I lay alone in an exam room, my heart races, small tears are trying to escape through the corner of my eyes but I am fighting them with all my might. Bad memories flood my consciousness. I haven't been back here since losing my baby in December. Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day just so happens to also be the day I scheduled my annual well woman's check up. I didn't realize that when I made the appointment over two months ago. I already wrote one post about this day, a day we remember. But nothing helps you remember like returning to the scene of the crime. Now I am going to tell you what this day was really like for me.
I sit in a waiting room amongst swollen tummies and little brand new baby cries. I over hear two expectant mothers complaining about their various pregnancy symptoms that are making them uncomfortable. I am escorted back to the exam room where a nurse, the nurse, checks my blood pressure. And I remember. I remember calling and speaking to this very nurse, telling her something was wrong and I thought my baby had died. I remember her telling me that my doctor was out of town and that she was sure everything was fine and I "just needed to relax". I told her I could not find my baby's heart beat on my rented at home fetal doppler. She knows I have miscarried before, but she refuses to allow me to come in to be seen. She tells me the office is closing early for a Christmas party that day and I will have to wait until the next day to come in and see the on call doctor who is scheduled for that Saturday. I plead with her, but she brushes me off and leaves me hanging, terrified, with no where to turn. Out of desperation I call Dr. G's office. He has already released me back to my regular obgyn but I hope he will see me and do an ultrasound. Unfortunately, he is in surgery all day. I contemplate going to the ER, but I did that one too many times with Riley and she was always fine and two weeks later I got a bill for $700. So i white knuckle my way through the day and night until I can go see a doctor.
Today I walked by the ultrasound room and couldn't help but peek in. And I remember. I remember laying in that very room eyes clenched closed while a doctor finally attended to me, searching and searching for a heart beat that was there two days ago, but now can't be found. I remember his words, "I'm sorry guys but I can't find a heart beat". I remember how quiet the office was that Saturday and how my sobs seemed to echo down the quiet halls as my husband held me. I remember looking into his red, swollen eyes and feeling so incredibly guilty for losing another one of his babies, feeling like I had let him down. I remember the plastic replicas in that room. Little plastic babies at all different gestational ages. I remember I stared for so long at the 16 week baby replica, so tiny, yet so big and perfectly formed, all the body parts there and functioning. I just stared at it.
I remember seeing my obgyn when she returned to town and discussing my options, D&E or induction of natural labor. She helped me sort through the most difficult time of my life and make the decision best for me. She came into see me today, immediately sat down and just said, "How are you and there are tissues on the wall." Many people have told me after the terrible experience with her nurse, I should find a new doctor in a new practice, but a good, thorough doctor who knows your history, knows you and gets you is hard to find. So I put up with said nurse so I can stay with the doctor who has been with me through it all, even calling me at night on her personal time to discuss this with me. She told me today my case is one of the worst she has ever seen, that she wishes there was something she could do for me but there isn't, except pray. She says she will pray for me. But I am beyond medical help.
I left the office today completely exhausted. I don't need a special day to remember. I don't need a candle to remember. I remember every day just by being awake, and even in my sleep sometimes. I slept all afternoon to escape this day, to escape remembering. But I sit here now, remembering and retelling with a candle lit beside me. My baby girl comes bursting through the door, runs up to the candle and says "I blow out candle!" I tell her at 8:00 she can. For one hour this candle will burn and when she blows it out the rest of the world will forget this day and these babies but the light that burns inside of me with love and longing for my babies will burn on forever. I remember you dear ones, each and every single one of you will never ever be forgotten by the one person who loved you more than anything while you were on this earth, your mother.
I love you always and forever and no matter what.
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