A Memoir, Part 4

(You'll find part one of my memoir here, part two here, and part three here.)

I awoke in the middle of the night, in severe pain.  I managed to get downstairs to the bathroom and found two Advil in the medicine cabinet.  I went back upstairs to lay down, and M was awake.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"It's starting to hurt pretty bad," I replied.

"Did you take something?"

"Yes."

"Do we need to call the doctor?"

"I don't know... I don't think so... not yet.  I'll let you know."

(Since I hadn't been given any instructions at my visit the previous day, I didn't really know what to do.  I assumed this was the miscarriage happening, but I didn't know if it required any action on my part.  I think I was focused mostly on getting through the pain.)

I laid there for a few more minutes, and the pain seemed to worsen rather than get better.  I curled up into a ball in bed, waiting for the Advil to take effect.

(If the memory of the pain of childbirth is softened by the joy you feel after it is all over, then the pain of this miscarriage seemed to be sharpened by the sorrow that accompanied it.  This was some of the worst pain that I can remember.  Maybe it wasn't actually that bad, but that's how I remember it.)

I couldn't lay down in bed any longer, and I didn't want to disturb M.  I went downstairs and sat in the living room.  At the time I was reading Harry Potter, so I pulled that out to keep my mind off the pain.  It didn't help-- it seemed like such a frivolous thing to be reading at the time.

(It's funny-- since then, even though I've tried multiple times, I've never been able to get back into reading Harry Potter.)

The pain came in waves, but never fully went away.  During the peaks of the waves I sat in our living room chair, clutching my Harry Potter book, shivering, feeling sick to my stomach.  And I bled and bled and bled, like my insides were being emptied.

Finally, after a couple of hours of this, I took a third Advil.  I was so exhausted that I fell into bed and slept.

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I awoke again around 7 AM-- the sharpness was gone but the pain was still there.  I was worn out, drained... and so very sad.

M had already called in to work and requested the day off.  He came into the room as my eyes were opening.  "How are you?" he said, his eyes filled with worry.

"A little better," I said weakly.

"I think we should call the doctor, and schedule this surgery, if that's what you want to do.  Or at least let them know what's going on."

"Okay," I said.

He brought me my phone and I sat up in bed.  I dialed the number, not even sure who I should talk to.  "For appointments, press 4."  Sure.  I needed an appointment for a surgery, right?

"Womens' Health Care appointments, may I help you?" chirped the telephone operator.

"I need to schedule a D&C," I replied.

"Okaaay... what's your name and date of birth?"

I gave her all of my information.  She retrieved my chart.

"It says here that you saw Dr. ----- yesterday, but he didn't write any follow up in your chart.  He didn't write anything, really.  Did he give you any instructions?  Were you supposed to have the surgery?"

"I don't know... he said I needed to make a choice and call back."

(I later learned that this doctor was a few weeks away from retirement when I saw him, which explains the general sloppy un-helpfulness.)

"Well, it's going to take a while to get you in for a D&C.  We usually schedule them two weeks ahead of time."

I was in no mood for this.  I began to cry.  "Well, I'm in a lot of pain right now.  Is there anything we can do right away, please?  I just want this to be over."

M gave me the thumbs-up from across the room.

The telephone operator seemed to get it.  "Hold on, honey," she said.  "Let me have you talk with the nurse on duty."

I explained my symptoms to the nurse.  "You need to come to the emergency room right away," she said.  "I'll have Dr. ----- waiting for you." (A different doctor than I had seen yesterday, thankfully!)  "He's the OB/GYN on call today."

Relief flooded over me.  "Thank you," I said.  M helped me to the car, and we went.

We arrived at the ER and a nurse ushered us to an exam room and took my vitals.  "The doctor will be right with you," she said.

And he was, within 5 minutes.

He introduced himself.  His kind eyes were reassuring.  "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Better," I replied.  And I was.  The pain had all but subsided at that point.

"Can you explain to me what happened last night?"

So I told him the story of the previous night-- the pain, the bleeding, the lack of sleep.

"Okay.  It sounds to me like your body has done its own D&C.  But I'll have to do an exam, just to be sure.  I know that's asking a lot right now.  Are you okay?"

I nodded.

He smiled.  "I'll give you a minute to get undressed.  Take your time."

He came back in a few minutes and performed the exam.  Although everything was sore, he was very gentle and I barely felt it.

"Good news," he said.  "It's all over.  Your body has done this all for you, and you don't have to have surgery."

He helped me sit up and I pulled the hospital gown over me.

"Take it easy for the next day or two.  No heavy lifting, and rest as much as you can.  I'd like you to have your blood drawn today, and we're going to check your hormone levels.  Then I want you to come back next week and have another blood draw.  We'll make sure that your hormone levels are going down.  Sometimes, if anything is left inside you after the miscarriage, your hormone levels will stay elevated, and that means we might have to surgically remove some tissue.  It doesn't look like that will be the case here, but we have to make sure."

I nodded.

"You'll come back each week for a blood draw until your hormone levels are below a certain number.  The lab will call you after each draw to let you know whether you need to come again or not."

I nodded again.  I was so thankful for all of this explanation.

He smiled.  "The good news is, this type of miscarriage is very common.  Ninety percent of people who experience this type of loss go on to have successful pregnancies, no problem.  You'll just need to wait two or three months before you can try again.  Give your body a chance to recover."

M and I nodded.  "Thank you so much," I said.

"You're welcome," he said.  "I'll send someone in to do the blood draw.  Please call me if you have any other symptoms.  But I'm sure the next time we see you, it will be under happier circumstances."  He smiled reassuringly and left.

M helped me dress and hugged me.  Relief mixed with sadness.  It was a strange emptiness, and two or three months seemed like a long time before we could try to fill that void.

We went home and I rested that day.  M waited on me.  We began the slow process of "un-telling" everyone that we had told about the pregnancy.  M did most of that dirty work, I'm afraid.  It was hard for me to talk about it for the first few weeks... I felt sort of embarrassed that we had told so many folks.

I went back dutifully each week for my blood draw.  After three weeks, a nurse called and informed me that my numbers had gone down to normal levels.  I didn't need to come back.

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To be continued...