Little Bean Orecchio
May 13-July 28, 2007
Cramps. Blood. Emergency Room. It was 6:30 in the morning when we arrived at St. John's Hospital on Saturday. We were full of fear, but we tried not to panic. The internet told of plenty of women who experienced cramps or bleeding during pregnancy and were fine. But I knew that having them both, together, wasn't good. In my heart I knew it was over, but we held each other and clung to hope.
8:00 A.M. A nurse took my blood. "So, is this your first pregnancy?" "No, I was pregnant before." "Oh, is that baby alive?" "...Yes." "Are you bleeding?" "Yes." "Oh, you may lose the baby."
10:00 A.M. I was hooked up to an I.V. in order to fill my bladder. Apparently a full bladder is the window needed for an ultrasound.
11:00 A.M. I finally went to the bathroom after being constipated all night and all morning. In my desperation I hoped that my cramps had been in fact gas pains, but then I remembered the blood.
12:00 P.M. At last they brought me a wheelchair, and Joe and I were taken to the second floor for the ultrasound. The moment of truth. Which turned out to be the hour of truth. We got there, and an ultrasound technician read my file for at least five minutes while we watched from the doorway. Finally, she let us in. "What brings you to E.R. today?" She went on to inform us that she was not authorized to tell us what she saw in the ultrasound, just to perform it. And, as it turned out, I was not even allowed to look at the screen. I depended on searching Joe's face for answers. As the test was performed, I could tell Joe was trying to remain expressionless to keep from letting on any info before he knew for sure. But after a bit, his face gradually fell deeper, and wrinkled into despair. Finally, he was able to bring himself to look at me. "No heartbeat," he motioned, eyes welled with tears. A doctor was brought in to confirm, "no fetal heartbeat and no fetal movement."
As Joe and I held each other and finally allowed our gutteral cries to escape, the ultrasound tech, who wasn't allowed to say anything, repeated "I'm so sorry." Joe asked what happens now. "She'll have to go to O.R. They have to take the baby out."
1:00 P.M. We were back in the emergency waiting area, I was back on my stretcher. A woman came over and introduced herself as a med student. She had my files in her hand. "So, why are you here today?"
2:00 P.M. A doctor stuck his hand in to see if I was "open" while two students peered into my vagina. Yes, I thought. Now you know what a miscarriage vagina looks like. One day you'll get to stick your hand up a bloody miscarriage vagina. Watch and learn, students, watch and learn. I wasn't "open" and so the doctor dilated me. But he didn't bother to tell me what was going to happen to me soon.
2:30 P.M. Joe lay his head on me to rest a bit, and suddenly I was jilted from my bed. It felt like something had burst and a sea of bloody liquid gushed out of me. The doctor passed, and freaked out, I asked him what it was. "Did my water break?" I asked, confused. "Does that happen?" "No," he laughed. He didn't bother to tell me it would happen for the next 8 hours until my D & C procedure. If he had, I'd have told Joe not to worry about it when he ran to change my sheets. And so for 8 hours I periodically flowed openly onto my sheets. The flows were accompanied by cramps and sharp pains in my abdomen. I tried to ignore the feeling of lying on wet, bloody remains of my baby.
5:00 P.M. My parents arrived to bring me the last Harry Potter novel and a CD player with a couple of CDs. But most importantly, they brought me Theo. Seeing his smiling, unknowing face brightened my afternoon. He pointed to my IV and said "mommy, hurt?" He climbed on my bed and lay on me, letting me kiss him all over.
6:00 P.M. Visiting hours were over. Joe went home to nap for a couple of hours and return for my procedure. I finally fell asleep for a bit and then read some Harry Potter. A nurse came over and told me I had to remove my nail polish and wedding rings. She brought me nail polish remover, and in my miserable state I mourned the loss of my pretty pink $25 manicure that I'd received only a few days earlier.
8:30 P.M. Joey was back! Seeing him revived me. I was lost without him by my side. I've clung to him ever since. Friends and family have been wonderful, but he is my one true comfort. And the only one I seem to be able to fully break down with.
10:00 P.M. My doctor, my regular OBGYN" (whom I'd only seen twice in my life) arrived. They had me remove my contacts, and I was wheeled in my stretcher and brought to the elevator. It was time for my D & C procedure. A little man came over and explained the process of general anethesia administration. I'd never been under before. I was a bit nervous about waking up by accident. If there was one thing in the world I couldn't bear to witness, it was the removal of my baby.
10:30 P.M. Joe and I said goodbye to our little bean through tears. We told it it was real to us, and we honored it. It wasn't a fish we were flushing away, or a hamster we were burying in a shoebox. It was our precious baby, and we loved it.
11:00 P.M. I was going under. It was the most blissful feeling I had that day.
1:00 P.M. "Miss. Miss," the nurse called. My eyelids lifted and a blurry vision of nurse and a welcome vision of Joe stood at my bedside. It was over. In a little while I was allowed to pee and drink. I had been desperate for a forbidden drink for hours. Finally, my thirst was quenched with sour hospital cranberry juice.
1:30 P.M. Cab ride home. No more cramps, no more pain. As if there had never been a baby. As if I'd imagined the last month of my life.
