i need to tell this story, because it still doesn't seem real.

on monday, i brought my husband with me to the ultrasound. if i'm honest with myself, i was full of false hopes. foolish hopes--hcg doesn't lie. on the outside, it was because i'd need him, but inside that 5% of me that always hopes for the best, i wanted him to see the heart beat.

there was no heartbeat, and there had been no growth. the sonographer said that the yolk sac was too big, and she said that usually indicates chromosomal abnormalities.

ah, the old "chromosomal abnormalities." doctors will tell you that 50%-to-most early miscarriages are due to this. a sperm with the wrong number of chromosomes, or an egg (usually it's the egg, i read today), or something wrong in the genetic "instructions" for combining. this thought was never a comfort to me, because it didn't come with any guarantees that all my eggs aren't defective. no guarantees that it wouldn't happen over and over. i finally figured out why "they" think it's good news--it's proof positive that it's not your fault. i'm not looking for blame--i'm looking to have a baby.

i'm telling the whole story of my d&c because i need to process, but also because all of the other accounts i've read tended to gloss over the whole thing. maybe i am the only person in the world who feels traumatized from the experience itself...

my doctor said i'd have the d&c scheduled for the following afternoon or evening, and to call him at 8:00 in the morning. i was pissed off because you have to fast all day beforehand. he suggested having breakfast at 6 am. i decided i wasn't going to set my alarm for 6 to eat breakfast just in case it was at 2 pm. i ate at 7:15 when i got up. i had a bowl of shredded oats, some walnuts, and then a bowl of cheerios with blueberries.

the procedure was scheduled for 4. i had to be at the hospital at 12:30 for pre-operative testing. i got there and signed in. i was given a cup and a vial for urine. i told the person who gave them to me that that simply wasn't going to happen--i hadn't had anything to drink all day. she said that that was okay, she was just obligated to give me the vial. i filled out some paperwork, and then waited to check in. a woman checked me in and had me sign a bunch of papers (hipaa, informed consent, etc). i went back to the waiting room. i was called back to get blood drawn. the nurse was very kind. after she weighed me, she had me sit down, and she offered condolences. when i started to cry, she offered me tissues and put her hand on me for comfort. i had written on the form that i was emetophobic, and i would require anti-emetics along with the anesthesia. she told me she's write that on her communication to the anesthesiologist, but i should also mention it when we meet. then she convinced me to try to pee, and i did.

i was sent back to the waiting room for a while, and then someone came to walk me over to ambulatory surgery. when i got there, a girl took me back to a locker room to change into a hospital gown and slip-resistant socks. i left my regular socks on underneath, since my feet are usually cold. she asked me if i was okay, and i said yes. i guess i started tearing up at some point, because she asked again, and i started openly crying. i can't remember what she said to me, but it was kind.

when i came out, i saw someone i knew out of the corner of my eye--it was the mother of the former student who had sung at my wedding. she just walked by really quick, but i knew it was her. i asked if there was a nurse sullivan there, and one of the nurses came up and said her last name was sullivan. i couldn't remember the first name, i just said no...another one. it was her. she came over and gave me a hug and i really started sobbing. i couldn't believe i was there.

i was terrified. the room was sort of a waiting area before operations and a post-recovery room. i was so afraid that people would vomit. i even saw a couple emesis basins. they got me in a bed, then moved me to a more private area since i was crying so hard. they told me a little bit about the procedure, and they gave me an iv drip of fluid and an antibiotic. i told mrs. sullivan that i was emetophobic, and i was afraid that all the mucus i was swallowing would make me sick. she asked if i had a cold, and i said "no--i've been crying all day." she got me pepcid and reglan to help push anything in my stomach out so that i'd be less likely to be ill from the anesthesia.

eventually, they moved me again so that sean and i were in front of the tv, and they gave us the remote. we watched scrubs, and we laughed. i was joking around about having gas. they told me that i'd be taken over at about 3:30. my heart sank as the time approached. just as they were wheeling me out, my doctor came in, and i pointed him out. he came over with me. we paused in front of the operating section, and sean gave me kisses and told me he loved me.

they wheeled me in, and paused in front of a desk. two nurses came over and introduced themselves. they put a heated blanket on me, and they said the anesthesiologist would be right there. he and a student anesthesiologist came over, and i don't remember what they said. i told them that i need anti-emetics, and they said that they'd give them to me. my doctor came over and talked to them about it as well. he said he'd give me zofran after, but he liked ____ for the procedure (he used initials--i'm not sure what it was). he also said that he would collect and take with him what they sucked out of me so he could examine it.

they wheeled me into the operating room. it was freezing, and it was bizarre being in there. i saw a bizarre rubber thing that looked like a mask that you'd use to hold a gag in. i always pictured being unconscious before going in, but that makes no sense because then they have to move your body to AND from the gurney. they had me move over to the operating table, and they gave me another heated blanket. they had me put one arm out (i think they may have strapped it down). then they had me do the same with the other arm, so i was crucifixion-style. they then put a breathing mask over my face that smelled strongly of plastic and rubber. the nurse told me to breathe in the fresh air, and my doctor held my hand. i kept breathing, and i was still conscious, which frightened me. my doctor said "good night, amanda," and the room started to spin a bit (but no so much that i panicked that i'd be ill." after maybe 3-5 more breaths, i woke up in recovery.

i was laying on my side (i'm guessing that's the easiest position to move someone into) under a blanket, with a pad just sorta wrapped around me. i felt very groggy, and woozy on and off. i think it might have been because my blood pressure was low (something over 42 the last time they measured it), but i was of course panicked that i was nauseous, so i kept digging my nails into my thigh to try to get through it. i was afraid that people would vomit, but all i heard was snoring thank god. i thought it was 5:30, but as i became more with-it i saw that i woke up at 4:30. the nurse came over at some point and said i could leave recovery once my blood pressure came up...probably in a half hour...and that i could just go back to sleep. i didn't want to go back to sleep.

my doctor came in and told me, "that was not a good pregnancy--there was hardly any blood." i don't remember what else he said.

although i was very out of it, i started to have that weird leg thing that i get when i take compazine without abstaining from prozac for a few days before. i could barely keep my eyes open, but my legs were so uncomfortable that i couldn't keep them still. they weren't in pain, just....uncomfortable. i had to keep moving them in a certain way.

once my blood pressure was up to 90/58, they wheeled me back to the pre-ambulatory surgery area that i started out in. after a bit, they went and got my husband. they offered me juice, tea, or ginger ale. i got a small can of ginger ale, and they gave me some lorna doone cookies (which i did not eat because they're not vegan, and because i was afraid to eat). he ate the cookies though. the legs were getting more and more restless. they asked me if i was in pain...i said not really, just mild cramping. they asked if i wanted anything for the pain, and i said no (i was afraid they'd give me something that would make me feel sick, and the cramping really wasn't all that bad). they told me i could go home after i peed. i asked if i could try then, and they said sure.

they sent someone to my locker to get my clothes, and sean gave me my underwear so i had something to hold the pad to me. i struggled to get them on. then they attached my fluid bag to a movable pole and walked me to the bathroom. i really thought i was going to pass out, because when we got there it wasn't set up properly (they were supposed to put a cover on the seat and a hat in it to catch the urine, and lay out a fresh pad and a paper towel on which to put the used pad). i was praying i wouldn't pass out, because that would slow me down.

after they left, i sat down, and it hurt to pee. sort of like a urinary tract infection. it was peach-colored from the blood, but i DID it. that meant i'd be out of there! i came out, and the nurse asked if i had urinated. i said yes. she went in to look and said, "oh...no...that's not enough. that's less than 100 ml." apparently, i needed to pee 200 ml. i was worried that a small pee would be held against me, but eventually sean asked, and the 200 ml didn't have to be in one sitting. the next hour or hour and half consisted of me getting a second iv bag, pacing the floor (they let me walk around with my little drip pole), going through most of it, and trying 4 more times unsuccessfully. meanwhile my legs were getting increasingly anxious. eventually, the nurse offered tea, and said that helped. two or three tries later, i was successful. they let me get dressed, and then wheeled me outside while sean got the car. i thanked everyone for their kindness.

the drive home took forever. i think i must have gone right upstairs when i got home. no, i think mom gave me a hug first then i went upstairs. i very gingerly showered and got my pajamas on while sean went out to get my zofran prescription filled (the doctor told him he doesn't usually prescribe this, but since i was so worried he would for me). i think all i ate that night were saltines.

i tried in earnest to go to bed starting at about 9. i think i might have dozed for up to 20 minutes at a time, but i couldn't stop moving my legs. it got worse and worse throughout the night. by about 2:00, i was definitely not sleeping at all. at 4:00, i had to get up and pace around the bedroom. i wasn't sure if this was allowed, because i'd read that the less you do in the first 72 hours, the faster your recovery. i was afraid i'd make myself hemorrhage. at 5:30, i took a second shower, and i washed my hair this time. i was more and more panicky, which i tend to interpret as "maybe i'm going to vomit," so i let a zofran melt on my tongue. at 6, i was pacing again. sean woke up, and i started crying because i was in a state of panic by then. all night, i kept going over and over the day. i didn't want it. i hid my discharge papers--it was almost as if they were tainted. i couldn't face any reminder.

i told sean that i hadn't slept, and i started crying. i kept saying, "i don't even know where to start." i felt traumatized. sean convinced me to call the doctor, and i left him a message apologizing profusely and asking if it was okay to take a couple xanax that i had had from an earlier period of anxiety. he called back 10 minutes later, very groggy, and said to take one, and if i needed another 45 minutes later, to go ahead. i took 2. in 30 minutes, i fell asleep for another hour and a half.

when i woke up, the legs were better, but not totally. i had to keep GOING that day. we went to target and made returns. we went to ikea and picked out stuff to order.

that night, i took trazadone, and i slept for 12 hours. that was last night. when i woke up this morning, i could manage to keep my legs still, and i didn't feel like i was dying when i thought about the procedure.

but i still think i'm in denial. my boobs are bigger than ever, and my stomach is all swollen. i went to the library and got some books on miscarriage. i don't think that it has truly sunken in, and i'm terrified for the day when it inevitably does sink in. i read somewhere that the sorrow reaches its peak 3-9 months afterwards. i fear for myself in those days. i guess that's the point of writing this--to move things along. but then again, focusing on the physical stuff is probably a way of denying the REAL pain.

i'm frightened. i can't go through this again. i don't think i have it in me. and the recognition of that scares me even more.