trigger pregnancy and loss, TMI
The sonographer’s assistant returned a short while later and told us how sorry she was. She was nice and I knew she meant it. She handed me a box of tissues and showed us out of the back door this time away from the room of pregnant women which was thoughtful.
We didn’t miss the waiting room together though and as I passed through I could feel the eyes of the women all on me, I could feel the room dip into quiet as I passed. I knew how they felt, I would have felt the same. Regardless of our differences we all are united in motherhood and it was so sad.
We were directed into a little side room, mostly we sat quietly as we waited for a doctor.
It seemed like an age before ‘nice nurse’ appeared, I was so glad to see it was her. She told me I would need an operation.
‘I would actually rather die than stay in this hospital and have an operation.’ I said.
‘And you will.’ She said.
I thought about that for a moment, I was so run down and tired, exhausted that I was trying to work out if I actually cared.
I’m scared of hospitals, not really scared I just don’t like to be in them. I hate to be away from the children and as much as I like to think they need me, I’m much more sure that it’s actually the other way around.
The doctor that we’re waiting for comes in, not to see me but to get something. Nice nurse explains that I’m reluctant to have the operation. The doctors writes something in code on the writing pad on the desk.
The nurse explains that I could try an injection, something that would stop the baby from growing further, a drug used to treat cancer, something that would stop all my cells growing for 3 months. It might work or it might not, if not then I would still have to have the operation.
My mind whirls, I want to go home. It’s exhausting. I consider running away then I suddenly turn into a grown up, ‘No,’ I say, ‘do the operation I can’t stand this anymore.’
They indicate that it’s an emergency situation and they hope that I’ll have the operation that afternoon.
Weird I think as they’ve spent the past few weeks telling me I wasn’t pregnant at all!
I sit there for a moment and wonder how I went from happily pregnant to waiting to see if I might die.
I remember asking someone if the baby had a heartbeat, they said no but I have a feeling that they wouldn’t have told me anyway, I wish now I had insisted on the truth.
It was hard to think. I ask to step outside to call my children and arrange for them to be taken care of.
I called the ones I could get hold of, it was a hard call for us all. Number 3 couldn’t bear to stay in school so I had him excused. Number 2 was excused from work but stayed as he didn’t know what to do with himself. The little ones would be taken care of by their dad.
I spoke to The Sister and asked her to take care of everyone should the worst happen.
I spoke to my Dad and he told me that I would be ok and that he loved me, that made everything seem scarier, I don’t think my Dad had ever said that before.
I went back in to see the first Doctor I had seen that morning. She was kind. I asked her what would happen to my baby once it was removed.
‘Baby would receive a multi-cultural blessing and then be treated with the rest of the bodily waste (!) is that ok?’ she said.
‘No that is not ok,’ I said, ‘I would like it returned to me please and I will sort something out when I get home.’ I don’t really know what exactly but I could think about that later.
‘Ok,’ she said, ‘make sure you make your wishes clear when you get up on the ward. I could see that she thought that was weird but I didn’t care.
This was something I had thought a lot about over the past couple of weeks as I waited to have a miscarriage. A nurse had said that most women suffer their losses on the toilet. The thought of accidently flushing my baby down the toilet made me feel sick, now the thought of my baby being disposed of without care made me feel sicker.
Luckily some nice lady had posted something on a forum about such things and women had replied with stories of private burials and planted trees for their losses and I wanted to do that.
I know that my baby was not a baby in its fullest form but it was still my baby. I wanted it, I loved it, and it would have made a wonderful addition to our family. This baby had a name. It was a product of love from The husband and I, and it was mine and they weren’t having it.
The doctor informed me that there was no space on the ward for me and that there would probably be later that evening, and the operation was likely to be scheduled first thing in the morning, unless anything changed.
They said they wanted me to stay there in case something happened, I said I would rather go home and get my bits and pieces together first, see some of my other children knowing they would be frantic and need me.
She wasn’t happy, gave a rundown of things to look out for, pain etc. The nurse said any serious pain call 999.
They took blood etc. I explained that my family had some clotting issues and that I would prefer not to bleed out on the operating table if they could help it. The Doctor assured me that my clotting factors would be checked.
We left in silence, there was nothing to say. We stopped off to get a sandwich and had to stop at the car repair shop. I wandered around wondering if I was going to keel over and die at any moment. I thought about the things I hadn’t managed to do with my life yet.
I tried to imagine how I would feel at not being pregnant anymore if I woke up from the operation. I couldn’t really imagine it.
I didn’t want to think about those things today.