we could schedule a D&C procedure to remove the fetus and other stuff surgically.
I had no trouble deciding. All I could think of was if I did the medication variety it would be very painful and last a long time and may not entirely get the job done. If I just waited, I had this awful image of being at a family’s home talking with them about their treatment only to beginning cramping and bleeding. Neither of these were acceptable. If only for physical reasons, I wanted it done. ASAP. I was granted an appointment the next morning.
The OB then went through a series of questions. I don’t remember everything she asked. But I do remember her asking if I’d ever had a serious drug problem or had recently had any heavy alcohol use.
“I’m thinking developing a heavy drug habit right now sounds pretty fucking good.”
“Would you like me to prescribe you some valium to help get you through.”
I looked up, relieved, decisive. “Yes. Yes I would.”
She wrote out scripts and we left. We stopped at the liquor store and the pharmacy on the way home.
Knowing I had to have surgery the next morning, I bought one Bud Light. We walked in and I popped a Valium, got together some pretzels and brought our beers outside. Rob and I held hands, while drinking our beers and watching the creek rush below us as the sun set.
I dropped my client off for a home visit with his mother, telling him I’d be back to pick him up in a couple of hours. Then I went back to the doctor’s office to have the ultrasound.
Stonefaced, I approached the window and handed my script to the 7 month pregnant woman at the desk. I held back, stiff, no tears.
Rob and I were led back into the ultrasound room where I disrobed and I prepared myself for the discomfort of an internal ultrasound. The doctor waved the ultrasound wand around for a few moments. She looked at my uterus and ovaries and said my ovaries looked good. Nothing about my uterus.
“Am I still pregnant” I asked beginning to sob.
“Yes.” She said carefully. “Give me just a minute and we’ll talk about it and I show you what I’m seeing.”
“Ok,” she said taking in a deep breath, her voice calm and even, “Its not good news. You’ve had a miscarriage.”
She moved the monitor so I could see it and pointed to the small fetus.
“How long has the baby been dead?”
“I would guess 2-3 weeks.”
Now I was really sobbing. I thought I knew my body, knew how to listen to it. But I hadn’t heard a peep.
She told me I could put my clothes back on and that she or my regular doctor could counsel me on my options. I waved dismissively that I didn’t care who talked to me.
I crouched on the floor next to Rob balling and holding each other. We held on and held on, until suddenly I realized I need to get dressed. I then had to call a coworker to pick my client up.
“I’m sorry to bug you.” I said through sobs.
“What’s the matter?”
“The baby’s dead.” I managed to eek out while hyperventilating.
“Oh, Karin. Oh, KARIN. I’m soo sorry.” And I knew she was.
It so happens the coworker I spoke with has been through this on multiple occasions and I have to say, it made it much easier. She told me not to worry about anything, she’d make sure everything was taken care of. I gave her some phone numbers and she told me to just take my time and take care of myself.
The doctor came in and gave me information on my options. I could: do nothing and wait for my body to take care of it, she could send me home with some medication to cause my body to get rid of it, or we could schedule a D&C procedure to remove the fetus and other stuff surgically.
I had no trouble deciding. All I could think of was if I did the medication variety it would be very painful and last a long time and may not entirely get the job done. If I just waited, I had this awful image of being at a family’s home talking with them about their treatment only to beginning cramping and bleeding. Neither of these were acceptable. If only for physical reasons, I wanted it done. ASAP. I was granted an appointment the next morning.
The OB then went through a series of questions. I don’t remember everything she asked. But I do remember her asking if I’d ever had a serious drug problem or had recently had any heavy alcohol use.
“I’m thinking developing a heavy drug habit right now sounds pretty fucking good.”
“Would you like me to prescribe you some valium to help get you through.”
I looked up, relieved, decisive. “Yes. Yes I would.”
She wrote out scripts and we left. We stopped at the liquor store and the pharmacy on the way home.
Knowing I had to have surgery the next morning, I bought one Bud Light. We walked in and I popped a Valium, got together some pretzels and brought our beers outside. Rob and I held hands, while drinking our beers and watching the creek rush below us as the sun set.
This gave me the chills. I'm so sorry, my dear. I went through this same thing almost 10 years ago. I wrote about it and will email it to you. It got published in Jane magazine, but they edited the fuck out of it and gave it a tidy little ending. I read a bunch of books about miscarriage, trying to make sense of it.
ReplyDeleteI had a D&C and got preg with my daughter a couple months later.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
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