16 March 2011

Who's the MD again?

Today I have the displeasure of visiting the dreaded OB for my D&C post op. Personally, I don't see the point, except of course to bottle my tears and sell them on eBay. This pregnancy was really rough on me, mostly because I knew something was wrong and my concerns were blatantly ignored every step of the way. Now it's over, and that's even worse. I knew something was wrong when the bleeding started. Two HCG blood draws were within "normal" range, debatable in my opinion but I'm not the doctor. But it's the best chance I had so I spent a small fortune on Progesterone suppositories and obediently poked one into a very uncomfortable place, think the back -maybe glove box is more fitting?- of a Volkswagen, each night. To be fair, the bleeding did stop.

At my next visit, I finally got to see the actual doctor rather than one of her evil henchman. I had done my homework and asked her about my chance of having a missed miscarriage, with progesterone only prolonging the inevitable. I was reassured that it was so unlikely that I need not worry because there was a heartbeat at 6 weeks. I am that 2%, a walking calamity and a freak of nature. 8 days later I started bleeding again, on the same day I had my 11 week ultrasound scheduled. I told myself that I was a complete nutter and everything was fine. The US Tech was awful. I realize that it was most likely unpleasant for her; nobody wants to be the bad news bearer. But why she felt the need to question me relentlessly about my previous ectopic pregnancy loss, I'll never know. I could see that my precious baby was too small, too still and completely lifeless. I really didn't need someone to rub salt in my missing fallopian tube and previous loss. So I sat there devastated, while wearing no pants, and just cried hysterically while plans were made to finalize another loss. Then they ushered me out the back door, no need to upset the lucky ones in the waiting room.

I want to be one of them, a blissfully ignorant drone, always smiling and never worried about anything significant. I want to be so totally unaware of this struggle against infertility that I have the nerve to start bitching about morning sickness, weight gain or anything else that I've NEVER had the chance to experience- much less fret over. I will puke on the dog 6 times a day, pee my pants on public transportation, gain a ridiculous amount of baby weight, grow hair Chewbacca style, and anything else the fertiles care to complain over. They can have my miscarriage, my ectopic, my unexplained reproductive woes - They could never hack it.

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