Monday, May 19, 2008

Lots of Blood

This post was previously posted May 4, 2008

Friday April 25th was an ordinary day except while at work amidst the many trips to the bathroom I began to notice the tiniest touch of baby pink in my urine. Instantly my instincts cringed. My nurse friends assured me this could be normal. I continued my day and eventually went home. By Saturday there was more blood and it had changed to a rust color. Baby pink on a pantyliner is not nearly as threatening as the color of drying blood. By this time I was getting scared. I called my sister-in-law and she called an on-call nurse. The nurse confirmed what I already knew, it could be completely normal at this early stage of pregnancy or it could be a symptom of a miscarriage or worse an ectopic pregnancy.

Saturday and Sunday were a nightmarish blur. Monday I went to for the ultrasound. I hunted for room 345 for a half an hour before I found the office. I went to three different third floors in the hospital. My husband arrived, then we waited for 45 minutes. We were ushered back to a dark little exam room and we waited again.

A grandma-esque sonographer then proceeded to press and poke and snap pictures of my innards. I never realized how much it hurts; at least the KY was warmed. As she snapped on I watched the snowy images on her screen. I knew enough to make out my uterus and what appeared to be a sac devoid of a fetus. I stopped watching and told myself I know nothing about sonography to stop being paranoid. I wanted to look to my husband sitting at a chair at the foot of the exam table, but could barely see him in the darkness. So alone I let my thoughts stew. Then she proceeded to take pictures vaginally. I'll forgo the details of this experience. Suffice it to say it was unpleasant. Apparently it requires heavy violation to take pictures of one's ovaries.

Finally the doctor came in for his consultation and explained what I had already surmised. Oddly the doctor nor the nurse never turned on the lights in the little exam room.

"Collapsed sac...possible ectopic pregnancy, but likely just a miscarriage."

I missed half of his well-rehearsed and only slightly empathetic speech, but I understood the diagnosis before he had begun anyhow. He slipped out of the dark room.

The sonographer had me get dressed then had us wait in some chairs in the hall. The hall was plastered with pictures of babies. I can't comprehend how people that do this as a living every day could be so insensitive to the emotions of such a situation. We sat together and choked back tears and stared at our shoes to avoid the wall of babies.

Then we trekked to yet another wing of the hospital for blood tests. Tim kept asking if I was okay, but I don't believe I uttered a word until we were back to the car.

We left the hospital and began to drive towards home. Halfway down the interstate I began the silent agonizing cry that scare boys so much. I pulled it together then we ate a silent mid-afternoon lunch at a near empty chain restaurant.

Finally we were home. We both collapsed in the bed and he held me while I cried. The past week I've tried to make sense of what happened Monday April 28th, but haven't been able to do so thus far. I've cried hysterically for days. Thursday we saw the OB/GYN and received the official diagnosis of a miscarriage. I meant to return to work Friday, but could not bear the thought of being around a room full of people that thanks to office gossip were well aware of our situation. So, it's now been nearly a week. I feel even more alone and unhappy now. The sadness is a depression now. I feel nearly agoraphobic and dread tomorrow.

I've never felt so empty.

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