A Memoir, Part 3
(You can read part one of my memoir here and part two here.)
I waited in a plastic chair outside the radiology department in the hospital. When the ultrasound tech called my name I went into a dark room and she invited me to lay down on the exam table. The screen of the ultrasound machine glowed a dim blue.
She squirted some warm goo onto my belly and moved the transducer over it. I waited. She was making measurements and typing things into the keyboard. My untrained eyes searched the screen, and although I didn't really know what to look for, I knew that something wasn't right. This wasn't like the cute ultrasound photos you see expectant mothers showing off to all their friends. I just saw... well... nothing.
After what seemed like an eternity, the ultrasound tech spoke. "Okay, so here is what we call the yolk sac," she said, pointing to a black balloon-shaped hole on the screen. "Inside this sac there should be an embryo with a heartbeat, but... I'm having trouble finding it."
She moved the transducer around some more, looking at that "yolk sac" from every imaginable angle. She even tried another transducer, but still nothing.
Finally, she turned the machine off and looked at me. "I'm going to send these pictures upstairs to the doctor, and you can go up and he'll do his own exam. But from where I sit this does not look like a viable pregnancy, unless your dates are way off. I'm sorry."
I walked upstairs to the doctor's office, half in shock and half not understanding what had just been said to me. Not a viable pregnancy? What did that mean? Wasn't I pregnant? Didn't I take a pregnancy test with a plus sign on it?
I waited in the waiting room upstairs at the doctor's office until the nurse called me in. The first thing that nurse said to me was, "I'm sorry this is happening to you," and gave me a hug. Her sympathy brought things into a sudden focus, and I for the first time I understood that this was bad news. Tears started to stream down my cheeks. She handed me a box of tissues and gently said, "The doctor will be in very soon."
After a few minutes, the doctor came in. He was not a doctor that I had seen before-- because this was an emergency appointment they had scheduled me with the only doctor who had an opening that day. He performed a rather rough internal exam. Then he explained, "What we have here is a blighted ovum. A chromosomal abnormality occurred at conception and your baby never developed into a viable embryo. So, you have two options: you can wait for miscarriage to happen by itself, or you can schedule a D&C to get rid of the pregnancy surgically. What would you like to do?"
How's that for bedside manner?
After a few minutes of hemming and hawing, I said something like, "I don't know what I want to do. I need to talk to my husband."
"Okay," the doctor replied. "Just call us if you want to schedule the surgery." He may have said something else, but I don't remember. I do remember him leaving the room rather quickly.
As I got dressed, the tears started again. I got out to my car as quickly as I could. I still didn't even understand what was going on in my body. I had heard of people having miscarriages, but I had always thought that it was because a baby had died in the womb, and so miscarrying was like giving birth to a dead baby. But apparently, this baby never developed. So what was I to expect? Would I go home and deliver a tiny dead baby? I had never really prepared for this possibility, or done any research on the subject. I couldn't think clearly. I was just stunned.
I called M-- he was busy teaching. I cried to his voicemail. "They couldn't find a heartbeat. I think the baby's dead. I'm going to have a miscarriage. I'm supposed to schedule a surgery."
I drove home, and before I even got there, M called back. "I'm coming home right now," he said. "Just stay put."
(M made a vow to me later on that he would never again let me go to an ultrasound alone. And although we've had a total of seven ultrasounds for our three girls, he has been at every one, even when it meant bringing two kids along and wrangling them himself!)
I arrived home, went upstairs and laid on the bed. After I steeled myself and made it through some phone calls canceling my lessons and orchestra rehearsal for the afternoon, I called my Mom. I cried into the phone to her. She was loving and reassuring, through her own tears. "This happened to your aunt, and she had two beautiful children after that. It doesn't mean that you won't have a baby. It's going to be okay."
M came home and gathered me in his arms. We spent a good long time holding one another, just being sad. There wasn't much that could be said.
After the initial wave of sorrow had passed, M entered detective mode to figure out exactly what was going on, and what the best decision would be regarding the D&C. He looked in some books and did some internet searches. While he did this, I called my sister. She said she would come over right away, and bring us Chinese food. I tearfully accepted, grateful for her presence.
She brought a movie to distract me. We watched it together, and as we munched on noodles and egg rolls, the shock was starting to wear off. I started thinking a little more clearly. If the end of this pregnancy is inevitable, I thought, then why should I just sit around waiting for it to happen? If there's a surgery that can help me, so be it.
Even as I made that decision, I was starting to feel twinges of pain in my belly.
We finished our movie. After a long, emotional day, I was ready for bed. My sister gave me a long hug and prepared to leave.
"Call me if you need anything, okay?" she smiled.
I nodded.
M and I settled in to bed. The pain in my belly was worsening. Even so, I managed to drift off to sleep.
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To be continued...
I waited in a plastic chair outside the radiology department in the hospital. When the ultrasound tech called my name I went into a dark room and she invited me to lay down on the exam table. The screen of the ultrasound machine glowed a dim blue.
She squirted some warm goo onto my belly and moved the transducer over it. I waited. She was making measurements and typing things into the keyboard. My untrained eyes searched the screen, and although I didn't really know what to look for, I knew that something wasn't right. This wasn't like the cute ultrasound photos you see expectant mothers showing off to all their friends. I just saw... well... nothing.
After what seemed like an eternity, the ultrasound tech spoke. "Okay, so here is what we call the yolk sac," she said, pointing to a black balloon-shaped hole on the screen. "Inside this sac there should be an embryo with a heartbeat, but... I'm having trouble finding it."
She moved the transducer around some more, looking at that "yolk sac" from every imaginable angle. She even tried another transducer, but still nothing.
Finally, she turned the machine off and looked at me. "I'm going to send these pictures upstairs to the doctor, and you can go up and he'll do his own exam. But from where I sit this does not look like a viable pregnancy, unless your dates are way off. I'm sorry."
I walked upstairs to the doctor's office, half in shock and half not understanding what had just been said to me. Not a viable pregnancy? What did that mean? Wasn't I pregnant? Didn't I take a pregnancy test with a plus sign on it?
I waited in the waiting room upstairs at the doctor's office until the nurse called me in. The first thing that nurse said to me was, "I'm sorry this is happening to you," and gave me a hug. Her sympathy brought things into a sudden focus, and I for the first time I understood that this was bad news. Tears started to stream down my cheeks. She handed me a box of tissues and gently said, "The doctor will be in very soon."
After a few minutes, the doctor came in. He was not a doctor that I had seen before-- because this was an emergency appointment they had scheduled me with the only doctor who had an opening that day. He performed a rather rough internal exam. Then he explained, "What we have here is a blighted ovum. A chromosomal abnormality occurred at conception and your baby never developed into a viable embryo. So, you have two options: you can wait for miscarriage to happen by itself, or you can schedule a D&C to get rid of the pregnancy surgically. What would you like to do?"
How's that for bedside manner?
After a few minutes of hemming and hawing, I said something like, "I don't know what I want to do. I need to talk to my husband."
"Okay," the doctor replied. "Just call us if you want to schedule the surgery." He may have said something else, but I don't remember. I do remember him leaving the room rather quickly.
As I got dressed, the tears started again. I got out to my car as quickly as I could. I still didn't even understand what was going on in my body. I had heard of people having miscarriages, but I had always thought that it was because a baby had died in the womb, and so miscarrying was like giving birth to a dead baby. But apparently, this baby never developed. So what was I to expect? Would I go home and deliver a tiny dead baby? I had never really prepared for this possibility, or done any research on the subject. I couldn't think clearly. I was just stunned.
I called M-- he was busy teaching. I cried to his voicemail. "They couldn't find a heartbeat. I think the baby's dead. I'm going to have a miscarriage. I'm supposed to schedule a surgery."
I drove home, and before I even got there, M called back. "I'm coming home right now," he said. "Just stay put."
(M made a vow to me later on that he would never again let me go to an ultrasound alone. And although we've had a total of seven ultrasounds for our three girls, he has been at every one, even when it meant bringing two kids along and wrangling them himself!)
I arrived home, went upstairs and laid on the bed. After I steeled myself and made it through some phone calls canceling my lessons and orchestra rehearsal for the afternoon, I called my Mom. I cried into the phone to her. She was loving and reassuring, through her own tears. "This happened to your aunt, and she had two beautiful children after that. It doesn't mean that you won't have a baby. It's going to be okay."
M came home and gathered me in his arms. We spent a good long time holding one another, just being sad. There wasn't much that could be said.
After the initial wave of sorrow had passed, M entered detective mode to figure out exactly what was going on, and what the best decision would be regarding the D&C. He looked in some books and did some internet searches. While he did this, I called my sister. She said she would come over right away, and bring us Chinese food. I tearfully accepted, grateful for her presence.
She brought a movie to distract me. We watched it together, and as we munched on noodles and egg rolls, the shock was starting to wear off. I started thinking a little more clearly. If the end of this pregnancy is inevitable, I thought, then why should I just sit around waiting for it to happen? If there's a surgery that can help me, so be it.
Even as I made that decision, I was starting to feel twinges of pain in my belly.
We finished our movie. After a long, emotional day, I was ready for bed. My sister gave me a long hug and prepared to leave.
"Call me if you need anything, okay?" she smiled.
I nodded.
M and I settled in to bed. The pain in my belly was worsening. Even so, I managed to drift off to sleep.
----------
----------
To be continued...
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