One thing always leads to another. I was in the middle of my morning routine of viewing photos on Flickr and reading blogs. It was during this that I spun off on into reading more into a photo that I saw, which consequently lead me into a blog entry regarding her abortion.
Although I've never had an abortion by choice, I've had a D&C and I've had injections of methotrexate.
This woman was sharing all of the details of the very painful journey of her abortion, and I couldn't help but think of what I went through. I remember my first pregnancy and how after 9 weeks, nothing was developing, but, I wasn't expelling it either. It was stuck. They decided that I needed extra help aborting the "products of conception". I had to have two injections of methotrexate, and then several days later, I was in the worst pain imaginable (except, perhaps, childbirth). I remember being in my bed when the cramps (contractions?) started. They began slow, then they increased to feel longer and deeper. What came out of me was worse. Seeing it all flushing away was out-rightly painful, beyond the physical.
My next miscarriage was at around 6 weeks. The hCG levels were doubling at first. It was painful hope that was helping along. Until it just stopped going up. My doctor wanted to wait a few more days. I didn't. She gave me the option of miscarrying on my own or having a D&C. I wanted it over now. I wanted whatever would be the fastest. I chose the D&C. I also thought this would help with the bleeding, the pain and for chromosomal testing on the "products...".
I pretended to be strong that day. It was nothing. Not a baby. Just cells. I told D to go to work, that the hospital was right down the street, I'd have a friend take me and pick me up; no big deal. I remember going in, all alone. I remember having to sit in the waiting room in my sticky hospital socks and tied double gowns. Some talk show was on, I'm sure. But, I was too busy trying not to cry. It was taking a long time for them to take me back. Apparently there was another gynecological case in the OR and it was taking longer than expected. I couldn't help but imagine uncontrollable bleeding and their need to take her uterus. I'm sure that's not what was happening, but, I didn't know. Finally, I'm called back and I have to lay down. And I'm cold. They put those warm blankets on and the anesthesiologist comes in and puts me out. I wake up in the recovery room with my RE next to me. She takes my arm with one of her hands and asks if I'm OK. I nod. In her other hand, she has a tight grasp around a small plastic cup full of red material. I assume that's what's left of my "baby". She tells me that she thinks she got enough tissue to test. They tell me I have to wait until I am able to pass urine. So, I try, but as soon as I get up, I feel faint and start to bleed very heavily. I'm nervous, because I've just made a huge mess of the bed and the floor. I yelp for a nurse. They help me back into bed, and bring warm rags and clean socks. Thankfully, it was only from a pool of blood that was there, after that passed, I seem fine.
All of this, and I'm alone. I'm still trying to be strong, but now, I'm slowly breaking down. My friend is called by the nurses to let her know that I should be ready to be picked up. They roll me down to the driveway in a wheelchair, only to find that no one is there to pick me up. We waited a few minutes, and finally someone shows up. It isn't my friend. It's my friend's employee. Apparently, she couldn't get away. I was embarrassed, scared and hurt. I just wanted to lay in my bed and cry. I just wanted D to be with me. It was his baby, too, his dream, too.
My third and final miscarriage (otherwise known as "When I Gave Up") happened in the middle of having dinner at a restaurant. I remember passing that little round bead in the restroom after having enormous pains in my lower belly. After that, it was over. No sadness. I was numb.
I still am. On the surface. Deep inside, it feels like a fresh 3rd degree burn.
