Although I accepted that these things happen, I have a little bit of anger about how it all came to pass. I’m not sure I could have prevented anything. But I do feel that not every option was presented, and there was information that could have been uncovered that might have helped us in the months to come.
I visited my doctor when I found out I was pregnant to see what if anything needed to be done at this point: tests, precautions I didn’t know about, etc. It was during this visit that I realized what I had seen as her professional demeanor was really more of a detachment. Other than constantly correcting my vocabulary, she answered my direct questions but volunteered nothing. I felt she wasn’t trying to understand what I wanted to know or consider what else I may not have thought about. I had been ok with her reserve before because I normally don’t like the maternal / friendly type of doctor. But now, I started to realize that I needed someone that was a little more involved. I mentally made a note to ask around and look for other options.
But just about a week after telling Oliver, I started to spot. I went back to this doctor and asked her if I was still pregnant. An ultrasound showed that I was and she said she thought she could see a heartbeat (I saw a flicker on the screen) but that it was too early to really say for sure. I asked her if there were any tests that I could take to see if there was anything else wrong. She said there were no tests and that I should take large doses of magnesium until the spotting stopped.
I did as she instructed me to, but it continued. I kept in touch with my doctor and at my next visit she said the same thing. No tests. Take magnesium. Wait.
Three weeks had gone by since the spotting had initially started and it had gradually become worse. I called my doctor’s office yet again for an appointment and was told I would have to wait two days to come in. At this point I was done waiting and called Oliver at work to tell him I was going to the hospital.
An ultrasound showed a pregnancy that had stopped progressing. I wasn’t surprised. I was scheduled for a D&C that afternoon. Because they were only able to fit me in later in the evening, I also had to stay the night. This bummed me out, after all the waiting and wondering, all I wanted was for it to be over and to go home.
The hospital staff were all extremely nice, sometimes too much so. But I knew that in more cases than not they were dealing with women who were really losing something, instead of something that could have been something. I left the envelope of grief counseling, burial and memorial options unopened. I waited patiently for my turn and tried one last time before being put under to convince the chief surgeon to send me home that night. Instead Oliver brought me my iPad packed with movies and a bag for the morning.