Dignity

I am not naive enough to think that I am the only patient at my clinic, or the only person in the world to be dealing with a loss. I am not expecting fanfare or parades, weeping crowds on my doorstep, checks in the mail. But I did expect to be treated with more dignity during this process, and I'm incredibly frustrated at the way this is playing out.

My blood was drawn at the doctor's office, after seeing an empty womb and hearing the worst words I'd ever heard in my life. My midwife told me to come back in to the hospital on Friday for another blood test, to confirm I hadn't conceived again before they gave me the medication that would make this all final. Because my body, which can't seem to do anything conventionally when it comes to reproductivity, is having something called a "missed miscarriage" or an "incomplete miscarriage", which means that the baby passed away inside me but my body is not passing it. Strange that my mind is having a somewhat easier time coping with this than my body: I want this to be over but it's still holding on. But that's a psychological issue that I'm not interested in exploring right now.

Of course, the blood test just had to be on a Friday, which means a long weekend waiting for results... knowing it won't likely be good news, but hoping anyway. Monday finally came and... no phone call. After debating for hours whether I should "inconvenience" the office with a call, I decided that my peace of mind was worth the risk and I called, only to learn that my midwife doesn't work on Mondays. GEE... thanks for the heads up. Early Tuesday, I got the call that I was dreading but anxiously awaiting nonetheless. There is no new pregnancy. There is no way to get around the bleeding.

My midwife suggested giving my body 24 hours to start the process on its own, since I had a lot of painful cramps and contractions on Monday night. She asked where I'd like to pick up the prescription, if needed, which would be ready for me anytime today. I told her the Target nearest my house would be great, which is where I headed tonight because, of course, my body didn't cooperate and begin the process on its own. Stephen was ready to take Ella out for the evening if things got too intense, and my Mom was prepared to come over at a moment's notice if I, well, needed my mommy. But once I arrived at the Target, I realized they didn't have a pharmacy, which totally surprised me. I mean, doesn't every Target have a pharmacy? Isn't that a thing? Apparently it's not a thing, and when I called my clinic, they were closed for the day. Naturally. I headed to another Target and asked if their systems were linked and if they could please tell me if my midwife had called in the prescription at another Target. Yes, they are linked, but no, they have no record of my prescription being called in.

I can't believe that in the last 36 hours, nobody from my clinic thought to call me and ask for a different preferred pick-up location. I can't believe that whoever called the Target nearest my house and learned they didn't have a pharmacy did not then think to themselves that perhaps more action might be necessary. I can't believe that a woman who has already had to deal with the news of a miscarriage, the knowledge of an uncooperative body and the excruciating wait for results of my blood test was made to wait again because of lack of action on the part of my clinic.

I looked up the medication today and I really didn't like what I read... stories of extreme pain, cramping, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, fevers... none of this was mentioned to me by my midwife. Also, many women spoke of being prescribed pain medication to use during the miscarriage- another thing my midwife said nothing of, and certainly did not prescribe. The worst, though, was reading the drug warning: do NOT attempt to get pregnant for one full cycle after the miscarriage, due to the residual effects of the drug. My midwife had said we'd be fine to try again immediately. And there was no talk of what to expect with the medication, or what signs to look for in case something went wrong. I had to learn on the internet that possible side effects could include damage to my fertility.

I feel very disrespected right now. It is hard enough to know that my body couldn't even get a miscarriage right, and I've been carrying my baby for nearly two months after it passed away. To learn that my midwife was scant on information, and even possibly negligent with her advice, is disheartening to say the least. I just feel so incredibly mistreated. It is cruel irony to realize that I was treated with more dignity and respect and given much more information and support when I had a healthy baby than when I lost a baby. I can understand why some acquaintances might be silent- it's hard to know what to say to a grieving mother- though I still think that saying something- anything- is better than nothing at all. But a certified nurse midwife? A medically trained professional? It is TOO MUCH to be met with silence from someone who is an expert in these matters and should be my advocate right now.

I'm incredibly frustrated and I feel incredibly small. It is strange... when you birth a child, the response is overwhelming: the support, the cards, the gifts, the meals, the visitors, the love, and the greatest gift of all- a healthy baby. When you lose a child, many people avoid you completely, or say a few kind words but don't really know what to do a day, a week, a month after the loss. And honestly, before this experience, I wouldn't have known what to say or how to respond either, so I certainly don't blame those who aren't saying much. I just wish society knew how to supportively respond to loss they way we do with gain. Everyone celebrates with you when you experience good, but the bad stuff- the times when you feel most in need of human contact- are often the most lonely. Everyone at my clinic was so kind when I was there in person- that initial contact is so heartfelt, so gut-wrenching. The woman who drew my blood even hugged me, with tears in her eyes. But here it is a week later, and my pain isn't gone, and I still lost a child, and I'm not "over it"... and I'm treated like any other patient waiting on a prescription. The pain is not gone, the process is not over, and I'd still appreciate being treated delicately and respectfully. I mean, the baby is still INSIDE me, for goodness sake. I certainly haven't moved past the experience yet, because it hasn't even begun in some ways. And I'm scared for it to begin; I'm scared it will hurt. I don't want to go through this. I would appreciate being treated with respect, dignity, honor... and for crying out loud, CALL me when you can't fill my prescription, especially when you know it means further prolonging my opportunity to let this go, to begin the end, to feel the loss physically as well as mentally. It's the decent thing to do.